PART 1 - WEDNESDAY EVENING

Okay, I figure some of you are dying for the whole scoop on the weekend... so here's the way it is, from my perspective. I'll let JW tell his side of the story.

Wednesday afternoon I left work, and cruised quite comfortably down the freeway toward San Diego. Except for a knot of traffic on the 805 bypass around the city, there were no problems, and I pulled into the parking lot of the Motel 6 at around 6:30. The early evening would be spent with a friend in San Diego, so I gave her a call after hauling my bags up to the room, and we made plans to meet at her place and then go to dinner.
On the off chance that some of you might be interested, I now know where the gay part of town is, since that's where my friend lives. Also know a gay bar/restaurant there that makes a tasty mushroom cheeseburger, and where I was treated to a couple of cute girls in a hot lip-lock at the table across the aisle. That put me in the mood for some action of my own, so after dinner I said my goodbyes, and hopped in my car to head for the border.

About 9pm I parked in the lot right at the border, $6 all day (or all night?), and walked through the turnstiles, with the familiar clanking as the stream of people headed south. This no-man's land is still slightly foreboding to me in the evening, with concrete walls rising high on either side of a long plaza, with little to decorate it but the occasional trashcan and the Mexican customs and immigration offices. Going through the second set of turnstiles, the shouts of "Taxi? Taxi?" echoed toward me down the walkway as the drivers clamored for a fare. I nodded toward one of them and we walked toward his cab.

I made sure to head for the front passenger door, not the back -- it's considered polite to sit up front with the driver to show that you're treating him as an equal. "Adelita Bar, por favor," I said -- and he grinned and nodded, pulling out into the streets. Now drivers in Tijuana, especially taxi drivers, consider traffic signs and signals to be more recommendations than actual instructions for driving. But I'm still not used to it, and I'm finding myself gripping the side of the seat on the harrowing drive to the Zona Norte -- or as we call it, the Zona Roja.

First Stop: Adelita Bar
The Adelita Bar tends to be my first stop in TJ. While the other bars may have more stunning women, the atmospher at AB is much more friendly and sociable. It's very common to be standing around in the crowd, watching the stage show, and have a girl walking past you to get to the ladies room give your ass a squeeze as she passes, and glance back at you over her shoulder with a twinkle in her eye.

I settle into my usual "standing spot," which is sort of in the middle of almost everything -- I have a good view of the main stage, I have the main bar to my left, and the majority of the seating to the right, and only the back area of the club, with the secondary stage ringed by quieter, darker booths requires me to turn around to take it in. This area is also known as "hottie central" because the more attractive women tend to congregate here. A waiter stops by in a moment, and I order a Carta Blanca. Two dollars and another dollar for tip gets me a fine cerveza, which definitely parches my thirst.

Adelita Bar has a wide range of different types of women. Some look like they would fit in perfectly in upscale L.A. clubs. Some are definitely more "worn," and then some have asses huger than mine. Lots of different types of women here. I notice a couple that I've been with before, and a couple that I wouldn't mind taking for a test drive. This first visit of the night is just to whet my appetite, though. I'm looking for a main course at the Chicago Club, and dessert back here at Adelita afterward.

I circle the club a few times, remembering faces (and bodies) for later, and occasionally engaging in some brief mutual groping with a promising candidate before heading back to my spot. A fine young chica, with light brown hair and C-cup is just starting her stage set to a pounding Metallica song. I squirm my way to an empty seat next to the stage, and watch her writhe her way out of her long dress and her bra. The law says dancers must keep their panties on, but they're not covering much anyway. A couple of dollars gets me about thirty seconds of what would be a $30 lap dance back home, with an enjoyable grind and a fair amount of fondling. She moves on, and I watch as others get to enjoy as well. By the time she finishes her set, I've finished off my cerveza, and I drop my empty in the garbage barrel and head for the door.

I leave the club and hang a right, heading for the main intersection in the middle of the Zona Roja. I pass food vendors, whose offerings do look tempting -- but I've already eaten, and I've got another target in mind. Maybe another day I'll have some of their fajitas, as the bowls of vegetables and sauces do look good. I just hope my stomach is up for it.

A right turn at the end of the block takes me down Constitucion, where the gauntlet of street girls begins. They're also a "maybe another day" adventure. It's a bit more than I'm prepared for at the moment. Still, I take the risk of making eye contact with some of the young cute ones as I walk by, knowing full well that I'll have to pull my jacket sleeves out of their grips just to keep moving down the sidewalk. They're probably not working in the bars because they're not 18... couldn't I be arrested back in the US for going with one of them? Hell, I could be arrested here for going with one of them. Not something I feel like risking tonight, although the reports on the street girls are plentiful.

Another right hand turn at the end of that block, and I'm on Callejon Coahuilla -- Coahuilla Ave. is a block away, so is this Coahuilla Alley? At any rate, the crowd of street workers is heavier here, but in a perverse way I'm enjoying the attention. I don't let them distract me from my goal, however, which is near the end of the block: the Hong Kong Bar. Pushing aside the curtains, I walk into what's perhaps most like a US strip club of the major bars in the Zona.

It's long and narrow, with a stage in the middle -- including the obligatory pole as well as a large metal ring suspended from the ceiling -- surrounded by booths, and with booths along both walls as well. A waiter takes my drink order -- just "agua mineral" this time -- and I sit back and wait for the floor show to start. Of all the clubs in Tijuana, Hong Kong has the greatest percentage of "model beautiful" women.

As I would tell JW the next night, it's the club where you're most likely to find women you want to take to bed -- but where you're least likely to be able to do so. For one, a fair number of the workers at HK are content to just sit with customers and have drinks bought for them. (HK is most like US clubs in terms of "buy the lady a drink," as well.) At the end of the night, the girls get paid half of the price of the drinks bought for them, kept track of through tickets brought by the waiter with each drink. In addition, the usual asking price for a hotel session with these women is $10-20 higher than at other clubs in the Zona -- instead of paying the $80 asking price, if they're unwilling or unable to bargain that down, guys will often just settle for buying the girl another drink. At least you get some cuddling time out of it.

Soon enough the floor show is announced -- by a DJ whose slurred speech is as unintelligible as any US DJ's speech, even if I did know Spanish. The women are impressive, dancing, stripping, and coming out into the audience to take their dollar tips in cleavage or g-strings. Definitely whetting my appetite more, but I savor the show, and after it's done, the lineup of fine women perched on the row of barstools like beautiful birds lined up on a wire. Tonight none of them wander over to ask if I want some company (and buy a drink for them), but that's not unusual. You usually have to get their attention rather than them coming to you unrequested. And there are those with far bigger bankrolls than my own that have a number of the cream of the crop pretty much occupied for the night.

In particular, there are regular customers at HK that are well-off asians who, rumour has it, also supply the girls who are so inclined with various forms of non-medicinal medicinal substances. No wonder some of them keep rubbing their noses like they've got an itch. In any case, Hong Kong is probably the closest to a "high rollers" club as you get in the Zona. Too bad the walk to get there can be so scary! I haven't yet had a session with a chica from the Hong Kong Bar; I've just gone to enjoy the floor show and take a break between the other two major clubs.

I finish my water and head back out onto the street, and work my way once again past the street girls and around the corner, headed up Constitucion to the Chicago club. While the percentage of "hotties" is higher at Hong Kong, the sheer number of "hot women" at the Chicago Club is a sight to behold. Just as you walk in, some are lined up in a large alcove just to your right, either looking out over the crowd or primping in the mirror at the back of the alcove. Dozens of others are sitting or standing at the bar that runs the whole length of the left-hand wall, or along the back wall where the DJ booth and the restrooms are located. Still more are sitting in booths with customers, whch are arranged around the central dance floor, and on a raised outer level along the wall.

A waiter tries to show me to a table, but I wave him off politely and mutter "los banyos," wandering toward the back. I like to survey the talent first, and so I take a slow walk along the bar, making eye contact with good prospects to gauge interest. After I take care of business in the room behind the sign labelled "papa" (the ladies' room is respectively labelled "mama"), I find my own table, right next to the stage, and order a cerveza from the waiter. I'm waiting to see what sort of dancing talent emerges when they start the floor show. At the moment, there are two couples dancing on the dance floor. (While there is no floor show going on, the dance floor is used for regular sorts of dancing -- for which the customer is paying a few dollars per song.)

Alas, watching the Chicago Club floor show was not meant to be. I sipped on my beer and surveyed the room for a little while, before I was joined by a pretty chica who introduced herself as Ellie. Well, she tried to, anyway, but we discovered that her English is even worse than my Spanish, so our verbal communication was limited. Still, we managed to exchange names, where we were from, and after I shelled out for a tequila for her, toasted each other several times while cuddling in the booth. That doesn't take verbal communication, right?

We watched the other couples dancing, went through another round of drinks, and then she managed pop the question -- fortunately, "hotel" is similar enough in both languages! Despite the advice of some veteran TJ mongers, I've taken the stance that I don't do any negotiations before a session as to price, or as to activities that will or won't be undertaken in the room. (I do intend to make an exception if I pursue a chica at Hong Kong, since prices there are known to be higher, and not as consistent as at Adelita and Chicago.) Basically, unless she brings up price before the session, I make it $40 at Adelita, and $50 at Chicago, with a $10 tip in either case if I'm pleased with the session. It hasn't gotten me into trouble so far. That's pretty much in line with "standard" prices at the clubs, and I've never yet had a chica complain or ask for more. (Some people may save some money by haggling, but I find that for me, doing so tends to start off the session on a much less "fun" tone, which is contrary to the point of being in TJ.)

So in any case, I agreed, took her hand, and we went next door and up the stairs. Paid the usual $10 to the man behind the counter, headed to our room, and spent half an hour engaging in pleasurable activities. (I hope you didn't want details. ) The session was fair, but not great. I wasn't disappointed, but I also didn't take her up on her offer for a followup session the next evening. In any case, we parted ways with kisses on the cheek, and I headed back over to Adelita for dessert.

By this time it was midnight, and the bar was still quite active. I wandered over to my "spot" and took stock of the talent, having the waiter get me another Carta Blanca. About halfway through my beer, a lovely chica with shoulder-length light brown hair and sparkling eyes wandered over and stood next to me. After a few sideward glances at each other, she asked me name, and introduced herself as Anna. We adjourned to a table, where I bought her a beer and we spoke with somewhat better ease than I had been able to with Ellie. Still, there was a bit of a language barrier, so I hope to remedy my linguistic lack by taking some classes starting this spring. We did have fun trying to make ourselves understood to each other, though.

The inevitable question followed, and I gladly took her up on her offer for a session in the hotel. Again, it was a fun half hour, and I wish she'd have been around Thursday evening when I was looking for one last session and chose poorly. But that'll come later! It seemed like the half hour did go too quickly, and after I walked her downstairs, I wearily flagged a cab. I hopped up front, and the driver turned to me and said, "Ensenada, Si?" I must have gotten a panicked look on my face, because he laughed said, "No, la linea, la linea...." I managed a weak smile, but watched the street signs carefully the whole drive back to the border.

Not that I could read them; after all, they were all in Mexican.

PART 2 - THURSDAY

(Note that as I'm posting this seperately from Part 1, some information will be redundant. Deal with it.)
Thursday morning I awoke, refreshed, and ready to face the day -- showered, shaved, and sat down to watch the CNN headlines. Hearing a door slam out in the parking lot, I poked my head out, and saw JW heading toward the registration office. I headed down to greet him, and he registered and carried his bags upstairs while I reregistered for a second night. We met up again next door at the Denny's for breakfast, gathering strength for the long day ahead of us.

After a stop at the bank, we headed for the parking lot, where my car would sit for about the next 16 hours. As we walked toward the turnstiles and into the no-mans land, I mentioned to JW my recollection of last night's trip, when just before entering the turnstiles, clipboard-holding people with jackets labelled "public health" were interviewing some of the people heading south toward Mexico. This does happen now and then, although I haven't yet been stopped. As I had passed them interviewing a group of college-age men, I overheard just one of the questions: "You're all over eighteen, correct?" I had hurried past without making eye contact, and they didn't try to include me in their interview process.

We caught a cab at the taxi stand, and once again headed to "Adelitas, por favor!" I watched carefully as the driver took a somewhat different route than I'm used to, but it turned out that he intended to drop us off right in front of Adelita, instead of at the corner.

First Stop: Adelita
We arrived at about 1pm. The first noticeable difference was that since it we were entering from broad daylight, it took a few minutes for our eyes to adjust to the relative darkness inside the club. As our vision returned, it was evident that the bar was much less crowded than it had been the previous night. This was the second time I'd been to Adelita for the day shift, and I definitely prefer it to the night shift: There aren't crowds to fight through, and the hotel sessions are much more relaxed.

At first we sat in a booth for a few minutes, surveying the talent and watching some repair work being done on the light-show equipment over the stage. After waiting a little while for a waiter who never showed up, we headed back over to the bar and ordered a couple of beers, and settled into bar stools to relax and look around.

Alone, or in twos, a number of the working girls came up to say "ola," introduce themselves, and then wander on as we indicated that we were relaxing just fine at the moment, thank you. And then, suddenly, I was enchanted by one who fit my "usual type" (the petite, small girl with long dark hair), who came up to us at the bar and simply offered herself as a translator in case we needed to speak to any of the women who didn't speak English.

Alma, as she introduced herself, set off alarms in my head as I remembered her from my "recommended" list from research I'd done during the first half of the week. Cute, just my type, and on the recommended list? Someone was watching over me! We made small talk for a few minutes, while she sensed I might be interested and started telling me how she could take care of me too - but my mind was already made up, and I eventually told her that I thought it would be a wonderful idea to take a trip next door. I excused myself from JW, and escorted her next door and upstairs.

I was not disappointed. Half an hour was definitely not enough time to spend with this wonderfully attentive and fun chica, but I held off and took it slow this time. (When I go back to see her again, I'll definitely have a longer session - and she's the first TJ chica I've met that I've said that about.) She was communicative without being too chatty, and often asked what I wanted, what I liked, what she could do to take care of me. Nice guy that I am, I made sure to reciprocate.

Half an hour was up too quickly, and we cleaned up and dressed, promising to have another session another time. We headed back downstairs, said our goodbyes, and parted to different areas of the club. JW wasn't sitting where I'd left him at the bar, so I presumed he'd been whisked away by one of the ladies. I headed off to the caballeros restroom, and when I returned, I spotted JW in the crowd. I think the previous half-hour had been far better to me than it had been to him!

We managed to get a table and have a few more rounds of cervezas and agua mineral; I had to rehydrate myself, after all. Sometimes the dance floor would be occupied by couples; if you're not into buying time in the hotel, the women are also available as dance partners for a bit of a tip per song. And sometimes a floor show would be going on - and much like in LA clubs that serve alcohol, the women had to keep their panties on. And then interestingly, a country-ish song started playing, and several of the women lined up on stage - I marveled at the country line dancing that seemed so out of place, yet oddly appropriate. After all, this was once frontier too, right?

Pretty soon, we started getting hungry -- breakfast had been several hours gone, and we needed to get our strength back. We decided to head out, but weren't quite ready to head to dinner yet, as the later we went, the better the other major clubs would be. So across the street and down a little ways, we wandered into the Tropical Bar.

Tropical Bar
The Tropical Bar is one where I haven't spent much time. I've heard that there are some nice hotel sessions to be had here, however. The only stumbling block is that knowledge of Spanish is more required here than at the other bars. Layout is similar; bar, booths and tables, stage. Unfortunately, the table to which we were shown had a pole between it and the stage, and not the kind a dancer could use as a prop.

A few of the chicas looked promising, but we were a bit annoyed at having to sit behind the post where we couldn't get a clear view of the stage. After we each downed our agua, we went back outside to catch a cab to a restaurant on Revolucion that I like for dinner.

After a bit of confusion with the cabbie (who would have known that I could pronounce "Jai Alai Palacio" wrong?), we made it to the Terraza of Tijuana Tilly's. It was empty, and even though I always say you don't want to eat at an empty restaurant, I've not yet been disappointed here. A margarita and Numero Quattro (two burritos and a quesadilla) were just what I needed, although I could have done without the pair of mariachi singers/guitar players who serenaded us with "La Bamba."

After dinner we decided to head across the street to the dance/tv (no, not the kind of tv you avoid) bar, Las Pulgas. I'd heard that there's a good night crowd there, with plenty of pretty ladies to hang out with. When we wandered in, everyone was watching football. No, not the American kind. I guess we were there too early. So we headed back to the street to catch a cab, and headed back to the Zona.

Molino Rojo
I'd heard some talk about Molino Rojo ("Red Mill") online, so we decided to check it out. The "empty restaurant" syndrome reared its ugly head, and I should have listened to the voices in my head telling me to get the hell out of there. We were the only customers, one dancer was dancing on stage looking very bored, and the waiter seemed far too eager to get us to come in and sit down.

He took our orders with an eagerness that seemed out of place given his apparent age, and no sooner had our drinks arrived when we were joined by another overenthusiastic employee of the bar -- this time, an obviously intoxicated (at 7pm!?) dancer who proceeded to paw JW, ask us to buy her drinks, ask us for tips, and several times offer to take both of us to the hotel at once. Now that definitely wasn't hapenin', folks. The only upside for me in this whole mess was that JW was between me and the dancer, which made it tough for her to get her hands on me much.

After one of her numerous offers to take us upstairs and perform unspeakable acts upon us, I said something to the effect that we weren't up for it, because we had just had dinner. She misunderstood and said that we should come back after we'd had dinner -- and JW enthusiastically agreed, saying it was definitely time for us to go have dinner. What a convenient excuse to leave!

While we had been sitting there, only one other customer had entered and sat in a booth -- and shortly thereafter he was joined by a much more attractive chica, who smiled and waved at us as we left. Some guys get all the luck. Maybe some guys have been able to meet fine dancers here and have good sessions, but we sure rolled snake eyes in Molino Rojo that night.

It was still too early for things to be happenin' at my next intended stop, so I decided we should wander along Calle Coahuilla for a couple of blocks and see if anything looked like it was worth checking out. At night these are a bit outside the area that I would travel alone, but two people are much less likely to run into trouble than just one. So we walked west, past the Inferno Bar, and the Tropical. We crossed Ave. Ninos Heroes where we were met by hawkers for the Pollo Club (half a block up Ninos Heroes), asking us to "Come see lovely ladies at the Chicken Bar!"

Another block took us past La Perla, and the Afro Club. At that point it looked more than a bit frightening, and JW beat me to saying "We're turning around now." At the end of the block, we crossed the street and returned, almost checking out the Manhattan Club and the New York Club. Maybe another day. (After this trip, I also was informed that the blocks of Ave. Ninos Heroes on either side of Calle Coahuilla are where the transvestite street girls work. Well worth noting, if only to avoid embarassment.)

Heading back, we passed Adelitas again, turned the corner into the street girls' gauntlet. Again, it's not as heavy as most nights, so JW hasn't seen how bad it can get. He got off easy. Stopping short of our destination, the Hong Kong Bar, we decide to stop by the Miami Club.

The Miami Club reminded me most of my one trip to a Hostess Club in L.A., except that it had alcohol, and there didn't seem to be any "hanky panky" going on in any booths. There was a row of chicas seated on a long bench, a dance floor, and plenty of tables -- one of which we took seats at and ordered a couple of drinks. There were a number of couples dancing on the dance floor, and most seemed to be mutually enjoying themselves. One notable exception was a poor girl who looked mostly bored as she was dragged around the dance floor by a guy who looked like he was also using her for support so he wouldn't fall down. Sounds contradictory, but that's how it looked.

It definitely seemed very much like a locals' bar, and we didn't stay terribly long. But it did make for a nice change of pace before we moved next door to Hong Kong. I've heard some reports that one can get hotel companionship at Miami Club, but we didn't see any couples leaving the bar during the time we were there.

Hong Kong
We entered the Hong Kong Bar, and JW seemed definitely more at ease, seeing how close it was to what we're used to as a strip club. There was a table right at the corner of the stage, so we snapped it up and ordered a couple of drinks.

I didn't have much time to enjoy our good seats, as one of the ladies wandered over and had a seat next to me. Estrella, she said her name was, although that was almost the extent of the communicating we could do. I ended up buying her a couple of drinks, and she asked me if I wanted to go upstairs, but I just didn't feel any chemistry happening, so I refused.

The floor show was as entertaining as it was the previous night, with quite talented dancers doing some very sexy moves on stage, and again coming out into the audience to take tips. JW was especially entranced by one dancer who he said looked remarkably like an ex-girlfriend. So after the stage show finished up, he managed to catch her and ask her to have a seat for a spell.

They talked for a while, and JW bought her a drink, although I was a bit out of the loop since the conversation was in Spanish. Although in the end, despite the fact that I could see JW had a hankerin' for this girl Christa, he declined to ask her upstairs. Said something about her not offering, and him not wanting to offend. That JW; he's always the nice guy.

Chicago
In any case, we headed over to check out Chicago Club. At one time this club was full of beautiful women, but these days their numbers have declined a bit, and some of the star players have moved on to greener pastures (notably, Hong Kong). Again we grabbed a booth right by the stage, a couple of drinks were ordered, and we settled in to check out the women.

While JW was visited by one not-so-wonderful woman after another, I got a repeat visit from Ellie. It was nice to be remembered, although I think she was hoping for a repeat session. I gladly bought her another tequila, and we sat and drank a bit, although she politely excused herself when I didn't buy her a second. JW, meanwhile, was having to fend off the desperate women of the club; it seems his mantra of "don't make eye contact don't make eye contact don't make eye contact" wasn't working too well!

We watched a few tepid stage shows, including one in which the dancer simply blew us off (not in a good way!), and so lost out on a couple of bucks. Oh well. Chicago Club isn't quite what it used to be, although there are still a few diamonds in the rough to be found.

Molino, Pt. 2
We wandered across the street to Molino Rojo again, on the off chance it would have improved. Nope. I'm told we need to give it time to get back on its feet, as it was closed down for a time for obscenity violations. Go figure.

Adelita, Pt. 2
Anyway, we headed back over to Adelita, where we would spend the rest of the night. It was definitely more crowded than earlier in the day, so we ended up at my "spot" and checked out the changes in the roster since the afternoon. By this time it was getting kinda late, so it's all a bit of a blur. I remember some nice stage shows. I remember a couple more drinks. I remember one dancer dancing to Metallica instead of ranchero, and looking damn good at it.

I remember JW chatting up some hottie from hottie central named Vanessa or something. And I remember wandering in circles around the club several times, trying to pick out just the right chica for my last session of the night. And understand, it was about 2:30am at this point. This is the time when judgement is being overpowered by desperation. Believe me when I say that one should never pick a bed partner or play blackjack if it's after 2:30am.

You see, I made the mistake of settling on a pretty girl I'd been eyeing all night, but that I hadn't seen leave with anyone. That was probably the biggest warning sign that I missed. Because when she saw me smiling at her and asked me if I wanted to go upstairs, she had me in the palm of her hand. Believe me when I say I'd have had a more exciting evening if I had gone back to the hotel two hours earlier and spent it with the palm of my hand, because that 20 minutes was easily the most boring sexual act I've ever personally experienced. But hey -- into every good time some pain must fall.

After we completed the act, we didn't even speak to one another as we dressed. It wouldn't have been very productive anyway, as there was the ever-present language barrier. As I staggered back in the bar, I announced to JW that I was damn well ready to get the hell out of there and back to the hotel now. So once again we hailed a cab, and made the trip through the grisly streets to the border.

When we finally got back to my car and started driving back to the hotel, it was about 3:30 in the morning. We'd spent at least fifteen hours in Tijuana (and another four hours for me the previous night), and were definitely worn out. But as with any such experience, there were valuable lessons to be learned.

First, never stay too late, and if you do stay too late, stick in groups so that one of you can slap the other one if he starts to make a stupid choice. Second, if your gut feeling tells you a chica is going to be good, go for it, cuz what do you have to lose? Unless it's late and your judgement is off. But it could be the best sex you've had in at least a year. And third, you just can't get away from "Mambo No. 5" these days -- I think we heard it in just about every bar we went to.

Although, for use in Tijuana, they should change the lyrics: "A little bit of burning when I pee, a little penicillin cures V.D...."

I'm just kidding. Really.

Anyone up for a trip South of the Border this weekend?

Pax,
B^

For questions, post a message on the bulletin board or email Bishop directly.