"...and then I woke up in Mexico..."

A bureaucrat had told us that they could take the passport picture there at City Hall. Awesome. Turned out: Nope. He was too young. "We don't have gear for a baby that size."

Before I could say, "That size? He's huge!" Corrie said, "I told the person his age when I asked if you could do it." The bureaucrat shrugged.

At Kinko's they took a bad picture, but the bureaucrat said it would be fine. "Are you sure?" we double checked.

Expecting to wait at least a portion of the 4 to 6 weeks needed to get a passport, we were shocked---frankly shocked---when it arrived a few business days later. Like, we both had to be there to swear the oath that this minor is our creation and all that on 12/16, and the passport arrived on 12/29.

Yeah, that's nearly two calendar weeks, but with Christmas in between? And weekends?

Shocked.

Anyway, what to do?

We needed---needed I tell you---to get it stamped for the Boy. I have only a few days left of break, and we joked that once it arrived (the passport) we'd have to go to Mexico immediately. And the then thing was in our hands on the very day we took the Dolmans to the airport.

We made arrangements. We wanted to keep it fast and loose. Stay close by, in Rosarito, just fifteen miles south of Tijuana. We thought about Ensenada, another 50 south from there, but figured that 1) we needed better planning and more time to plan; 2) probably find some friends since there is much more stuff to do than in Rosarito; and finally 3) LET'S NOT GET TOO CRAZY. (That's what I had to tell myself.)

So we looked at hotels and activities in Rosarito. Never that expensive and currently not too busy, we were confident we could get a place upon arriving. We wanted to take a look around beforehand, let's say.

We didn't know during our planning stage that Rosarito is, eh, boring as hell...unless you're a high school kid getting liquored up on spring break.

Anyway, we motored down I-5 towards San Diego, and stuck with the I-805 loop when the highways split. 805 avoids downtown San Diego. We chatted as the numbers dwindled on the signs for "International Border." The excitement was building!

Eventually the road took a sharp turn to the right as the overhead sign said END FREEWAY. This is it!

The pavement lessened in quality. Shouldn't there be a booth or something?

A large sign hung above the next sharp turn, this time to the left as the lines on the road disappeared. MEXICO it read.

Wait, what?

I funneled around to a lane and was being waved along. I got confused and went into a bay. This confused the federali, who now wanted to search my trunk. "No problema," I said as I popped the trunk and began to hand over my passport. She closed the trunk and motioned me to go. I must've remained confused, because then she barked, "Go!"

"They're not even gonna look at his passport?" Corrie whined from the back.

Before I could even figure out what the hell was going on I was merging with a freeway.

Oh shit! Okay! That sign says Rosarito and Ensenada. I'm on it!

Well, I got going to wrong way towards a toll road and the boy woke up. The access road was the one right on the fence heading due west. I'm sure you've seen it somewhere. To the right of the car is a huge fence and then rolling hills. To the left are rolling hills, sure, but they are covered in housing
that has been created from anything that one could get their hands on.

Eventually we made it to the correct road and on to Rosarito despite huge protests that clogged a major intersection. Locals are quite upset about a shady gasoline deal it appears.

We stopped in for lunch, and realized a two things: we'd forgotten all of Cass's solid food---the purees I make and that we feed him so he can feel like a part of our meals---and the cloth diapers we brought, an extra set of large suckers we've had since he was born, turned out to suck balls. Upon arriving in Rosarito we'd noticed that Cass had soaked through his pants, something he never does with our normal diapers, and then again before we finished our lunch.

That's when we realized that we'd only packed three pairs of pants---this was only an overnight adventure, right?---and two were already pissy.

After lunch, and in the last pair of pants, we headed to the ocean:

After the walk on the beach, where the wind caused a far more brutal experience of the weather, we decided that we should probably just cut our losses and go home for the night. But...when should we leave?

We didn't know, beyond a random horror story, what getting back to the US would be like, and then we didn't want to hit traffic in SD or OC or eventually LB.

Eventually we made it back to Tijuana, and followed the signs for "SD" with the graphic for I-5. But it turns out we were in the wrong line.

Of course we didn't know it at the time.

I finally got to the front and the border guy said, "Eh, where's your Sentri card?"

"I don't know what that is. I guess I don't have one?"

I had been in the "Solo Sentri/Sentri Only" lane, but didn't know what that meant, and, more annoyingly, the way we drove to the exit, following the signs, Sentri lanes were the only lanes available to me.

This "Sentri" program, I know now, is a partnership between Tijuana and San Diego that acts like a Fast Pass for residents of one place who work in the other.

The guy asked how often we made the trip. I said this is the first time. He asked what was our business in Mexico, with a quizzical WTF look.

We just wanted to get the Boy's passport stamped and take him to Rosarito for the day.

I SAID THIS TO THE BORDER CROSSING GUARD. He looked at me again with a WTF face. "You wanted to get your son's passport stamped? We don't stamp passports here. Only at the airport."

"Yeah, I learned that today."

He explained the Sentri deal, and said they would have to give us an official warning. Violations can be subject to $5000 fine (!!!!!!), and they would also need to search the entire vehicle.

The guy wrote some notes up on a sheet, taped it to the windshield, and waved us over to a line full of other whackos who were in the wrong line and now subject to super-searches.

This was the lamest part, mainly because the Boy needed to nurse and I needed to pee, and nobody could get out of the car. They did let Corrie have Cass out of his seat though, to get some grub. Each new agent who looked at the note cracked a smile and reiterated the Sentri deal.

We got it.

They checked under the hood halfheartedly, through the trunk quickly, had the dog sniff the car's margins, and even ran us through some kind of bomb-x-ray-machine.

SPOILER: We were clean.

Here's facing north on the beach:

Walking that direction, with the wind blowing hard in your face, was unpleasant.

Facing south got your ears a little cold, but not as bad:

It was a glorious trial of New Parents trying New Things. It was awesome and it was challenging and the Boy got to drive on into Mexico and later he'll get to genuinely share the story when he's old enough to care about scoring girls with tales of his idiot parents.

It was wonderful family outing.

And tomorrow we're heading to the Aquarium instead of breakfast in Mexico, and that's not so bad.

Epilogue Trivia: I learned this today also: "Tijuana" is the name of the city on the Mexican side of the border and originally "Tiajuana" was the name of the city on the American side of the border. That's why gringos so often add that extra syllable. That same city in the US is now called San Ysidro. "Tia-juana" is simply "Aunt Jane" and must have come naturally for gringos trying to comprehend what they heard when they heard "Tijuana." But, and I thought this was the cool part, the name originally is an Indian phrase "Ti-juan," or, "close to the water."