Mexico

The kids are very keen on a day in Mexico. I'm a bit more apprehensive. I've always been driven around by someone with local knowledge.

The plan is simple: get a tram to the border, then get a taxi into the centre of Tijuana.

We walk down to the Santa Fe Depot tram stop. The tickets are only $2.50. Not bad for a ride that takes 45 minutes. On the way we get glimpses of several US Navy ships. This really is a huge naval base.

As we get off the tram, I notice a change place selling pesos at 20 to the dollar. Which seems a pretty good rate. So, I change $100. At least I'll have some local dosh when we arrive.

Crossing the border is a piece of piss. before we know it, we're outside picking up a taxi. We have them take us to Cesar's on Revolucion, the main drag. Because I know a brewery, Norte, is just around the corner.

When we turn that corner, what we see is a multistorey car park.

"I remember this place," Alexei says, "it's the one with the entrance that's almost impossible to find."

Damn. I remember thinking last time that I'd never have found the entrance without a guide. And I'm not going to try now.

"Is there another brewery nearby?" I ask.

"Yes, just past Cesar's the other way."

So that's where we head. I recognise the place. It's Mamut, located on the first floor. We take seats on the balcony, where there's a nice breeze.

Most of the beers are off. About all they have are a Hazy Pale Ale and a Hazy Rye IPA. I go for the latter, the kids the former. They cost 80 pesos - that's $4. About half the price of the USA.

Hazy Rye IPA, 7%, 57 IBU
It certainly is hazy. But only 80 pesos. Quite bitter for a sludge bomb.

The waitress really struggles with our order. Despite most of the beers being off. She brings us two Hazy Rye IPAs. Andrew doesn’t seem to mind drinking the stronger beer.

I notice a mention of mezcal on the menu.

"Can we have 3 mezcals?" I ask the waitress. She explains that they only sell it after 16:00. It's currently ten to four. She brings over the mezcal menu. We order one each. At $3.50 a pop, they're pretty cheap. And full of burny, smoky goodness. What size is that measure? 40 cl? 50 cl? Good value, whatever the size.

We talk a bit about Germany. “Berlin is Germany’s Amsterdam.” I declare. Much to the bemusement of the kids.

A pickup full of heavily-armed soldiers pulls up outside. The soldiers pile off and disappear down an alleyway. I start to take a photo, but the kids say: “Don’t do that, Dad. They might get pissed off.”

It is sort of reassuring, the heavy police presence. Probably why the streets, at least in this part of the centre, seem safe.

We're thinking about food. But Mamut only does typical brewpub fare. I want proper Mexican. We head to another brewpub on the main drag, Teorema.

The streets are a good bit cleaner than downtown LA. And much less pissy-smelling. They still have those weird donkeys painted as zebra, mind. What is the deal with that? What’s the point?

Tijuana is full of chemists, all aimed at US citizens.

“It’s very sad that they can’t afford their medicines in the US.” Andrew says sympathetically.

“Shall I see if I can get some Temazepam?”

“No, Dad! Really, no!”

“Is that a maybe?”

“No! Be serious, Dad.”

“Where’s your sense of humour, Andrew?”

“You don’t joke about that stuff. Just shut up about it.”

“I guess it would end up like Breaking Bad, with everyone dead.”

“They don’t all end up dead.”

“Don’t they? That’s not how I remember it”

“Jeezus, Dad. Your brain really is turning into mush.”

We were here last time, as well. It's a very minimal Scandi-looking sort of place. There aren’t a great number of customers. Just us and another young trendy looking bloke in the corner. We only just outnumber the staff.

I opt for the strongest beer on the menu.

Public Hop White IPA, 6.5% ABV
It’s OK. Fairly bitter.

The kids have an Irish Red. I don’t tell them it’s a bollocky made-up style. Why spoil their fun?

We only have the one. We’re getting peckish. And noticed a proper Mexican place on the way here. So that’s where we go. El Perico, it's called.

The young waitress is very shy when she approaches us. She seems intimidated by our English-speaking. I try to be nice to her as we order margaritas.

The menu is very long. I’m not quite sure what everything is and order a burrito. The kids opt for quesadilla supreme.

The food is dead good. Very fresh and tasty. We get a second round of margaritas. The waitress seems more relaxed now.

Time for another brewery. As Lexxie is the one with a map on his phone, we’re relying on him. Luckily, there are plenty of brewpubs in this part of town. Like, just around the corner there’s one. No more than a couple of hundred metres. Kaminari.

We’re there in minutes. It’s very dark inside. And there’s a group doing a mezcal tasting. We settle in towards the back

What do we do? Order ourselves some beers. An IPA for me, of course. One of the staff wanders over and asks if we’d like to try some of the mezcal. Why not? We’re on holiday, after all.

When we settle up, we pay two bills. One for the beer and one for the mezcal. It seems that this place, called Mestizo, housed two businesses: a brewery and a mezcal bar. I’m not complaining, as I quite like both beer and mezcal.

Time is pressing. It’s already 7 PM. It’s going to take at least two hours to get back to San Diego. We need to start heading for the border.

As there’s a liquor store literally next door, we drop by there for some take-home tequila.

“Don’t buy any of that not for human consumption alcohol again on the border, Dad.”

“Why not? My eyesight got back to normal after a couple of days. Just about.”

“Daad.”

Tequila bought, we grab a cab and speed to the border. Where, unsurprisingly, there’s a long queue.

The masses of red tail lights look quite magical with the sun setting behind them. And help ease the pain of queueing.

As we approach the control point, we hear someone singing the US national anthem. When we get inside, we see there’s a besuited religious nutter waving a bible in people’s faces and shouting about sin.

It’s not going down well with the crowd. A woman in her sixties yells “Shut up!” A young woman behind us has a go at him, too.

One of the border guards has a word with him, but lets him continue. He’s a regular, it seems. And evidently harmless. I wonder if they would be so tolerant were the nutter not white?

We jump on a tram and are off almost immediately. Andrew wants to pick up some more beer and time is pressing. He remembers that San Diego stops outsales at 10 PM. It’s ten to when we roll into our tram stop.

By the time we get to Riteaid, it’s just chiming ten. No more beer tonight. Just as well they bought two twelve packs yesterday.

Tonight, it’s the exotic beat of tequila dancing me to sleep.




Mamut Cervecería
Carrillo Puerto y o Tercera 8161,
Zona Centro,
22000 Tijuana.
https://mamutbrewery.com/


Teorema Brewing
Av. Revolución 1332,
Zona Centro,
22000 Tijuana.
https://www.facebook.com/teoremabrewing


Taqueria El Perico
Av. Revolución 1388-1230,
Zona Centro,
22000 Tijuana.
https://www.facebook.com/TaqueriaelPericoTijuana/?view_public_for=311362676374554


Mestizo Tasting Room
Flores Magón 8297,
Zona Centro,
22000 Tijuana.


Licores Cactus
Flores Magón no. 602,
Zona Centro,
22000 Tijuana.

Mexico!

The happy smell is apparent as soon as we enter the breakfast room. There’s bacon. Alexei lets out a little whoop of joy. I manage to contain myself, but I’m equally overjoyed. There are breakfast potatoes and scrambled egg, too.

Andrew sullenly pours packet after packet of sugar into his black coffee. He’s not a morning person.

Breakfasted, we walk to America Plaza to get the tram. Or trolley as it’s called here. It will take us directly to the border crossing at San Ysidro.

On the way, we pass the naval dockyard. “Are they cruisers, dad?”

“Destroyers, I think.” The weirdly-shaped ones. Something to do with stealth technology, I believe.

The border crossing is right next to the tram terminus. Pretty much everyone on the tram seems to be headed for Mexico.

A very pleasant young woman checks our passports, then stamps them. We’re across in a jiffy.

“Well, that was simple. It won’t be that quick on the way back.” I warn the kids.

It’s a new experience for the kids, crossing an international border on foot. Not for me. I’ve walked from Gibraltar to Spain.

We have an appointment at 11 on the Mexican side with our designated driver, Betty Lopez.

She’s a bit late arriving, giving the kids time to soak up the Mexican atmosphere a bit. Which is slightly chaotic, with buses, cars and people buzzing around. Standing under a tree, we’re at least in the shade.

When Betty turns, we jump in her car and trundle through the city. She’s a bright, witty young Mexican woman who brews in Tijuana. Whose English puts my use of any foreign language to shame. Really cool that she’s prepared to spend her Sunday showing us around.

Betty parks the car and we head off on foot. Starting at Border Pyscho, a small brewpub. It looks much like an American equivalent, with its simple furnishings and wall of beer taps. Or ones in the UK or Holland, for that matter. One of the features of the craft beer world is its international nature. The beers and décor are the same the world over.

“What do you want to drink, kids?”

“A beer.” Alexei says, emphatically. He’s glad to have been magically transformed to drinking age again by a short hop over the border. He chooses a Saison. How trendy. I go for something light, too: a Double IPA. They’re out of Hefeweizen so Andrew has a nitro Stout.

My kids are more like “normal” beer drinkers. Andrew mostly drinks mass-produced Lager. But he also drinks Stout, the odd IPA and quite a bit of Hefeweizen. No snobbishness, no evangelical belief in the one true craft – or cask, for that matter – beer. The kids drink what they fancy at that moment, uninfluenced by ideology.

We only stay for the one. Well, I do. The kids knock back a brace of beers. Then head off to another brewery, Mamut. It’s just off Revolución, Tijuana’s main drag. The brewery is on the first floor of the building. We grab some beers and sit on the balcony, which overlooks the street. Being pretty hot, it’s nice to sit in the breeze.

The kids are looking rather sweaty. They’re not great at handling the heat. Though it does give them an excuse to shovel down lots of beer. On this occasion Andrew is drinking a Gose, though I did warn him.

“How do you like your Gose?”

“Interesting.”

“That’s a polite way of saying terrible in Britain.”

“Just not really my thing.”

“Our next stop isn’t far, but is difficult to find.” Betty warns us, as we head down an alleyway, into a multi-story car park and then a lift. Doubt I would have found that on my own.

It’s another brewery called Norte. It seems to be on the top floor of the building, judging by the panoramic views. Which includes the giant Mexican flag that flies over Tijuana. Andrew and I both opt for an IPA. You can never go wrong with an IPA.

“It used to be a strip club” Betty tells us. ”You can still see where the pole was.”

“Are there lots of strip clubs in Tijuana?” I ask.

“Yes. But there are good strip clubs and others you really shouldn’t go to.”

Alexei is making the best of his opportunity to drink beer. He’s matching his brother pint for pint, which is quite an achievement, given Andrew’s hollow legs.

We head back to Revolución for our next stop. Not a brewery this time, but a joint tasting room of two: Teorema and Lúdica. The interior is a Spartan white with very simple furniture. All very minimalistic.

The kids are on Kölsch, which is the closest to Lager on offer, while I’m sticking with IPA. Partly out of habit, partly because of the ABV. I’m tempted by a Belgian IPA, Lúdica Lumen. At a refreshing 7.5% ABV. A Mexican-brewed Belgian IPA. The world is getting very confusing. So confusing I go for Imperial Stout instead. Even in this heat, it’s better than the brain bending of a Mexican-brewed Belgian IPA.

“Have you noticed how the measures are all in fluid ounces?” Andrew observes.

“No, I hadn’t until you mentioned it. It’s probably because of American tourists.” We’ve spotted quite a few American tourist on our crawl. Quite a high percentage of the customers. It’s probably pricey for many Mexicans. My 15 oz of 9% beer cost 70 pesos: €3.18. Cheap compared to the US or Holland, but I imagine wages are a good bit lower here.

Andrew wanted to take advantage of the 32 oz. serving offered. But they don’t have any of the glasses. He gets two 15 oz. glasses instead. Not at the same time. They refill his glass after he drains it. Which takes a good 30 seconds. “Feeling thirsty again, Andrew?”

“I’d like to buy some tequila.” I say, spotting an offie as we walk along Revolución. I get a quite posh bottle, on the advice of the owner. “Don’t just throw down like a cheap tequila.” He advises.

I’ve been paying by card so far, but get out 500 pesos on Betty’s advice. Where we’re eating doesn’t accept cards.

I understand why when we get there. Telefonica Gastro Park is a brewery with food trucks. “That’s why you need some cash.” Betty says, “The trucks don’t take cards.”

The food is pretty good and dirt cheap. I share some tacos with Alexei. While Andrew had a pile of stuff, including a dollop of mole. I have a sludge IPA. Not sure why, given how much I slag them off. It must be the heat. The kids are still looking pretty sweaty. As I probably am, too. Hopefully their pints of Lager will help them cool down a bit.

At seven, it’s time for us to be heading back to the border. Betty drives us back there and we join the queue of pedestrians.

The queue to get back over the border is really long. It takes a bit over an hour to cross. There are people trying to flog stuff to the queue, many kids of just 8 or 9. Duty free shops, too. I pop in one and buy a random bottle. Not sure what it is. But I may as well get rid of some of those pesos.

We eventually get to the head of the queue. Why don’t they take our fingerprints again?

“Are you bringing anything back with you?” “Just this bottle. Oh, sorry, these two bottles.” He doesn’t seem very interested in looking at them.

The tram is delayed. It’s 9:45 when we reach America Plaza. Andrew plans on getting more beer at the 7/11. We pass a Rite-aide which I notice sells beer. “Why not get your beer here, as we’re passing.” “OK.”

As we’re browsing there’s an announcement: “Last alcohol sales in 5 minutes.” “Best hurry up, Andrew.” If we’d walked that bit further to the 7/11, Andrew would have no beer.

The kids hang out in my room a little, drinking beer, watching TV. It’s freezing cold, despite me turning the airco up to 68º F. I had trouble sleeping yesterday, I was so cold.

I don’t stay up late. Busy day ahead tomorrow. Sleep rushes swiftly at me like a speeding train.



Border Psycho
Calle Libertad 1751,
Azcona,
22055 Tijuana, B.C.
Tel: +52 664 379 1235
http://borderpsychobrewery.com/


Mamut
Carrillo Puerto y o Tercera 8161,
Zona Centro,
22000 Tijuana, B.C.
Tel: +52 664 685 0137
http://www.mamutcerveza.com/


Cerveceria Norte
Diaz Miron y o cuarta 8160,
Zona Centro,
22000 Tijuana, B.C.


Teorema/Lúdica Co-tasting Room
Revolución 1332,
Zona Centro,
22000 Tijuana, B.C.
Tel: +52 664 210 0390


Telefonica Gastro Park
Boulevard Agua Caliente 8860,
Centro,
22000 Tijuana, B.C.
Tel: +52 664 200 2155

Mexico

Grant is a little late. I’ve been hanging around on the porch for 20 minutes when he trundles up.

He comes bearing gifts. In beer form. The best form there is. There’s a growler of Bohemian Summer Beer and a bottle of East India Porter. Both my recipes. Notice how many Lager recipes of mine have been popping up in San Diego. There’s a reason for that. Which I may tell you one day. When the scars have healed.

It doesn’t take long to get to the border. We’re quickly through. A border guard checks our passports and looks in the boot. A dog comes a sniffing. Then we’re in Mexico. Directly into the chaos of Tijuana.

We take to the motorway which runs right up against the border. It’s pretty eerie. The twin fences, no-man’s land a proximity of a built up area conjures up an image from the past. The Berlin Wall. Except this one is to keep people out rather than keep them in.

We’re headed south. To Ensenada where there are a couple of breweries where Grant knows the brewer. The landscape is much the same as the other side of the border. The buildings are very different. More random. Shacks and palaces intermingling like a cosmopolitan football crowd.

Part of the route is lined with shops selling ceramics a weird metal statues of dinosaurs. What exactly do you do with a 2-metre tall T. Rex? Is it meant for in- or outdoors? I'm weirdly tempted to buy one. Just as well it's 100% impractical.

I’ve been to a lot of breweries in the last few years. In all sorts of buildings. But never one assembled from containers. As Aquamala is.

It’s owned by a friendly couple, who show us around and feed us beer. It’s a fairly small operation. In the taproom on the first floor there’s a view of the Pacific and a cooling breeze. It’s cool in both senses of the word. The garden leading to the sea supplies various ingredients for their beers. I’m impressed by their blackberries. Already ripe.

Water can be a problem. They use the town supply and that’s pretty erratic. Which is why they have a large tank filled with water. So they can still brew when the mains water is cut off. I can see brewing this side of the border brings extra challenges. Though water is likely to a problem soon in California, too.

Next stop is Wendlandt, also in Ensenada. It’s a bigger affair in more conventional business premises. The brewer shows us around and pours us beer from the conicals. It’s pretty nice stuff. Even the one hopped with Mosaic. A hop I thought I didn’t like.

“Why is the brewery called Wendlandt?” I ask Eugenio, the owner and brewer. It doesn’t sound very Spanish. “It was my grandmother’s surname.” That’s fair enough.

Eugenio suggests we grab some lunch at a restaurant in the fish market, appropriately enough in the fishing harbour. A couple of his friends are drinking beer outside. The restaurant is popular. Too popular: we’ll have to wait more than an hour for a table. So instead we go to Boules, a restaurant owned by another of his friends.

The people we met outside tag along. More friends and family turn up. Including Eugenio's wife and cute baby son. Eventually we’re a party of nine, sitting in a garden restaurant. there's no menu crap. The waiters just bring out a series of dishes that we share. One of our party who own a vineyard pours wine from unlabelled bottles. Pretty nice stuff, deep red and powerful.

The meal is a combination of meat and seafood. Crab, oysters, steak, lamb shank, wonderful sausages wrapped in vegeables and a flour tortilla and suaces. Three sauces: hot, hell and Hiroshima.

That's the hot one.

It’s one of the best meals I’ve eaten in years.

This isn’t the Mexico you see on TV. It’s a much calmer, more relaxed place. When I ask the population of Ensenada I’m told: “It’s a small city. Just half a million people.” Odd how the perception of town size varies. Someone in North Carolina was shocked when I called Newark, with a population of 35,000, a small town. She considered that pretty big.

On the way back to Tijuana, Grant suggests we stop at a grocery store he knows. It has a huge selection of tequila and mescal. It sounds like the perfect place to pick up a present for Andrew. The shop is bizarre. From the outside it just looks like a little grocery store. But hidden at the back there’s another room. Crammed with every type of booze. Un smacking my gob takes a while.

After much hesitation, I grab a bottle of mescal. It’s not something you see much of in Amsterdam. I wonder about how I should pay for it, as I don’t have enough pesos. Then I notice that the Mexicans in front of me pay with a combination of pesos and dollars. Seems to be perfectly normal. I do the same.

We’re going to drop by a couple of places in Tijuana. Grant has no satnav, but a brewer has drawn a simple little map. We just need to find a roundabout with a statue of Moctezuma. From there it should be a doddle. As long as we can find Hot Water Boulevard. A plan which seems in a city that finds street signs optional hugely optimistic.

Tijuana is a big city, with a population of well over a million. Amazingly, it works. We find Moctezuma and from there it’s not too difficult. I can't believe it. Hours of hopeful, but ultimately futile, city circling was my expectation.

First off is beer bar BCB. Inside it’s dark, upmarket and with a crowd of staff filling up the space behind the bar. The selection of beer – mostly US and Mexican, but with stuff from all over the world – is impressive. And not too pricey. I’m slightly surprised at Grant’s choice of an Imperial Stout, given that he’s driving.

We only stay for a couple before crossing the road to Verde y Crema, a rather nice restaurant. We sit at the bar and chat with the owner and barman. It has a decent beer selection, mostly fairly local Mexican stuff. I’m rather surprised to see Tennent’s Scotch Ale in the fridge. I didn’t realise they still brewed that.

We don’t eat much. Lunch was too large and too recent for that. But the food is again excellent. It seems Baja California has reinvented itself. Now American tourists, on the hunt for cheap booze, don’t come in the same numbers, the region has concentrated on becoming a culinary destination. Better-off Mexicans from other parts of the country come here for it excellent food and wine. And beer. It’s an eye-opener. Mexico is very different in real life to its image in the media.

Finding the border is a challenge. The signs indicating where it is seem designed to make you drive around in circles. We pass the same roundabouts several times before we finally make it. The queue is like an outdoor market, with people selling everything from hats to hammers. It’s quite late and we don’t need to wait long. Thankfully. I’m feeling pretty tired.

Tomorrow I fly back to San Francisco. But not until the evening, leaving me several hours to full somehow. What could I possibly do?




Cervecería Artesanal Aguamala
México 3
22760 Ensenada, B.C.
Mexico
http://aguamala.com.mx/?lang=en


Wendlandt Cerveceria
Boulevard Costero,
Carretera Federal  1 248,
Zona Centro,
22870 Ensenada, B.C.,
Mexico.
http://wendlandt.com.mx/



Boules
Moctezuma 623,
Ensenada 22800,
Mexico.


BCB Tasting Room
Orizaba 10335,
Neidhart, Centro,
22020 Tijuana, B.C.
Mexico.


Verde y Crema
Orizaba 3034
Col. Neidhart
Tijuana, B.C.
Mexico
http://verdeycrema.com/