One day while driving around in the Great Northwest, we drove down a country road, found a memorable looking mailbox, stashed our weed in the culvert by it, and drove into Canada. That was Vancouver, and I don’t remember anything about it except that the money was different and it was real clean. I have noticed that cities where there is lot of rain or snow tend to look clean. Nature does the dirty work.
Unlike Tijuana. I went there once, or I went through it once later when I was living in the hole under my parent’s house. My mother’s Aunt by this time had made a lot of money selling real estate and she had married into a large Catholic, Italian family though she was neither Catholic nor Italian. So she bought this “house” I guess you would call it on the beach in Ensenada. I say “house” in quotes because it was more like a beach side bunker. Block walls, concrete floors, a bathroom, a kitchen, and some empty rooms.
You could call it a summer home I guess. They locked it all up with padlocks when they weren’t there in the hopes nobody would break in and vandalize when they weren’t there, though there wasn’t a whole lot to vandalize, and there were other places all around my Aunt’s place that looked like they might be better to vandalize than her place.
So once me and my good buddy were invited to tag along with the rest of my Aunt’s clan to one of their weekend outings. I have to say I was impressed by the cheapness of the wine. We found a winery right there and could get decent stuff for 2 dollars a bottle, keeping in mind that my idea of decent stuff was Thunderbird, Ripple, and Red Mountain, by the gallon. But this stuff was real wine with like a cork in it and not a screw off cap. Also the clan bought plenty of beer, though they all had to call it cerveza because they were in Mexico I guess.
This was, to my mind, a pretty strange family weekend. No doubt I was in a bad mood as usual. But the weekend seemed to consist primarily of lying around in the sun and maybe running out into the water for a bit and sleeping either in the concrete house or in the sand and then getting up and starting to drink again. So the recreational goal, if I may call it that, seemed to be to get as blotto as possible for a 48 hour period. If so this was the ideal place for it, since the booze was cheap, and what with no TV there was nothing else to do. Maybe some of my aunt’s stepsons went into TJ to fuck some whores, but that was about it.
So I have been in Canada, Mexico, and the USA. That’s it. I guess I am a pretty provincial, parochial, and totally unsophisticated guy. I am USA all the way. I have thought about going to Europe, but according to my Aunt’s husband who visited there during WWII Europe is a pretty fucked up place.
Eventually, my aunt and her clan stopped going down there because the concrete house was built on sand and eventually the ocean came closer and the house fell into it.