The Wrong Question

When we first arrived in Tijuana and I had no yard to send the boys to, I asked everyone I met if there were any safe parks I could take my kids to. I always got the same answer.

"Yes. Go to San Diego."

Now, I don't know about anyone else, but an hour spent crossing the border so the boys can throw a ball or run around was not exactly what I had in mind. Now don't get me wrong. We do go to San Diego-- a lot. But there are just some days that I don't feel like the hassle and time it takes to cross an international border twice in one day. Sometimes it is easy and takes as little as 15 minutes of waiting in line. Other days, just getting back into Mexico can take over an hour. These are the days that I usually see U.S. Customs and Border Patrol (CBP) officers chasing people on foot.

But back to my point. So I kept asking to no avail for a park in Tijuana. And I kept getting told no parks. And I would smile and try not to show my disappointment.

But I was just asking the wrong question. 

For stretching out before me on perhaps the busiest street in Tijuana, shining like a beacon in the night, were the golden arches, the king's crown and the smiling star. And underneath each of those iconic beacons were the biggest, most elaborately designed fast food indoor playgrounds I had ever laid eyes on. 

With open mouths, we beheld the maze of plastic tubing and twisted slides in a rainbow of different colors. I decided right then and there, as I was greeted by the private security guard waiting at the door, that we would manage without a local park. 

So if you're looking for us, we'll be at the playground. I'll be the gringa trying not to eat all the kids' french fries.