Al otro lado

We’re now 33,000 feet above the flyover states, finally having departed San Diego with a late night/early morning arrival imminent at JFK in New York. Ruminating upon our excellent stay in the San Diego area, there are memories of the usual, almost cliché, things to do there. Yes, we went to the zoo, and we now know why it’s considered one of the best in the world; our youngest son, James, has a strong interest in zoology and it validated his desire to spend the day there. Yes, we went to the beaches – oh gosh, there are so many great beaches in the San Diego area: La Jolla, perhaps the prettiest shoreline area you’ll find anywhere; Pacific Beach and Mission Beach, where families flocked for the waves and the boardwalk attractions; Torrey Pines, where this summer my son Joey often ended his post-work, weeknight runs on a hilltop overlooking the beach, watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. We never made it to Coronado, which everyone said was a must-see, but there were only so many hours in the day.

One non-touristy spot we visited -- at the insistence of our son Joey, who has a fascination with borders – was Friendship Park, which is located on the border of the United States and Mexico near Tijuana. For a nominal $5 car fee, we drove to a mostly deserted beach that was equally beautiful to the other San Diego area beaches. Imperial Beach was right on the border; there were two border walls, one on the U.S. side and one on the Mexico side (yes, there’s WALL on this Border). On the Mexico side, in Tijuana, the beach was jammed with beachgoers -- colorful beach umbrellas, music, food, etc. On the U.S. side … mostly desolate, we had the place to ourselves! James and I played catch for a while, and we all dipped our feet in the warm Pacific water, and we vowed to return on Sunday, when there was a four-hour period (10 a.m. to 2 p.m.) in which the border patrol allowed limited visits to the tightly guarded wall, where you could speak to folks on the Tijuana side. My wife referred to this at first as “sad” and then “surreal” as she grappled with the words to match the odd emotions we felt at the scene. Families spoke from either side of the wall and it had the feel of visitation hours. We tentatively walked to the wall and peeked al otro lado (to the other side). Joey, who is somewhat fluent in Spanish, soon struck up a conversation with a Mexican gentleman named Hector, who comes to the wall each Sunday to practice his English with English speaking folks. Joey and Hector talked for quite a while, maybe 20 minutes. It was a pleasant, cordial conversation. He spoke of his life in Mexico; Joey told him that we were from Nueva York and that he was here for the summer. Everyone in the park was watched closely by the US Border Patrol, but it was a relaxed atmosphere.

We walked away from the late morning at the aptly named Friendship Park with an odd feeling. There is so much yelling and screaming about immigration and border walls and such these days. The subject is far too complicated and divisive to discuss on a simple blog like this. Our family left with the notion that there are real people on the other side, with real lives and real connections to “this” side. We felt there was friendship at Friendship Park, on both sides.