California

When I was 20 years old, I hopped on the San Diego Trolley and headed to the Mexico border. I did not know what to expect. The tracks ended at a concrete wall where we could not traverse any further. When the train stopped, swarms of Hispanic men, women, and children of all ages rushed onto the train. For some reason they looked worried or panicked; I can only speculate as to why.

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Businesses with signs in English and Spanish lined the American side of the border. I saw signs for immigration lawyers, money wires, and bail bonds.

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There was a walking bridge over to the Mexican side so I decided to walk up and over the physical border. It was a massive structure built of concrete and fencing. On top of the bridge I was able to see the real border between the two countries; it was a trench-like snake extending off into the horizon.

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The line of cars trying to enter the United States did not have a visible end. There were no vehicles entering Mexico. I took a picture. An American border patrol agent quickly emerged from some unknown hiding spot, shook his head at me, and directed me to keep moving.

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Later that same day, I took the train back to San Diego.

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An African-American man with dreadlocks who looked to be a little older than I started talking in my direction. He had more shopping bags full of goodies than he could handle.

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I asked him what he did for a living and he responded that he was in the porn business. He then invited me over to his place to “hang out.” No thanks. He would not stop talking about it. I ditched him the first chance I got.

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In 2006, I drove from San Diego to Anza-Borrego Desert State Park. To get there, I drove through higher elevations. It snowed. A sign said “Road Closed” and indicated that only vehicles with chains on their tires were allowed through. I decided to drive through anyways and I did not have any problems. I am from Minnesota and am familiar with winter driving.

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I hiked around awhile and took in the views from Font’s Point overlooking the Borrego Badlands.

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Southern California residents must have learned about the snow in the higher elevations. On my drive back to the city, a traffic jam occurred in the lane opposite. People parked on the sides of the road and shoveled snow into the back of their pickup trucks. They brought the snow back down to their homes, where children ran about outside and participated in snowball fights in the sunny, 70-degree weather. I thought it was humorous but understandable.

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Watching the sunset over the Pacific Ocean is something everyone should experience.