Trannies Eat Tacos, Too

Welcome to Tijuana, cabrón, where the zebras are donkeys and trannies eat at taco trucks, too.

I’ve been talking a lot of smack about my hypothetical blog lately. Now, finally, the rubber has hit the road: bienvenidos a Las Fugas. This blog will hopefully give you insight into my work, my experiences, and my life here in Tijuana. As the year unfolds, you’ll get a better idea of what I’m trying to study and accomplish: examining how people create alternative water supply (though water harvesting techniques) in low-income neighborhoods, often called “illegal” or “irregular” settlements.

As a laboratory of urban development, Tijuana blows the mind. It will make your knees knock, this clusterfuck of wealth and poverty. The city is a riot of garage-door shacks, babies wrapped in plastic to keep warm at night, lost tourists, new 2-ton pick-up trucks, posh mini-malls built on old landfills, massive luxury condos climbing the hills. From the border to my house, you will smell at least four different versions of sewage: dried, stormwater-diluted, faint, or fresh & putrid. No doubt, there are contrasts in this city that will stun you.

But despite the Tijuana of media lore, this city is a normal Mexican place. Posh, well-groomed housewives at Starbucks, children in uniforms shuffling to school, parks with tree trunks painted white, old ladies striking market deals over mangoes, men in post-lunch food comas watching telenovelas on the comedor’s TV. Quinceñera dress shops. Cafes serving organic coffee. Christian bookstores. Costco. Streets filled with people living out their everyday lives, moved by an extraordinary sense of hope and a bit of thick skin. I think you’ll like it.