In the late 90s, when I was in California, my friend Caroline suggested we walk across the border to Mexico. I loved adventure, but that seemed crazy. And dangerous. Just walk out of the United States and walk around Tijuana?
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she said. Of course, that meant I had to. I knew I would regret not going on this day-long mini-adventure.
So we walked across. You didn’t need a passport then, and it was relatively safe. She said, though, we did have to leave before dark. There was a little stretch of desert where a lone taco stand sold fish tacos. That was another step of faith, eating that little taco. I’d never even had fish tacos, and I had always been suspicious of fish since someone I knew got food poisoning from shrimp in France and didn’t speak the language.
But it was the best taco I’d ever had.
So, we moved on. The day unfurled colorful adventures—the smiling people; bright blankets and pottery; our picture on a donkey pulling a cart; colors everywhere, punctuated with Spanish and the smell of frying meat and cilantro. The sun was blazing, so by the time we got to Tijuana Tilly’s—a restaurant at the end of the street where we walked, I was ready for the chilly interior and food.
My stomach growled as they presented the menu. All of a sudden, I wondered again about the food and had visions of bad shrimp in France, but my preconceived notions were set to rest by Caroline, who had been there countless times. The fajitas were fresh, vegetables and meat and peppered sauces and, curiously, no cheese. This meal beat any Mexican restaurant in the states, hands-down. It was 11 in the morning, but my friend suggested we get bottled beers in lieu of glasses of water. There was adventure, and there was reality.
Soon, it was back to adventure. The sun would be setting soon and we needed to be back through US Customs and in the States. I picked up some pottery and a blanket, wanting to create a little of this fun, beautiful day. The brilliant sights: friendly, grinning people, and the architecture, both gritty and elegant, made me want to paint.
The day was topped off by us getting pulled over by California Highway Patrol—known on TV as CHiPs. The gorgeous patrolman wasn’t wasn’t Ponch or Jon, but he gave us a ticket with a smile. It was a great day—somewhat because it wasn’t my ticket, and mostly because if I hadn’t gone on a scary trip, I wouldn’t have experienced Mexico the first and only time I had been there.
Most of the art on these blogs doesn’t have to do with what I’m writing about, but today, I present ‘Charlotte’, a brachypelma smithi – a Mexican tarantula. She is from the Sierra Madre mountains in Mexico. This painting is sold as an original and prints, and even has some words from Charlotte in the background.
Charlotte, who I photographed at the Philadelphia Museum of Natural Science, is another one of my ‘fearful adventures’. Someday I will hold something like her in my hand. For now, I paint.
There are all kinds of times for adventures. Be sure you have one soon! For an artist, they are important. For all of us, they are essential.
