The Return of the Monger

It's been six months since my last trip to the airport, six months since my last sensory overload that has come to mean Tijuana to me.

Those months, while short by many standards, have been a critical time in my life, a time when much of the structure of my life has been brought into question. Much of the framework by which we define ourselves has been examined, probed and tested, some key assumptions modified, others discarded entirely. To say that this time was stressful would be something of an understatement. Early on in this process, my quick and facile conclusion that my current angst was a direct result of my first, and more critically, my second trip to Tijuana had to be repeatedly reexamined, modified and eventually rejected. To lay the blame, (if blame were to be assigned), for my current situation at the feet of a single encounter or individual was avoiding the truth, the causes were many, solutions few.

But one result of such scouring self examination was the realization that for now, at least in the near term, turning my back on the zona and all it represented was not something I was prepared to do. I had to return, it wasn't possible for me to ignore what had happened to me in the past or what could happen to me in the future.

With much discussion, at times heated always painful, an agreement was reached that allowed some independent travel this year. Due to some fortuitous conference scheduling and some very fancy footwork on my part the first such trip would be back to the location that had been occupying so large a part of my thoughts, Tijuana. This time for two consecutive weekends.

Once I began to seriously plan my return, I was forced to confront what it was exactly I hoped to accomplish with the opportunity. My last trip had caused such a high degree of pleasure/pain that a return trip had some serious potential implications for my future. Chief among those issues I had to confront was of course Lirica, who unbeknownst to her, had acted as the catalyst of this whole process I had been through in the last six months. What exactly was I seeking there?

I have yet to come to terms with my feelings towards Lirica, and even now have no idea how to do it. I'm not sure if it's a good idea to see her again, knowing full well it will be impossible to walk into Adelitas and not make an immediate and thorough search for her. But by all accounts I'll be spared having to confront my feelings on this score, Lirica, I have received word from multiple sources, had gone, leaving shortly after my trip last fall, and had not returned. So regret and relief in equal measures colored my anticipation for my return to the Zona, my third and potentially final trip to Tijuana.

My flight arrives in San Diego without incident, although to my attenuated sense of time it seems to be an eternity from my East Coast departure to my exit from the baggage claim bags in hand.

I'm lucky enough to be met by a friend and spend a couple of very enjoyable hours swapping zona war stories over lunch. But as time passes, no matter how pleasant the company I start to feel increasingly ill at ease, anxious and want to complete my journey southward, to relieve that growing sense of anticipation that has now built to a fever pitch.

Much to my relief, my friend, well aware of my agenda takes mercy on me. We wrap up lunch and he takes me to the border, dropping me a few short feet from the yellow line, that line that represents in my mind the actual start of my adventure. And although I try to escape his presence with all the alacrity of a POW escaping a Stalag, he is kind enough to volunteer to pick me up Sunday morning for my return to the airport. I distractedly say "Sure, sure, that would be great", while thinking, I have to get out of here before I burst. For today is Thursday, and Sunday is a monger's lifetime away and planning beyond the next few hours is as an abstract a concept as planning for the eventual nova of the sun. With abruptness that borders on rudeness I finally break away. I'm free I'm across the border and accelerating towards the cab stand, my hotel and the zona lie ahead.

At last working my way through the slow and frustrating process of checking in, (I'm happy to report that the Villa de Zaragosa has maintained it usual and now expected efficiency at loosing reservations), I no sooner drop my bags on the bed when I hear a knock on the door, and turning see a familiar and welcome sight out of the window.

Ben, a fellow board member who had pity on me last year and showed me some of his favorite spots had,as promised, returned and had already started to party with Jocannon, at one of those clubs that all but the most adventuresome pass on. This type of club has become something of a Ben trademark and today's selection starts off at the Isis, a club that even for him is hmmm, quite adventuresome. Meeting Jocannon in person for the first time, I see that he and Ben have been on many such forays and are quite unfazed by amount of hmmm, ambiance these places generate. Actually given different circumstances I could see myself spending a good bit of time in such places, for although the ummmm, "sweet young" ladies my not be up to Chicago standards, in many ways they make up for the those deficiencies with enthusiasm. And the lighting being of an appropriate wattage that if you squint hard enough they actually look quite nice. Of course being introduced as a famous author doesn't hurt, the attention generated after Ben introduces me as such providing much amusement for both him and Jocannon. While attempting to fend off some of the uhh, larger fans of literature I notice Ben has moved off from our group and is apparently standing by a booth, staring at the wall. Initially thinking he is talking to someone in the booth, I pay him little attention, I have my hands full, in more ways than one. But as I glance back, I cannot see anyone in the both, even in the dim light of the bar, it's apparent that Ben is staring at a blank wall. Staring at a blank wall? Fending off yet another literary groupie, ben now has my full attention, What the hell is he doing? I lean forward, in able to get a better view of the booth, my god, now I see a black haired head just clearing the table top bobbing up and down and a beatific smile on ben's face. Welcome to Tijuana. Ben does eventually return from his excursion, and we prepare to leave. As we make our way towards the door yet one more fan can't resist grappling me into a lip lock. Its not until we are heading down Revolution that a thought occurs to me and I prey that she wasn't ben's favorita that gave me that last farewell tonsil check.

It's getting dark, and I still haven't made it to my intended target, but at least I'm heading in the right direction. Ben and jocannon debate the relative merits of various haunts, ticking off who was likely to be in each and whether or not it was wise given various scenarios to enter each. Eventually settling on Peanuts and Beer (I almost cry in pain, I'm so close now to the zona I can almost smell it). Some very nice eye candy I must admit, but having come three thousand miles, eye candy is just not filling enough and I am in desperate need of something more. One beer, no, actually two, since one of the two get so excited over the floor show that they manage to knock over everything on the table (never could get one of them to own up to it) and a lapdance set later and I gotta leave. Both guys by this time have their own agendas they want to pursue so my absence will be hardly missed. I make my goodbyes and finally head to the zona, leaving skid marks down Revolution on my way.

OK. I read part one all the way through. Some of the key phrases from Bill’s report so far, along with some smart-ass comments by yours truly:

“examined, probed and tested”
Sheesh. Now just exactly whose framework were you evaluating? Your own? I thought the whole idea was to evaluate the chicas’ framework.

“scouring self examination”
Sheesh, again. Gotta be careful with all that self-scouring.

“a high degree of pleasure/pain”
Man, you must be scouring hard!!!

“complete my journey southward”
Bill, feeennnish your journey southward!!! Lets get on with the mongering!!!

“famous author”
Famous author?! OK, Mr. Cunning Linguist, lets see if the sequel measures up.

But seriously, ladies and germs, it is pretty cool to see that Bill’s Long Strange Trip sequel (LST2) is finally here!