Tijuana has been an infamous party town since, and it has long been a rite of passage for Americans under 21 to head to "La Revo", the long main street, to get royally and legally drunk on cheap beer and margaritas.
The place still feels very seedy, and the smell of cheating hangs heavy in the air. The main street is lined with charmless bars blaring distorted music, and as I walk past one place a bouncer calls out: "Hey, you wanna see some naked bitches?"
Below the bars are rows of souvenir shops selling leather goods, fireworks, badly painted pictures of Bob Marley, cowboy boots and hammocks, all staffed by people who pounce like pumas and try to drag you inside. (My favourite spruiking line: "Come in and buy something you don't need!") The rest is girlie bars with names like Skandalo, internet cafes and places offering "Aztec massage". My Mexican friends were right. It's hellish.
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