Book — Confessions of a Tour Guide: Chapter 16 — Reality Show Appearance as Fake Mad Dog Mateo.

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Chapter 16. Reality Show Appearance as Fake Mad Dog Mateo.




I was in a reality show over the weekend.


My tour were British guys following a commercial pilot. I signed a non-disclosure agreement, so I don’t think I am allowed to talk much about this but fuck it.



They were five guys total, don’t remember anyone’s name except Noah, one of the camera guys, and Christian, the star of the show. There was another camera guy, a sound guy with a boom mic, and the director. The pilot and the director were the main show. A clap would initiate the takes.


Some crazy shit I’ve never been part of. Until now.


I talked a lot. I told some of the stories I already wrote here. The South African guys’ story that was the previous chapter and the story about the pilots which was earlier at some point in this stupid shit.


I said shit I might regret. Similar to the shit I’m writing here. 


No ragrets.


Fuck it.


It was a fake tour for a reality show. Fake Tijuana Adventure. Fake Mad Dog Mateo. 


Fake reality show. Nothing new here.


The tour was basic, I didn’t even plan it much. I didn’t think of it. I just improvised like always. 


It started with my basic explanation about the city and why Tijuana exists. We walked to Norte Brewery Co for the sunset views of the city. Here I told the story of the pilots on camera to a reality tv show pilot. I ignored the cameras and just acted natural.


I’m going to hate it once it’s out. 


And people in Tijuana are going to give me so much shit about it.


After Norte, we moved to street tacos. Las Amigas that they never disappoint and it’s an interesting taco stand. I found out that the star of the show was a vegetarian here. Good job telling me about that before rolling cameras… 


All the guys got one taco, but we wanted more food.


We had a second dinner at Cine Tonalá. 


They didn’t want to drink or party for real. More like do it for the cameras and move on.


The meal or drinks didn’t get recorded. It was like a break from work. 


After done with the second dinner, they started recording again. Us exiting the Cine and talking casually about the meal.


From there they had one request. Strip clubs where they could record.


And of course, there is only one shitty strip club that would allow us to do such a thing without a warning. El Zorro. Yes. The same one with the South Africans just from the previous chapter.


I convinced the bouncers and waiters to let us film. We told the girls that they weren’t going to be on camera… and none of them were attractive… 


We ordered a bucket of beers but didn’t drink any. 


I ran to the bathroom quickly, and when I came out, girls were all over the guys. A fight ensued between the producer and the pilot. The pilot went to get a private lap dance. The producer stormed out with the cameras following behind.


It’s a reality show.


That was planned.


After they “reunited” I walked them through Zona Norte and told them they couldn’t film here or to be careful. The camera guys started filming as the “paraditas” or the street prostitutes ran for cover while hiding their faces.


“Están grabando!” I would hear them say to each other and scramble to hide. Never seen that before.


A cop started following us. I told them to ignore it and we kept walking.


But then he blasted his siren and stopped us. I said I would handle and expected the worst. It was the complete opposite. He told us that if we needed anything to let him know or give him a call. He was super excited to see the cameras and told us to record whatever we wanted. It seemed like he wanted to be on the show. So the crew kept filming. They were live bandas being fucking loud and they filmed that. 


It might be some of the best recordings of Zona Norte and it was only 9 pm. And now I know, if you enter Zona Norte with a bunch of gear, the cops are fine with it, the prostitutes are the ones that hide and hate it. 


And then it was over. Walked back to the border.


I offered them more places to visit and drink. Nope. They were done. The job was done. Short fake Tijuana Adventure. I got paid. Signed the contract. And took them to the border.


I wonder what will happen next with them. I wonder how the show turns out. They don’t really even know where it’s going to appear. Or maybe they did and they just didn’t want to tell them. Netflix maybe? YouTube? Maybe only in Europe? 


Oh shit. I just googled it and it has an IMDB. 


“A documentary filmmaker follows his best friend, a Windowed airline pilot, around the world as he looks for a new love, via the TINDER Passport dating app.”


We did talk about Tinder and Bumble. So the premise they told me is real. No Tinder girls were met. 




After more research… I’ve been duped.


The “pilot” was, in fact, the producer that I was in contact with.


I’ve been googling these guys… They told me the producer stayed back in LA setting up the next appointment. Nope. The producer was the main star the whole time. And obviously, his name wasn’t Christian.


Holy fuck.


Nice one.


Nice fucking one.


I should have googled these fuckers a bit more before I actually took them on a tour. They have two movies, one out with a bad rating and the other still in production. And now their new show. 


Oh fuck.


What’s going to happen to my appearance….


I might get heavily edited or cut. This show might not even be aired. But… oh well.


Shit is done. I made some money. Tour is over. 


I have more tours coming up. A lot of people have been hiring me to film around Tijuana. Might as well change what my tours are about and help filmmakers and journalists. They seem to have enough money to pay me.

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Book — Confessions of a Tour Guide: Chapter 15 — Mad Dog Mateo And Crazy South Africans

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Chapter 15. Mad Dog Mateo And Crazy South Africans


I have a tour the day after tomorrow. A British film crew is coming over to shoot a documentary that follows a commercial pilot. Five guys total, the pilot, the director, two cameras, and the sound guy. It should be interesting.


I have some work tomorrow. Shooting a new rugby team in San Diego. It’s supposed to rain. It should be interesting.


Interesting. That’s what my life aspires to be. I should travel more instead of just receiving travelers here. Spend 6 months in a different city for the rest of my life. Writing 1,000 words or more a day in my experience in that place. 


Professional traveler. The dream job.


I’m stuck in Tijuana for now.


I can’t afford to travel now. Can’t afford much. Saving up to get a car. I haven’t owned a car since I moved to Tijuana. Now I need one.




A lot of interesting tours have happened.


One of the stories that I tell a lot is one that I barely recall.


Bachelor parties sort of mixed into one gigantic story. 


Then there are other special events that are not bachelor parties.


That one boring tour I had with a beautiful Australian couple. They were vegan and they arrived in Tijuana before noon. That tour was forgettable. The couple was gorgeous (both models), but no personality. That tour was one of the tamest most boring tours.


I had different Aussies as well. Three friends that were friends of the wife of a great friend of mine. Yep. Friends of friends of friends.


The three of them were on the chubbier side. One was ginger with long hair and beard, the other had salt and pepper hair and was a comedian who Playboy retweeted often, and the other was a chubby bald DJ.


All of them were hilarious.


I stayed with them for a couple days. The first night in Hong Kong, the comedian and the DJ started fighting. Ginger ignored them and suddenly he had a beautiful girl on his lap. The girl told him he loved gingers. The guy didn’t believe her but did buy her a couple of drinks that night. Nothing happened.


Next night, a similar story. Went out for food, tacos, drinks, and more. And ended up again in Hong Kong. Comedian and DJ started arguing again, and suddenly the Ginger disappeared with the same girl he chatted the previous night. 


We didn’t even notice.


Apparently, the girl recognized him from afar and they disappeared together.


That feels like it was many years ago. The guys loved Kokopelli tacos. They wanted to open a franchise in Melbourne because they swore it would be a total hit.


They promised to come back.


They haven’t.


I haven’t seen my friend or his wife in a couple years. I’ve been planning to visit them. It’s only LA. But I am stuck in Tijuana.




The story I tell a lot it’s the one with the South Africans.


South Africans have broken the record of alcohol and food consumed in two days.


I forgot how they contacted me, but I remember when we met.


They booked Hotel Ticuan for the night. I met them in the lobby. Two best friends in their mid-40s. Both plenty rich, one fucker had a house and business in Malta. Both had their own businesses in South Africa. Both married with children. 


And every year, they take two weeks and party the fuck out in Vegas. They just spend thousands of dollars partying. Just the two of them. Their two weeks of fuck everything, we are just going to do whatever the fuck we want.


That year, they found me and Tijuana.


They loved that I knew who Die Antwoord. And that I obviously knew District 9. I fucking love that movie.


I lived in LA when they install them fake benches announcing District 9. They didn’t look like movie posters. Just said that aliens aren’t allowed to sit on the bus benches, humans only. They were awesome. 


We got beers in the lobby’s bar. Three each to be exact. In less than 20 minutes. Before 4 pm.


We got the check. $9 dollars in total.


They thought it was $9 per beer.


Nope. I informed them that beers are a dollar each in Ticuan. The hotel is owned by the same owners that have multiple bars and hotels. Beers are less than a dollar at most of their establishments.


South Africans started laughing. They couldn’t believe such a nice hotel would be selling beers for a fucking dollar.


They dropped a $20 and we left the hotel.


Tour was typical. Food. Craft beers. Drinks. And then strip clubs.


Before going to the best strip clubs, they requested a shitty one. Just as a warm-up.

And I knew exactly where.


El Zorro Bar. “Well… cum… to Tijuana! Exxxotic girls!!!”


That’s what the cheap sign on the front of that shit bar reads. It’s next to one of my all-time favorite bars here. Nelson Bar. You’ll find me there constantly. Or maybe not by the time you read this. Probably not. 


Who the fuck is reading this?


Maybe once I’m dead.


We went to Nelson before going to El Zorro.


And here is something I found out about myself. Don Julio tequila makes me black the fuck out.


That’s why I say I don’t really remember what happened… Just little flashes… of debauchery.


We took two shots of Don Julio each. Again, guys were rich, so they were just throwing money with no regard. They were used to Vegas. Tijuana was nothing.


I woke up the next morning to find my wallet, my phone, and a crisp $100 bill on my desk. The very same desk I’m typing this crap right now. I barely had a memory of what happened the previous night.


I seriously checked my butthole.


Why would I have an extra $100? 


Nope. Butthole was safe.


Checked my Uber history. Saw that I got an Uber before FUCKING midnight from Hotel Ticuan to my house. 


I didn’t even fucking lasted till midnight.


I called the guys asking them if they were alright and confessing I had no idea what happened the previous night…


I was so fucking hungover and confused.


They told me not to worry, that I was a great host.


I told them I was going to cure my hangover at Telefonica Gastro Park, the trendy food truck location that opened in Tijuana in 2015 and has grown since. Featured in the New York Times and shit. 


That place.


Before it was huge. But still pretty popular.


Especially for a Saturday at around noon.

They met me there.


And yes. I’m listening to Die Antwoord while I’m writing this crap.



Mad Dog Mateo!


That’s the nickname they gave me.


Mad fucking Dog Mateo.


Pachangas Matt and Mad Dog Mateo.


Those days are behind me… I think.


Saturday morning. Well… morning for hungover people. Brunch time.


South Africans order food from a lot of food trucks. And then we hit the bar. Too early for craft beer. So we got caguamones.




Shots of fucking mezcal.


We stayed there eating and drinking for three hours. Wasted before 3 pm. 


Those guys could fucking drink.


We were being obnoxious and they were telling me all that we did the previous night… at a family-friendly place.


All three at some point had two girls on top of us. I can’t even imagine how much money we spent. 


It was way before 3 pm and I saw them spend around $200 on drinks and food….


The waitress would bring us shots of mezcal, they would pound it, and ask for the next round before the waitress was even done serving them. We finished a bottle and a half from that bar that day. 


Drunk and obnoxious telling stories of prostitutes, strippers, and debauchery surrounded by families. At least it was all in some weird English that I’m hoping not that many people could understand. But we were still fucking loud and drunk very fucking early. 


By 5pm, one of the guys requested cocaine. So here I go to call my guy. Obviously, he took hours to get to me. But there. $50 worth of cocaine. That’s shit tons of cocaine.


Oh fuck. I haven’t even explained how I met my coke dealer.


It was at a poker game with my weed dealer. 


I was winning. He provided coke. He got irritated when I was clearing the table. The bets weren’t much money. So I let him win a couple times. Then he became my contact for cocaine. And he has the best cocaine I ever had.


Disclaimer… haven’t seen this dude in years.


The Korean tacos were still around back then. We had some of that shit. 


And then… they wanted to go back to El Zorro.


We virtually repeated the previous night.


I told them that Don Julio was probably the reason I blacked out.


So we had Don Julio shots again. 


I became friends with the manager of that shit strip club that night. He told me that he has never seen that much money spent in his shitty club. And that they keep bringing me girls or drinks and I kept just saying no with my hand. One older woman stayed on my lap for the most time. 


The South Africans were doing drugs, whores, and drinking like crazy.


Keep in mind this shitty strip club only has five or six girls working at the time. The place is a shithole. The private rooms are little improvised cubicles. The wall where the shitty tiny stage is located has broken mirrors in a horrible fashion. Like they tried to do something creative but executed horribly. 


It’s a shit strip club. But it’s also anarchy.


The beers are cheap for a place with naked women.


The women are cheap. And you can see the battle-scars. And one of them is obviously a transsexual.


But that’s what they loved.


They loved how nitty-gritty it fucking was.


They also loved Hong Kong and Adelitas. But they said it didn’t feel real. And they were too big. Too many girls.


At shitty El Zorro, it was as if they owned the place. And for the hours that we were there, we basically did own the place. That place can’t be worth much. 


Those two nights those fuckers probably spend over a thousand dollars each.


Definitely more.


And I got paid $300 for two nights of partying with crazy South Africans.


I blacked out both nights.


Now when I walked by El Zorro, the manager likes to tease me with what happened that night.


I am pretty sure I recognize the older prostitute that I had in my lap most of the time. I am pretty sure she doesn’t recognize or remember me. I still see her from time to time on my way to Nelson.

Can you imagine the stories that a 40-year-old prostitute can tell? 


I don’t really want to know.


I live too close to all the debauchery.


And I’m obviously desensitized to all that shit. 


Like most of the people that come on a tour with me, they promised to come back. They said they had forgotten about Vegas after experiencing Tijuana.


I haven’t heard back from them since those two crazy wild nights.


I wouldn’t mind going full Mad Dog Mateo again. As long as I’m getting paid for it…

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Book — Confessions of a Tour Guide: Chapter 14 — Pachangas Matt, Drugs, Rumble Fest, Donkey Show, Bands, and Party.

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Chapter 14. Pachangas Matt, Drugs, Rumble Fest, Donkey Show, Bands, and Party.


A blog post about my life 2 years ago show me that I was very sick in February, I was broke, and my life sucked. That blog post also contained pictures of Mila Kunis that I took 10 years ago.

But two years ago, I was a party animal.


Pachangas Matt.


I’m sort of a professional alcoholic now. I don’t really drink in moderation but it’s really hard to get me drunk.


My roommate said he never saw me drunk. My ex-girlfriend saw me real drunk probably twice, but she also said she never saw me drunk.


Besides that… I drink, I get tired. I go to bed.


I don’t know how other alcoholics can do it. I’m not capable of drinking and staying awake. At some point, I’m just done. 


Pachangas Matt lasted a bit until dawn.


Drug infused Danger Dave lasted for days. Cocaine is a hell of a drug.


And in Tijuana, cocaine is usually not the purest…


Chad was fueled by caguamas back then. He could last until noon or later just drinking caguamas and talking to everyone. His Spanish improved after three or more caguamas. 


Spanglish ruled supreme. 



I often had to drag Chad back to the apartment or leave him behind because I was fucking going to bed. 


The sun rising felt like an indication that it was bedtime.


Some bars never close in Tijuana.


I haven’t been in any past midnight in a while.


It used to be an every night thing.


$100 a week is all you need to live off caguamas and street tacos. 


Making US dollars and living in Mexico can be very cheap.


Rent was $340 a month (split into two).  Expenses were minimal. That’s a couple days of work. Or just one. It depends.


There’s a lot of time to be spent drinking caguamas. It was a full year of doing it. I still do it now.


The average caguama in a dive bar goes for $2-4, they are $2 in the store, so bars virtually sell caguamas for the same price. 


I don’t want to do the math, but that’s a lot of caguamas a week for just $100. 


Tacos are just $1.


You get it.


Your money is worth a lot more.


That’s why thousands of people do it. Cross the border, work for a couple of days a week, live in Tijuana like a king.


Two workdays, five rest days. Caguamas and tacos.


After many caguamas as the three amigos, we came up with the idea of Fist Fest.




That was wrong.


Fist Fest turns out to be a festival of men fisting each other.


That wasn’t it.


Yep. Just googled it. Still is that shit.


“Fist Fest® is most likely the longest running men’s fisting weekend in the world. Established in 1997,Fist Fest® came under our stewardship in 2011. We are thrilled to be able to continue and grow this event. We currently produce four annual weekends.”

Rumble Fest.


Let the rumble fest shit begin.


Rumble Fest was the attempt of an impossible idea. The perfect and cheapest music festival uniting Baja California and California under one abandoned factory. 28 bands. Live art. Cheap beer. Lots of drugs.


$2 entrance.


And people fucking didn’t even pay.


We lost a lot of money that night.


A lot of money for our standards. I lost close to $1,000. 


There was more money lost.


Hah. I just realized I’m wearing the rumble fest t-shirt.


I spent $300+ on t-shirts that didn’t sell.


By the end of the festival, I was begging people to buy one so I can recoup some money.


It was the most stupidest fucking thing I have ever attempted. 


That shit snowballed out of control quickly.


We had the idea in early March and started printing the first posters when we found the location of an abandoned factory owned by a gym that Danger Dave frequented. The gym became partners. That’s why the name of the festival had to have something aggressive. Like fist.


Except not that.


Tijuana Rumble Fest.


Shit tons of bands.


More than half drop from the first poster. Second poster. More bands from LA. More Hype. New graphic designer who I never paid. Sorry, Zuko. 


100 Fucking ONCES.


That was one of the things I cared about the most. That band fucking ruled. Too bad they are not together anymore.

And my band.




Or Donkey Show.


Pretending to be a rockstar playing shitty math rock for bands from LA that are barely known.


100 Onces got big for a bit. Not big big. Just big in the math-rock circles. 


Music. I miss it.


Before Rumble Fest.


Three months of previous shows. Getting drunk as fuck. Cocaine seemed to be everywhere.


Fucking cocaine.


Never liked that drug until the year of the Rumble Fest. 


There was also a lot of acid…


And a lot of ecstasy.


And there might have been some meth.


I haven’t done any drugs for more than 2 years ago.


You only YOLO once.



Book — Confessions of a Tour Guide: Chapter 4 — Diaries of a Dirty Old Man.

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Chapter 4. Diaries of a Dirty Old Man.


This is starting to sound like the stereotypical dirty Tijuana diary. Yes. I’m going to write more about hoes.


Oh shit! My editor just emailed me that he accepted a story. He says, “it’s good-ish, but not great.”


Still got accepted. Still, I got paid. But I know exactly what he meant. That’s exactly how I felt about that story.


Hoes. I feel dirty calling them that. And very misogynistic. Prostitutes sound worse. Bitches sound like fun. Bitches and hoes.


There are a lot in Tijuana. All kinds.


I haven’t visited those places in almost a year. 



For this story, I was still a Zona Norte rookie. I sort of understood the complexities of it but also didn’t know much outside Adelitas Bar and Hong Kong.


I still lived in LA.


I still acted as a tour guide despite not knowing the city.


And it’s another adventure again with friends of friends of my brother.





I believe this happened with Andy and Spencer. They had a band back in the day called HFICLSI (pronounced haifa-colasai). I still have that album. I still enjoy that album. It’s a wreckless dirty attempt at mathy post-hardcore a la The Blood Brothers. A lot of jerky guitar riffs, heavy drumming, and crazy yelping. I’m playing it on iTunes right now. 




I was out with those kids in Tijuana. I hung out with them a lot in San Diego before, so again, I don’t remember how things started, I just know we ended up in Zona Norte.


Fuck this story for just a while. I need to make myself breakfast and think about what I’m going to reply to my editor. 


I woke up really hungover today and had nothing to do. I decided to write this chapter since I already have it written in my head. It’s not going like it should. Breakfast and actual work. Then back to this.


That was a series of unexpected emails and events when I was just trying to describe one night many nights ago in Tijuana. Last night. Last night was great. Craft beer is nice and cheap. 


Back then, craft beer didn’t exist in Tijuana. It feels like forever ago, it was just 8 years ago, late 2010.

I went out with Andy and Spencer, probably to a show, or something similar in Tijuana. After that, we decided to venture into Zona Norte with little money.


We started at Adelitas Bar which is way more calm of a strip club than Hong Kong and I sort of prefer that. 


We went straight to an empty table at the left of the entrance. Naked girl dancing on stage. Naked women everywhere. And one of them was basically on our table.


It was some sort of booth-type table and the girl’s ass was literally hovering over my right shoulder facing the other way, sitting on the booth part. I looked at the guys like “heyyyy check it out, naked ass right here.”


The girl saw me checking her out and immediately jumped on my lap.


Yep. Had to buy her a drink.


She said I looked like a stoner. I admitted that I was. I told her that I had some California kush better than anything she’ll find in Tijuana and we started talking about that.


She gestured for her friend to come over. The girl sat between both my friends but it was somewhat awkward and they weren’t feeling her style. I stayed talking to that girl who didn’t move from my lap. The guys wanted out. I told them to hold on.


Another beer.


The girls told us that it was their time to dance. They got up and went to the dressing room. Before that, the girl I was with told me that she was going to give me her Facebook name and phone number. 


The guys wanted out again. I told them I’ll meet them in Hong Kong. 


I waited alone while I saw the two girls dance in the general stage. I threw a couple dollars their way.


Then they went back to the dressing room.


And I waited. 


And waited.


To the point I was like, fuck this, she’s not going to come out and give me her Facebook. I got up to leave.


I saw her rushing from the back, she grabbed me by the hand and pulled me back into the club before I could exit. Then she had me walk with her. She told me the club frowns upon the girls giving their numbers away and sneakily gave me a piece of paper to open later.



I left Adelita Bar with her Facebook and phone number.


Her Facebook name was something along the lines of “psycho NAME chick.” 


I added her later that night. And this story does not end in this chapter.


Went to find the guys in Hong Kong. I was done for the night. I was running out of money and I was already happy with a new contact that I made. And I showed off the contact as if I had struck gold. A hooker’s phone number. How fun. She wanted to smoke and drink with me, and not in a bar. Or so I thought.


They were also running out of money but wanted more and more. We stayed for a couple of beers. They bought a girl a drink.


… not really a girl.


More like an older woman.


She was by far one of the least attractive woman in the whole club. But apparently, affordable.


Because the guys bought her just a couple of drinks and them horny fucks were all over the girl. Like both. Together. Just grabbing her here and there. Andy was trying to kiss her. She was not allowing him. But touching her anywhere was fine. And they kept doing it.


It was… gross.


And at the same time hilarious.


I tried to look away.


But if your vision wanders in places like this, you’ll end up locking eyes with a girl, she’ll end up in your lap again.


It’s impossible to look away in these places.


I’ve tried staring at the TV to distract myself.


Impossible. Eventually, titties or asses will block your view.


I’m pretty sure the TVs are there just for that. To look at something when you are not trying to get a girl. But they don’t work. 



The guys ran out of money. The ugly older woman got up and left. I told them it was time to call it a night. And so we did.


Out of money. Out of luck. Done. 



The rest of the story of the psycho chick comes later.


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Book — Confessions of a Tour Guide: Chapter 3 — Shaun and Mike

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Chapter 3. Shaun and Mike.


Disclaimer. Those aren’t their real names. I don’t remember their real names. I don’t really remember how I met them. They were friends of friends of my brother’s friends… Something like that.

Let’s just call them Shaun and Mike. They looked like a Shaun and a Mike. Two white dudes. Both certified pilots out of work. One lived in Hawaii, the other in San Francisco or somewhere in the area. Because of pilot bullshit, they weren’t allowed to smoke weed. So they were smoking K-2 incense crap.

Mike was a short guy typical surfer dude who looked mega stoned all the time and said funny shit, sort of like like Adam DeVine from Workaholics. Shaun was taller and a bit more serious, very more pilot looking than Mike, somewhat like Michael Fassbender. 



This was early 2010. I didn’t live in Tijuana. I lived in LA. This was one of my first experiences in Tijuana with two strangers and me acting as a guide though I didn’t know the city at all. Crazy shit happened.

Shaun and Mike took me surfing for the first time in my life. We went somewhere south of Rosarito to a completely empty beach where we paid $5 to park, used their restrooms, and basically enjoy the beach. 


We smoked tons of that K-2 bullshit.


It would have been way dumb to go. But nothing happened. I didn’t catch one single wave while Mike caught several and Shaun did his best (didn’t do that good either). 


It was a great experience. I fucking loved it. 

Fast forward a bit. I started surfing every day that year in Los Angeles.


Fast forward to now. I haven’t surfed in years and a lesbian stole my surfboard (and my skateboard, my wetsuit, and my favorite scarf).

Rewind again.

After surfing, we returned to my brother’s house. He was living by himself in the same house he lives now, except it was a very run-down house back then. My brother was practically new to Tijuana as well. The place barely had any furniture and the carpet was old and dirty. 


Again, not sure who these guys were or how they related to my brother, but they were staying there. Friends of friends of friends passing out on unknown floors.

I lived in a fantasy apartment complex in Los Angeles in a place called Mariners Village (south of Venice in Marina del Rey). The place had small streams and ponds, Koi fish and turtles right under my balcony, four pools, four tennis courts, two hot tubs, a gym, a Starbucks, library, common areas, and much more. 

The complex was fantastic, but I shared a three-bedroom with two roommates (who were cool, but the apartment itself wasn’t huge). It was over 3k, so split into three we were paying just over 1k to live in that crazy complex. It was worth it. I’m pretty sure they are more expensive now.

So naturally, my brother didn’t mind switching apartments with me. That was one of those times. My brother and his girlfriend (now wife) went to stay at my apartment. I stayed with Shaun and Mike in Tijuana.


Back then, Tijuana was trying to implement the rule that all bars close at 2:00 a.m.


It was weird and it only lasted a couple of months. But for those couple of months, they were adamant at everything closing exactly at 2:00 a.m.


I’m sure there were many after parties and whatnot. But I was new in the city and I didn’t know anyone.

I don’t remember how the night started. Probably with something basic in Calle Sexta. Both Shaun and Mike wanted to hit on Mexican girls, but their attempts were not very good. I have a small memory of Shaun getting rejected in La Estrella that pops into mind. But that’s not what is important in this story.


All I remember was that I was excited to go to Zona Norte and guide them with my little knowledge of the place.


Back to Hong Kong. To the wonder emporium sex palace of depravity. 


Nervous as fuck. Even nowadays that I’m used to the area. I get nervous as fuck when stepping in the timeless wormhole.


As soon as we walked in, Mike disappeared. Like an expert in brothels, he went around doing his thing. I stayed back with Shaun and hung out buying girls drinks having fun here and there.

After a couple of beers, Mike returned. He had already been with a girl and wanted to go get another. Shaun said it was his turn and for Mike to have a beer with me.


Shaun took the girl he was with up to the hotel.


Mike stayed for almost no time before he was up again wandering the brothel for another girl.


I was by myself.

Not only was I by myself… I suddenly had horrible diarrhea.


And I also felt responsible for the guys. 


Fuckers don’t speak any Spanish, but I guess they were adults responsible for their shit.


I stayed waiting for them. Got another beer. An older woman kept looking at me.


She grabbed my ass when I walked in front of her.


“Vamos güerito, buy her a drink already,” said her friend.


Fuck it. Might as well.


Her super stupid fake name was Kristofera. She had been working there for a couple of years. She was much older than me and had an insanely fake body. Fake nose. Fake tits. Fake ass. As fake as it could be. The opposite of what I’m usually attracted, but she was completely naked wearing only fishnets.   


She told me stories about the place while trying to convince me to go up to the hotel with her. I’m proud to say my will is still strong when it comes to this shit. I still refuse. Paying for sex is weird.


But I still asked how much.




HAH! No. I’ll buy you another drink instead.


Another beer.






I refuse again.


“$20, just because I like you,” she says. “Plus the cost of the hotel.”


My stomach was churning.


I was in pain.


Mike and Shaun were nowhere to be found. 


I confessed.


I wanted to go up to the hotel. Not for the reasons she thought. But because I wanted a private bathroom for myself. It was that bad.


And yes, they have nice bathrooms in Hong Kong, but this was bad. And I’m stupid when it comes to taking a shit in public restrooms. I prefer the comfort of my own.


I asked Kristofera what way to the hotel. She guided me and left her before she put on her bathrobe. Told her to wait for me.


I paid $12 for 30 minutes in a sex hotel just to take a comfortable shit.


The hotel was under construction so it was a weird walk to the room and I could hear fucking in all the rooms.


There was porn on TV as soon as I walked in.


Ran to the bathroom. Did my things. Took a long warm shower. Cooled my head down. 


And headed back out. To search for Mike and Shaun.


I didn’t find them.


I found Kristofera again.


She made fun of my situation. Called me strange several times.


We got along. She tried to help me look for Mike and Shaun.


So I bought her more drinks (and gave her a $20 tip). 


2:00 a.m. hit. 


Everyone was getting kicked out of the bars. I said bye and thanks to Kristofera. 


And I ended up adding her on Facebook. I still have her to this day. 


Her name is not Kristofera. It’s something very common. And yes. She is old with a very fake body. The lights at Hong Kong and booze does wonders to the imagination.


She’s still cool. Last time I talked to her she was still working in the area. I saw her a couple times after… Always bought her a drink and talked to her a bit. She stopped trying to get me to the rooms after that one time. 

The streets were a mess. Crazy amounts of people just wandering Tijuana past 2:00 a.m. searching for anything that is open, but nothing is except 24 hour farmacias


Shaun and Mike were nowhere to be found. I walked around for several minutes looking for them.


I was tired. I was ready to give up and go home. They can figure out what to do. They are adults. They can stay at a hotel.


And then… I fucking finally found them. Both of them together. 


Yep. They did their thing. They got kicked out 2:00 a.m. as well. They miraculously found each other and then found me.


The night didn’t end there.


Everything was closed, and Mike still insisted that he wanted to get with a Mexican chick. Not with a prostitute, but a real one. But still offering money. Makes no sense to me, but fuck it.


He ended up chatting with two short stocky girls that weren’t very pretty… but really common Mexican ladies. Somehow he convinced them to have sex with him and Shaun for $50 each. 


Nothing was opened. These were just girls. We walked all the way back to my brother’s place.


On the long walk there, the girls complained about how much we were walking. And we did. We walked shit-tons, nearing 3:00 a.m. Two crazy fucking white Gringos smoking K-2, two random girls, and …. Me. Looking back, a taxi would have been an easy choice.


Shit felt weird. Not sure how or why I agreed to this.


I talked to the girls. They worked at a strip club called El Columpio. They were hookers… both 21-years-old. One had three kids, the other had none. They were best friends and did everything together. They explained more of what happens in Zona Norte.


I told Mike that he was unsuccessful in getting real girls to get with him. He didn’t believe me. He was convinced that they weren’t prostitutes.


At my brother’s place… they did their thing in the dirty old carpet in the living room with no furniture.


I went to bed. Or tried too. I heard the girls getting a taxi 20 minutes later. 



Next morning, we had tacos for breakfast and they went back across the border. I never saw either of them ever again. I never smoked K-2 ever again.


The girls…


Eight years later… I still see both girls together on occasion. Usually on Sundays at Bar Chips. But sometimes randomly. I’m not sure if they are the same girls, but they look exactly like my memory of them. And they seem to look at me like they recognize me but they are not sure who I am. And I look at them thinking they were those two random girls that Mike picked up.


I never really told that story before. Not to this extent. I didn’t imagine I would end up living in Tijuana. I didn’t imagine my brother would get married and still live in the same house…

The dirty old carpet is gone. The house looks nothing like it used too. 

And now years later… Sorry bro. I truly am.


Tijuana Adventures Featured in – Sorry, This Has Been Sort Of Abandoned – Tours are Still Active

Ahoy! To all of those who stumbled into this page of Tijuana tours and adventures.

The blog has pretty much been abandoned for more than a couple of months. Things that I said I would fill in later, I never did. And ideas that I have never materialized.

Despite the page being virtually abandoned, a writer from found me. And he had something wonderful to say about the tours.

Here’s the link to the article, or click the screencap.

Thanks to writer Paul Joseph for the mention.

So… why so abandoned?

Your tour guide has been busy with photography and writing. I’ve been writing every day the whole year in my own personal blog that I dubbed word vomit because I pretty much write about everything and anything. I also started a new gig as a freelance photographer for the magazine that usually runs my articles. So I’ve been pretty busy with other things that aren’t my tours.

Despite this, I have had several tours since the latest post.

And also, paid for the yearly subscription of this webpage. It was done automatically. I’m not sure if I actually wanted to do it.


My latest post was from February…

I had around eight tours since then. Very sporadic and random tours. The latest was a repeat customer with new friends. A guy from Vancouver (with Moroccan family) brought two friends from Kosovo (but that grew up in Vancouver).

It was really fun times since the last time the repeat customer visited was a couple of years ago and a lot of things changed.

And a lot of things have changed with Tijuana Adventure as well.

Though I had the fantasy to make this into a food and beer blog, I’ve been too busy to keep that going.

However, I did start becoming very active on Instagram posting a lot of food porn.

If there was a way to post everything on my Instagram directly to WordPress, this page wouldn’t be totally abandoned.

So if you enjoy pictures of the Tijuana/San Diego reader, better follow me! It’s been a steady climb of followers. Easier than my actual profile @Matingas_

Repsonse has been good with the food pics. And it’s given me an outlet to write about food.

I also did business cards for myself and for this business.

They look like this.


Exclusive tours.

I don’t do private groups and most people that know me have heard of me somehow, so they know what to expect.

So I’m more exclusive now. You get a tour with a photographer, writer, and musician with SHIT TONS of stories to tell. And that’s really what makes the tours special. They are small. I get to talk to everyone. I get to tell stories. We get to know each other.

So again.

My tours aren’t like other tours.

Go to the other tours if you want a basic (yet very fun) tour.

And finally.

I’m still working with Haydee if I ever need a replacement, or if I’m not available, or if people want to go to Valle de Guadalupe. She’s more knowledgeable about the wine valley than me. And she could also drive people there.

Basically, Haydee is still IN doing tours as needed.

I wish I had more tours for her. I wished I had more tours for myself. But life gets busy with other things and then time flies.


Tours! TOURS! Tours! – Tijuana Adventure Activate! – Julie’s Bday Tour a Month Ago…

This webpage and blog has been somewhat abandoned.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t been given tours.

Quite the contrary. I was busy with tours all of January. February is going slow, but March will already start with a tour.

The tour above was super fun and probably one where I walked the most. We walked and walked and walked. I offered Ubers or taxis. But they wanted to walk.


This is what a Tijuana Adventure usually looks like. A lot of food and beer and fun times.

And I’m sorry I rarely update the blog. I write in my life blog daily. Which is completely different.

Besides Julie’s bday tour, I also had a tour with a couple of crazy South Africans.

I have never partied in my life as much as I did with those South Africans. They showed me that I truly have no limits when it comes to my Tijuana tours. We spend so much money drinking, eating, … and more.

It is time to make my tours a bit more official. There needs to be an online payment method. There needs to be a public tour at least once a month. I have been doing my tours mostly as a side gig for fun. Not as a real business. But Tijuana Adventure has grown and it is time to take it a bit more seriously.

Even the US consul in Tijuana emailed me asking me about how to improve tourism.

More tours are coming.

More public events.

The page will get better.

The Tijuana Adventure Instagram will also be active…. if I remember the password.

A very good friend of mine named Brenda, aka Shappu, has also been doing tours. She is going her own way about it. Truly puts effort in giving people tours. Unlike me where I just wait for people to email me and tell me they want to book me. If I pushed my services. Get business cards. Do some posters… etc etc etc. Then it would truly be a tour service.

For now, I’m busy with writing stories, my new girlfriend, daily blog, and my cat. Tours are still available. Tours are still highly improvised. Tours are still hella fun.

I forgot where I was going with this. Point is. Tijuana Adventure will activate! More tours! Better tours! Online payments! Other tour guides! More beer! More food! MORE MORE MORE!

Want to visit Tijuana. Hit me up!