San Diego and Tijuana are effectively the same urban sprawl, except that there happens to be a border running in between them. We got a tram to the border crossing - the busiest in the world - and then after going through two turnstiles, we were in Mexico. It was like we had suddenly gone back two hundred years. After the plush buildings and flash cars of San Diego, everywhere was old, run-down and primitive. You couldn't believe that two turnstiles could make such a difference.

Tijuana is basically a tourist town and its very existence appeared to be based on people coming across the border for a bit of shopping. I could understand why, the shopping was fantastic, certainly compared to the tacky crap that dominated across the border. I got a fantastic ceramic chess set for my Dad, some fake watches and some clothes. It was a chance to rekindle the bartering skills that had lay stagnant since Thailand.

We had been planning on eating some Mexican food whilst we were here as we fancied something with a bit more kick to it than the pathetic excuse for chilli in the States. However, we quickly reconsidered as, judging by all the Mexicans' complexions, it can’t be good for you.