Otay Mesa Port of Entry, the San Diego–Tijuana border. Rated ★☆☆☆☆
Waited in line for four hours last Sunday afternoon. We were down in Mexico for the weekend building a house for charity. We decided to use Otay, figuring that it should be faster than Ysidro. Had a hell of a time figuring how to get in line, though there were plenty of touts wanting to direct us to the border for a dollar. One mile, four hours. Several complete standstills of 15 minutes or so. No place to turn off if I wanted to give up. Hot, hot, hot, though it wasn’t that hot out, sitting there with AC off and windows rolled down to avoid overheating. What’s with all the different lines? What’s a “ready lane”? What if I’m in the wrong lane? I still don’t know what they’re for, though I guess the Sentri lane is the only one to bother with if you ever go down at all. Lots of opportunities to buy churros and tchotchkes. If I have to give one star for anything, it’s for that. Toward the end of the line, three lanes widened to five — then shrunk back down to three. Sheer lunacy. Ill-behaved US border agents strutting like roosters, spitting tobacco on the road. At last (and at least) the officer barely glanced at our passports and our filthy camping gear. I will do everything I can to avoid ever going to Mexico again. Maybe that’s what they’re hoping for.