I drove down to Mexico last Saturday for a day of fun and relaxation with a carload of fellow photographers, swapping stories along the way and generally viewing the scenery with our minds and then our lenses.

After the short haul down the coast of San Diego to the border crossing, we stopped in to pick up the truck insurance that visitors are required to have since U.S. insurance companies don't seem to extend coverage to the third world, even if that third world is in their backyards. You hope it never comes to actually having to use it.

As we crossed the border into Mexico the world changed right before our eyes and the dusty streets seemed to stretch out to the horizon as we launched ourselves into the abyss.

Right away the road signs made no sense to gringos from the northern climes and we headed east rather than our desired west-southwest intentions. The road was pothole-ridden and traffic wheezed along like some old and feeble geriatric patient on a ventilator.

I finally found a spot to turn off and a bridge to get over to the other lanes that would take us back towards Tijuana and then speedily beyond, to where the pace slows and the artistic sensibilities kick in.

I could feel the nervousness emanating from the back seat melt away as we got past the smoggy, brown-tinged skyline of TJ and rolled on the so-called "toll road", past the Bullring by The Sea and down the coast to our next destination, Rosarito Beach, home to countless bars and nightclubs and touristy haunts.

We found a treasure trove of images staring at us from all sides and worked our way down the sidewalks and streets, flashing our cameras like six-guns at anyone who looked like a target.

The beach was crowded with young tanned faces, spending their weekend away from home (it was spring break for these affluent souls) and we captured the moment like grinning vampires.

After having our fill, we tramped back to the vehicle and headed further south to Puerto Nuevo, a once sleepy, fishing village, now turned into a mini tourist mecca of shops, garish displays and dozens of restaurants all selling basically the same menu...lobster!

On entering this little colorful town I was amazed to see the changes that 15 or so years have brought to it. No longer the little sleepy hamlet with unpaved dirt roads, this was a bustling mini-metropolis with young men beckoning you from in front of the storefronts to come in and sample the goods and especially the food.

We passed up the crowded outskirts with it's vast hordes of tourists, to discover the central area where a parking space was available for the price of agreeing to dine at a particular spot.

We had a fantastic (and cheap) meal and were treated to our own personal Mariachi band on the front porch. They loved it when I took their photos and I froze them for eternity.

The day was long and the return trip was at a slower pace with a few side stops to take in the view from the cliffs and to buy a few bottles of alcohol to bring back and we all agreed it wouldn't be long before we'd be returning to this land of contrasts and colors for another visit.

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