I Was Nearly Kidnapped in Tijuana

Tijuana, Mexico – February 11, 2016

I can’t believe how stupid I was. Moments after getting out of the car my gut instinct told me I had just made a stupid mistake. I’ve been to Tijuana a thousand times, how could I let a complete stranger drive away with my phone? But I now realize that things could have turned out a lot worse.

I was really excited about my upcoming role in an independent film being shot in Tijuana. I absolutely love acting. It’s a tough industry for anyone to succeed in so when I get an opportunity I always give my best. On this day I was scheduled to have a rehearsal for one of the scenes.

It was a Thursday morning. I rush out of my office in San Diego early to take public transportation south to the border. I get to the border right on time and make a quick call to Karla to let her know I should be at the designated pick-up spot right on time at 9am sharp. Karla is coordinating to have me picked up and taken to the rehearsal. So far so good.

Tall corrugated steel walls with barbwire enclose the concrete walkway funneling pedestrians through the full-height turnstile gates under a big “MEXICO” sign. It’s a striking resemblance of the maximum security prison gates represented in movies.

The new international border crossing (the largest land border crossing in the western hemisphere) in San Ysidro, California.

Once inside the recently erected Mexican immigration building the scene is less tense. A Mexican customs official checks my passport and issues me a visitor’s permit. Years before immigration into Mexico was uncontrolled and anyone could freely walk through the gates. That’s why Mexico was such a popular destination for American fugitives on the run.

After hurrying down a long walkway passing wobbling old ladies and men carrying more goods than they can handle I get to the Frontera street which is used mainly for picking up and dropping off passengers. It’s the closest street to the border crossing. It is here that both yellow and white taxis compete for travelers’ business. After ignoring half a dozen offers for a cab ride I position myself on the curb to wait for my ride. It was 8:58 am.

I’m not sure if Karla alone is coming or if she sent someone else to pick me up. I’ve done this exact same thing a dozen times before when working on other film productions at Baja Studios or other locations in Tijuana so it doesn’t strike me as odd when a dusty black chevy blazer driven by a middle-aged Mexican man somewhat resembling “El Chapo” drives through scanning the people standing on the sidewalk clearly looking to pick someone up. He glances first at two chubby ladies sitting on a bench then locks eyes with me and makes a pointing gesture with his hand while raising his eye brows as if saying, “Is it you I’m picking up?” The time was exactly 9am.

I wave my hand to him and he stops the vehicle as I walk up to the passenger door. He says with a rough accent, “Are you,…?” while appearing to search for my name amidst a small pile of notes in the center console. I finish his sentence, “Soy Chad.”

“Mucho gusto José,”

“Ah, ok, ok, sí, sí,” he confirms as he motions for me to get in. I ask his name as I open the door. “José,” he replies.  I say, “Mucho gusto José,” as we shake hands. I sit down, shut the door and fasten my seat belt as he accelerates forward.

“¿Tú eres de la película, verdad?,” I verify with him asking if he is with the film production. “¡Sí, sí!” he affirms. “Then I’m in the right vehicle.”

José appears nervous as he somewhat neurotically fidgets with his gestures and hurriedly swings around the round-about towards eastern Tijuana.

“You like to make movies?” he asks me in Spanish to strike up friendly conversation but before I can answer I feel my phone vibrating in my front right pocket. I struggle to get it out of my jeans and by the time that I do I realize that it was Karla calling me but she had already hung up. “It was Karla,” I tell him in Spanish.

Two seconds later José’s phone, which he is holding in his right hand, rings and he fervently answers. In Spanish I hear him as he says, “Hola Karla,… yes, yes,… at the Costco?…. Ok…. under the umbrellas…. in front of Costco…. Ok….” He then asks me if I have a few dollars for parking. I tell him I didn’t bring any money with me.

“Leave your phone with me….”

He hangs up with Karla and then suddenly pulls over along the street on the far side of the mostly empty Costco parking lot and tells me that Karla will meet me over there at the tables with the umbrellas in front of the store. “Ok,” I say as I open the door and begin to step out of the vehicle then José tells me in rapid speech, “Deja tu cel conmigo en caso de que Karla me llame porque el mio se me está fallando.” This translates to, “Leave your phone with me in case Karla calls because mine isn’t working well.” Being the kind of person that always does my best to help out in a film production I don’t even think twice about handing over my phone to José.

“You’re going to park?” I ask him and he reassures me, “Sí, sí.”

My feet hit the pavement and José takes off. As I walk across the parking lot towards the tables with umbrellas in front of Costco the events of the past ninety seconds replay in my head. I watch as José turns the corner and disappears into the traffic. I notice that there is no fee charged to park at Costco. Why then did he ask me for money? And if he was just going to park and it would obviously only be a few minutes, then why did he so urgently need my phone? Now if something goes wrong or if Karla needs to contact me she won’t be able to reach me by phone.

As I approach the umbrellas over the plastic round tables and benches in front of Costco I scan the area for Karla. I have no idea what she even looks like but she knows what I look like. A woman in her early thirties standing in the parking lot appears to be looking for someone. She’s looking my way and I’m about to smile and nod at her but then she looks away. I continue to the umbrellas but nobody is there. “Damn! I wish I kept my phone!” Maybe she’s running late.

The weather is unusually warm this week despite it being early February. I position myself under an umbrella to shield my face as I scan the parking lot looking for José to drive up. Maybe he went to pick up Karla.

Minutes pass. Still no sign of anyone coming for me. Shoppers enter and exit the store. I need to get in contact with Karla. I’m on time but where the hell is she?

Anger bellows from deep within me churning like the bowels of a volcano ready to erupt

How stupid of me to give my phone to that bastard José. What kind of film production is this that they would hire a total lunatic freak like José? I pace back and forth. It’s 9:15 am. Each minute feels like a day. Anger bellows from deep within me churning like the bowels of a volcano ready to erupt. I make an agreement with myself to wait until 9:30 then I’m leaving. I have no cash on me so I can’t even go to an internet café to get on a computer and email Karla to find out what the hell is going on. I can’t ask to borrow someone’s phone because I don’t even have her number written down, it’s in my phone’s contacts.

I try to calm down. I tell myself, “Just be patient, they will show up. The show must go on.”. But then I think, “What if this José they sent had set this all up just to rob me and Karla doesn’t even know where I am?”

It’s 9:30. “Damnnit!” I grunt as I turn and with a rush of adrenaline burst out in a full running stride taking the shortest pedestrian route to the border. Fortunately I know my way around Tijuana quite well. I get to the San Ysidro Port of Entry border crossing line in fifteen minutes. Within another thirty minutes I’m standing in front of the US customs official. He asks me what I’m bringing back from Mexico. “Nothing!”

I’m back in the US. As soon as I exit the port of entry building I see an ATM next to the trolley ticket vending machines. A skinny slouching young man with baggy clothes is leaning against the side of the ATM machine. Annoyed by his lack of consideration I quickly withdraw twenty dollars from the machine and hurry into the nearest retail establishment to make change. I don’t even remember the last time I bought something from McDonalds. I purchase a vanilla ice cream cone for $1.08 and quickly devour it while walking back to the border crossing.

Once again I pass through Mexican customs and hurry down the walkway toward the Frontera street. Visions of that dusty black chevy and José’s dark “el Chapo” mustache dance in my head as I pass the spot where that unfortunate event took place. Another half dozen taxi drivers offer me their services. “Taxi,” “Taxi,” “Taxi,” “Taxi,” “Taxi amigo.”

“I’m not your f****** amigo!”

I feel like grabbing one of them at the throat and yelling at him, “I’m not your f****** amigo!” and then hit him so hard with my other hand as if trying to put my fist through his skull. Yeah, I’m a little upset.

Instead, I tighten my lips together and don’t even acknowledge them as I continue walking at a fast pace towards Revolution Street, the main tourist destination for Americans seeking a far from authentic Mexican culture and shopping experience. Along the way souvenir shop owners and bar promoters offer everything from copycat brand name sunglasses from China to cheap beers. The “gringo” path to Revolution Street is a bad representation of Mexico.

As I hastily make my way up Revolution Street toward the closest internet cafe a hunch comes over me suggesting I visit my friend Luis’ theater across the street. After all, he did the casting for this film.

Two heavily armed security guards quickly and smoothly move across the sidewalk from a tank-like armored transport vehicle parked on the street and enter through the security door of the building next to me at the same time as I cross opposite them in front of the armored vehicle and then jog across Revolution Street and pass one of those iconic black-and-white-striped painted ponies tourists pose with for a photo. The animal sneers at me as I hurry past down the sidewalk and then turn and disappear into the market place walkway where the theater is located.  I open the door and step into the dark theater.

“Chad!” the director exclaims as I enter, “What happened?” He is standing next to a plastic folding table where a man and a woman are seated. Still a little frazzled I meet each of them for the first time with a hand shake.

Anxious to get to the bottom of all this I don’t waste anytime in asking, “Where is Karla? Do you know what happened?” They shake their heads. They have no idea. So I explain.

As soon as I tell them about José the director interrupts and tells me that there is no José with them. I pause for a moment to process this new information. “If José isn’t with you guys then how did he know to look for me? He knew about the movie and even spoke to Karla on his cell phone.”

“…You got into the wrong car,”

I stand there in disbelief trying to process this new revealing information as they reaffirm to me that this is a serious production and there is no José with them. “Karla was looking for you. You got into the wrong car,” he tells me.

I start to put the pieces together. I recount the moment I met José. First he looked at the two ladies then at me. He was looking for anyone who was waiting for an unknown chofer and that person was me, just as I had done so many times before. He didn’t know my name but acted as though he had it written down but I gave him the answer before long and he simply affirmed it. I then asked him a yes/no question when I asked if he was with the film production and he simply said, “Yes.” When my phone rang and I missed the call I told him it was Karla. He then must have caused his phone to make a ringing sound and faked the entire conversation with a non-existent Karla. When he asked me for a few dollars it must have been an attempt to get me to expose my wallet. When that didn’t work he just went for my phone by conning me once again. But why did he drop me off so quickly?

“Thank God you only lost your phone.”

“Thank God you only lost your phone,” the director says to me in Spanish. I put my hands to my head as I turn and pace some more. I feel both angry and embarrassed. Two phones lost to thieves in less than a year. But it’s true, it could have been worse.

Kidnappings in Mexico have risen in popularity as a quick means to get paid. Express kidnappings usually involve taking a victim and forcing him or her to withdraw cash from local ATMs and then releasing the victim afterwards. I will never know what “José’s” intentions were but the fact that he asked me for money as a way to find out if I had my wallet with me could suggest that an express kidnapping was the intention. I don’t know because I didn’t look but there even could have been another person in the back of the vehicle as well.

After careful thought I believe that the reason he let me go was because of the phone call from Karla. He realized that if I were to communicate with her his scheme would then quickly unravel. So he chose to dump me off at the first opportunity which happened to be at Costco.

The team gave me a bottle of water and soon we proceeded with the rehearsal. The events of the morning really didn’t affect me negatively in any way. We had a great rehearsal and then the director invited me for a meal of delicious tacos and tostadas at a really good restaurant called La Corriente Cevichería Nais.

Lessons learned

I learned valuable lessons on this day. After years of traveling and even living in Mexico I have only experienced a couple of cases of petty theft. Over the years I let my guard down. That was the first mistake because one becomes a victim when they least expect it. I was in a routine situation I had done several times before without incident. I also made the mistake of asking “José” yes/no questions rather than open-ended ones. Had I asked him who he was looking for and who sent him then I would have completely avoided this situation. This was a lesson for the film production crew as well. They will now use a system of identification to ensure that this never happens again.

As a result of this incident I’m not afraid to travel in Mexico. I have long been aware of the potential threats and usually have taken general precautions to stay safe. But now the reality of the threat is more real to me so I will from now on beef up my personal security, not only in Mexico but everywhere I travel. Mexico is a fascinating country rich in culture and adventure as is evident from reading my blog posts on “No Gringos Allowed” but foreigners must exercise basic precautions and common sense when traveling abroad. The following is my personal list of survival tips for gringos visiting Mexico.

Ten Gringo Survival Tips for Visiting Mexico

1. Always be aware of your surroundings

2. Never wear flashy clothes and accessories

3. Keep moving and avoid standing in one location for long periods of time

4. Have eyes of a predator, walk tall and look tough

5. Always be thinking of an escape plan in any situation

6. Keep your main wallet deep under your clothes and a dummy wallet in a front pocket

7. Use official taxis rather than rogue taxis even though they cost more

8. Learn Spanish, at a least a little and get rid of the gringo accent

9. Avoid (if possible) large cities with high incidents of crime

10. Don’t trust anyone you don’t personally know

I will go into more detail about these tips in future blog posts but these tips are relevant for travelers all over the world so don’t let yourself become a victim!

 

*The names of the persons associated with the film used in this post are not their actual names. José is most likely not the real name of the criminal subject either but it is the name he gave me.