Mexico Day 1: A long morning at the border

“Happy border crossing day!”

This is the first text to pop up on my phone this morning.  Another, not an hour later, reads nearly the same.  My closest friends know me well.  This is a day that Mark and I have been looking forward to for months and planning for just as long.  It’s finally here and all we have to do is make breakfast, pack up, and make the 40 minute drive from our campsite in the California desert to the border crossing at Mexicali East.

Mexicali East is not our border crossing of choice.  We prefer Los Algodones, a smaller, more laid-back crossing that puts us on quiet, rural Mexican roads within minutes rather than having to navigate Mexicali’s hectic city streets.  However, this year we’re doing things differently than in years past and Los Algodones is not equipped to issue Temporary Vehicle Import Permits (TIPs), something we’ve never needed until now.

Traveling throughout Baja in a foreign-plated vehicle does not require a TIP while the rest of Mexico does.  After three consecutive winters traveling the Baja peninsula exclusively, we’ve decided to spend part of our winter exploring mainland Mexico as well.  The plan is to start in Baja, reacclimate to being in Mexico, then in a few weeks time, board a ferry in LaPaz bound for Mazatlan.  This means we need a TIP and therefore need to cross the border at a crossing that is equipped to issue us one.  

During the short drive from our campsite to Mexicali the butterflies in my stomach begin to swirl as they always do before a border crossing.  However, they dissipate faster and faster every year.  Upon arriving at the border we are waved into a parking stall for an inspection that lasts less than five minutes.  My nerves pass before the inspection is even complete.  And yet, the hardest task of this crossing is still ahead of us.  

In about twenty minutes time we obtain our FMM (tourist permit) granting us 180 days of stay in the country. From the immigration office we walk the short distance to the “Banjercito” where we will hopefully obtain our TIP.  Too much online research over the last month has me spooked about whether or not we will even be able to get a TIP at all.  Word on the streets of Facebook is that three quarter and one ton pickup trucks are getting turned down.  If your trucks’s GVWR is over 7716 pounds, you can’t qualify for a TIP and therefore cannot drive your vehicle in Mexico where a TIP is required.  Luckily we have first-hand intel from our travel partners who crossed at the same crossing just 24 hours prior in their three quarter ton pickup and successfully obtained a TIP.  

The protocol was this:  The Banjercito (a military bank) would need to take photos of our camper and email them to another office with a request for approval to issue our overweight vehicle a TIP.  The photos were needed to prove that we were indeed using our vehicle for recreational use and were not a commercial vehicle.  The catch?  It could take anywhere from 1-4 hours to receive a response from the other office.  Thanks to our friend’s first-hand knowledge we nod with understanding when the Banjercito clerk shares this protocol with us in an apologetic fashion.  At 10:45am we claim a seat in the small lobby and each take to our own devices for reading.  

It’s 12:30pm when I start getting nervous.  There are a few hard and fast rules when it comes to staying safe while traveling in Mexico and at the top of that list is to never drive at night.  Next on that list is to never camp near the border.  As we wait patiently for approval for our TIP I can feel our window of daylight closing.  We have a 2.5 hour drive to get far enough south of the border that we feel safe camping and the sun will set at 4:30pm.  If we aren’t out the door, TIP in hand, within the next hour, what will we do?  Turn back to California and try again in the morning?  Camp somewhere in the city of Mexicali?  Camp in the Mexico customs parking lot?  None of these options sound ok to me.  Too uncomfortable at the thought of those options, I decide to stop worrying and hope for the best.  Twenty minutes after my worry spiral our approval comes through.  Fifteen more minutes to complete paperwork and we are finally on the streets of Mexico, eager to get through Mexicali’s congested city center and on to the open road.  

It’s not quite 4pm when we arrive in San Felipe.  After filling our tank we have a decision to make.  Play it safe and choose a campground in town before it gets dark or drive another two hours south where three of our closest friends are camped.  We do something we’ve never done before in Mexico and decide, as long as nothing feels sketchy, we’ll keep driving.  Shortly after making that decision the sun dips behind the mountains yet dusk stretches on for another 45 minutes.  We are both comfortable for as long as there is light left lingering in the sky.  At the moment we reach one of my favorite parts of Highway 5 is when I realize not an inkling of light remains.  This particular stretch of highway hugs the edge of the coastline high above the water’s edge and, during the day, behind this narrow ribbon of pavement is the magnificent Sea of Cortez for as far as the eye can see.  However, after dark, with not so much as a hint of light pollution and the moon having not yet risen from behind the horizon, it feels as though we are driving on the edge of the universe.  There is no sky or terrain to be seen, just a guardrail, a yellow line and black.  I am as captivated by the darkness as I am by the view that is hidden by it.  

At 6pm we arrive at our destination brimming with excitement for the fact that we are reuniting with Josh, Darci, and Hannah, some of our dearest friends.  To spend our first night back in Baja on a beach with some of our favorite people in the world feels like the most perfect way to kick off our next Mexican adventure.

When it’s beat into your brain to never do something and you decide to break that rule, you can’t help but feel like you’re doing something terribly wrong.  We knew that the “never drive at night” rule was a safety precaution for many reasons and in this region of Baja it was more for potholes and animals in the road than it was for robberies and kidnappings.  We drove slowly, never encountered an animal, safely avoided various potholes and passed only a handful of other vehicles in two hours. 

If we’d been 100% solo today we would not have chosen to drive at night. We assessed the risk and decided that one hour of driving in the dark, on a road we know well, with nearby friends actively tracking our location and internet connectivity thanks to Starlink, the risk felt minimal.  We certainly won’t make a habit out of it (and definitely don’t recommend it) but in this case we’re so glad we did. 

Interested in camping in Baja?
Check out our Baja Camping Guide!