As I flew into Tijuana, the rooftops of its hundreds of factories gave me a chill. They reminded me of the killings of young female Ie factory workers in Ciudad Juarez. To my mind, Tijuana was equally dangerous; documentaries had told me ahout its high crime, drug trafficking, and people smuggling. As I drove through downtown, I took mental snapshots of the beggars at its traffic lights, the dilapidated shacks on its hills, and the large steel wall downtown that divided it from the United States. Tijuana seemed like a quicksand pit, poised to trap you and slowly pull you under. Life was a battle played out on its mean streets and winning was merely surviving another day.