In the middle of 1999, I was catapulted down Highway 5 and ended up living in Los Angeles. How a Northern California girl moves to Southern California always contains elements of heartbreak and loss. It was true, I was looking for a new life down here in LA and all I knew was that I wanted to be warm, have my own apartment and have my own car. The choices were clearly between New York and Los Angeles. I had the same amount of friends and contacts in each city but my requirements whittled the choice down to the unthinkable, a move to the southern part of the State!
Those were the years when a mass exodus was happening (at least in my view) from San Francisco. Prices were comparable and at times even surpassing New York standards. I couldn't complain. I was living in an 1887 Italianate Victorian for free, so I wasn't really feeling the pinch. When it came time to leave though, I knew I wanted to go further than I had before. I'm was born and raised in the Bay Area. I wanted a fresh start in a new environment that was warm and not as harsh as San Francisco had been. DON'T GET ME WRONG! I would had never thought of leaving the City but circumstances dictated that I was destined not to live forever in that Sailor's town.
By the time I settled into my 1 bedroom apartment in Silver Lake, which was not hipster central at the time, I was surrounded by tropical plants, warm sunshine and the terrifying monthly experience of helicopters shinning their spotlights in my back yard! What had I done? I had litterally ripped myself out of a very familiar, comfortable community and threw myself headlong into a world that was both unfamiliar and at the time I thought, filled with people who were just there to make it in Hollywood. I just wanted to be warm...
I had never been to Mexico before, so when my friends "Mocha" Joe Camacho and Lisa Sotelo suggested a day in Tijuana in early 2000, I jumped at the chance. After walking across the border, the air seemed different and time almost stood still. I had entered Mexico... I know it sounds ridiculous to emphasis my amazement of crossing the border into another country but this border crossing was different for me. Flying into Europe or Japan seemed elegant and exciting. This was on foot and dusty, even a little bit dangerous. I had not yet experienced this type of traveling before.
We passed dilapidated shops and dark allies. A rooster here and there could be seen pecking in the streets. My eye was drawn to a sign that said Wax Museum. I'm a sucker for Wax Museums. Ever since I saw the 1953 classic featuring Vincent Price in "The House of Wax", I can't get enough of them. Don't even get me started on Natural History Museums! I have been photographing both for years and am especially fond of seeing wax dummies and stuffed animals in other countires. This one did not disappoint! Where else are you going to find a wax rendering of a Sandinista? But I digress...
We soon wandered onto the main street of Tijuana, Avenida Revolución. It wasn't much different from Mission street in San Franciscso to be honest. The only departure from what I was used to were the many vendors peddling their trinkets on the sidewalk. And then a visual hit me like a ton of bricks. There, lining the streets of Avenida Revolución, in the hot summer sun were Zebra's, lots of them! At first glance it didn't register that they were indeed painted white donkey's that were made to look like Zebra's. The stripes were so graphic that I was overwhelmed by their visual pattern they were making down the sidewalk.
These mules are not to be confused with a Zebroid, Zorse, Zony or a Zebrule, which are genetically crossed between a zebra and an animal from the Horse family. These guys were painted! Now there is just a whole lot of wrong with the entire idea of painting an animal but I had just seen Fidel Castro in wax, so seeing a painted Zonkey seemed like a logical progression. The whole day actually reminded me of a really bad B movie: sometimes it's so bad its good... (Thank you Bob Wilkins!)
The Zonkey's were painted for the tourist trade and were hooked up to a cart where they were photographed with people wrapped in serapes and donning sombreros while they lazily chewed on food thrown on the ground. I found out through
I had to photograph these Zonkey's being photographed! My Yashica-Mat was loaded with black and white film waiting to capture something just like this. The results, I think, could have been shot in 1940... Not much has changed in Tijuana except the hairstyles and jeanstyles of the tourists that visit these little burros every year. As I began snapping my way down the street, I did encounter several vendors who were not too happy with what I was doing but in looking back at these images, the scorn on their faces just adds to the absolute absurdity of this tourist trap.
For what we think may appear normal and even entertaining in our daily lives, when captured through the eye of the lens, can sometimes become aberrant and deviant. This series on the Tijuana Zonkey's fits that description and can be added to the pile of abnormality I love to explore in my photographs.
When the day was done we hiked back over to America, a little bit in awe of a world we had just encountered over the border. I was back in Hollywood that night and my perception of the city I had just started calling home became a little bit clearer. The Zonkey's, like those who paint themselves for the screen and stage, or the wax dummies or even a bit like the taxidermic animals, were there to entertain and to amuse us. Like Los Angeles, they were a little bit sad, a little bit unnatural but also a little bit magical and glamours all at the same time...
Julie Pavlowski Green
March 9, 2013
Long live zonkeys! Loved reading the story of your Southbound emigration.
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