From Rosarito, Mexico

Skatepark in Rosarito, Mexico.

The building itself stands just back from the road, shaped in a flattened semicircle, without the straight edge. A commercial reproduction of traditional Spanish-mission style, the concrete is blemished by graffiti and neglect. It was perhaps intended as a local version of the mammoth American strip malls, but it seems as though it never served this purpose. Indeed, it seems as though it has never served any commercially-inspired purpose. It is, functionally, abandoned.
An arched colonnade runs around the inside of the semicircle, paralleled above by the oscillating brown terracotta tiles of the roof. The parking lot, which was to fill the space between the arms of the building, is incomplete, and is covered mostly by the fine, yellow-grey sand, blown in off the beach, and that covers most of the ground in this town. The only complete surface runs underneath the colonnade, following the building, raised slightly.
At the left foot of the semicircle this covered walkway is extended out somewhat, creating a protected almost-square. Necessity being the mother of invention, and geography excluding other possibilities, it is here that local kids have constructed a skatepark. Quarterpipes buttress the columns of the colonnade, ledges run along the wall, and a small funbox owns the centre. It is less the detail of the park that is significant, more the context. It is clearly a labour of love, paid for in both time and money by a people who can ill-afford either.
The day he saw the park, it was dusk on a late summer’s day. Standing across the road, he caught the dappled grey of the building struck by the low, rose sunset. In the shadows created by the colonnade, the park provided a break from the heat. A small group was there. Curving out to the right was the rest of the building, standing forgotten, emphasising this small achievement of design. He watched for a little while, then continued his walk back to the hostel.