Thanksgiving Day, La Páz, Baja
Well, the best thing to do is to begin writing since little has inspired me since the bus from Tijuana was three hours late. We waited by the the busy roadside in Mulegé, in the predawn light. The moon, it was full enough to burst last night. And so strangely blue. Veinious.
How cold the desert was last night. Across the road, a red truck, the kind used for cattle or for fodder, was parked facing north. Beneath its long body, a roll of plaid blankets. As we approached, the blankets began to shift as arms surfaced from sleep. It was easier to make out the triangular box shape of feet.
Some people were asleep on top of the loaded truck, some were inside. More and more men begin to stir and cough and fart from beneath blankets, draped like serapes. And as it is in the world of men everywhere, they begin unzipping and urinating as the second major act of the day.
The nearly full moon held a frosty circle around it, and our breath made clouds around our faces.
Dawn came like an open gate, rushing across the sky. And stars sunk like lights into the bright azúl sky. The oasis began to take on a distinctive shape as the goats stirred, and the roosters' call became more certain. The hunched cats began to take notice of small pebbles and oddly shaped stones.
One could hear in the distance trucks winding up and down their gear gearboxes. Schoolchildren passed by us, shyly eyeing the exotic gringos. The girls were wearing pale blue and pink skirts with white kneesocks.
The morning wind travels up the valley and rattles the palm leaves in dry arroyos. A muted layer of fog hangs over the river, obscuring the trunks of the palm trees. Their leaves are like crumpled hair above a blank face.
Not knowing the customs of the land, I overpaid the café man for my coffee. He crossed himself and began to exclaim to all the saints, looking incredulously at the two 50-peso pieces. I was startled because he began praying to the electric wires coming out of the wall. It was then I realized that maybe I had overpaid him.
Many of the townspeople passed by us as we waited for the bus to La Páz. The men with the blankets, unloaded several more, and began to neatly fold them into stacks, then placed each stack over a shoulder and walked into town to sell their wares.
I began to paint a watercolor of some palm fan palms. To properly paint this place, one must not exclude the human touch; a parked car, hand-painted sign, etc. That's all part of the scenery here. It takes some getting used to, as so much trash and 20th-century debris is everywhere.
Slowly I begin to realize that most things are indeed recycled, though the road goes through the end of Baja, everything is far enough away from everything else that the average tourist never gets this far.
My Spanish, which was previously nonexistent, except for a couple of years in school, with lessons at less than rewarding results, is improving by the hour.
I switch from English to Spanish and back again and I'm and I'm learning to ask simple questions, and how to pay for things.
The first night, when we arrived in Tijuana what can I say? To have a negative experience in Mexico, a la Tijuana, was a realized nightmare. Squalor, poverty etc. The road from San Diego to Tijuana is a cultural shock I will always remember.
Never having been to Mexico, I have no idea how the money works, and John is less than helpful, being in his own world. So when I went to the bathroom, the matron demanded money of me. First, I couldn't understand what she said, nor how much was needed, and John didn't see it fit to give me any money at all. Things went from bad to worse.
I was miserable on the bus ride to Ensenada, feeling much very alienated and disliking what I saw of Mexico.
After Ensenada, the second bus ride down to the end of Baja, on Tres Estrellas, restored my sense of adventure, though we pulled into many dismal tiny hamlets after dark, where there was nothing more than a restaurant specially opened for the bus crowd.
Bologna sandwiches, tortillas, carne—the fare of the day. You eat what is presented. No exceptions. The baños have no seats and were little better than pigsties. As we headed south, they improve slightly. I tried not to focus on what was objectionable because one could certainly find enough to get queasy over.
And when we stumbled into Mulegé after a tedious all-night bus ride, at 6:30 AM, the rare rain had turned the streets into slop that stuck to our feet. And when we pulled into our hospidaje, it felt like I had arrived to the best place on earth. Squashed cockroaches in the bathroom did nothing to improve the outlook.
Our gritty room held three sagging twin beds, with sheets of questionable character. After a much-needed sleep and shower and desayuno—breakfast, things didn't look quite as bad. A broom workover, and by rearranging of furniture I managed to transform this place. The cobalt blue table and chair framed against the coral pink stucco and a nice wooden door livened the place up.
After a walk around the town and the necessary mental adjustment to a lifestyle south of the border, I realized our place was actually pretty clean. The yard was carefully raked. And the cages of songbirds held such sweet music. Canaries and parrots and wild birds. Fincehs gathered around the wild birdcage as if in solidarity. And the cage birds attracted the finches who hopped on the dry mesquite and fan palm fronds.
While the mesquite for the shower heated up the boiler, John, desirous of a cup of coffee, stood on the wet cement and plugged in his immersion heater and proceeded to electrocute himself—not once, but twice—in front of the entire family who observed this transaction stony faced. I couldn't stop laughing.
Last night the lock on the door broke with us inside. John climbed out the window and down the drain pipe. Everyone was gathered around the door conversing excitedly as they tried to undo the lock with a machete. I managed to get the entire door handle off from the inside, but the bolt wouldn't budge. Until they seriously worked it over. No way to lock the door now!
By the time we had left Mulegé, I'm sure they remembered us,
and would remember us if we ever passed through here and again in the
future.
