Baja California

Entering the Baja was an adventure. Our ferry was like a cruse ship: it had a swimming pool, multiple lounges, deluxe cabins, dining areas and even a couple of chandeliers. Also, all the signs were in Italian, English, French, and German, but no Spanish. It was the closest Georgie, Daddy and I had ever been to being on a cruise ship.

The ferry was scheduled to leave Mazatlan at 5:00 p.m. and would get into La Paz at 5:00 a.m. Luckily for us, since the ferry was late both leaving and arriving, we arrived at the Baja at the respectable time of 9:30 a.m. Our first view of the Baja, seen from the ferry deck, was quite confusing. There was the bright blue ocean. There were the mountains and land. But the land was dry, a desert. Where the ocean met the land, it appeared gray and prickly because of the bushes and cacti. The scene was like looking at a photo-shopped image, a desert spliced together with the tropical ocean.

I was worried that when we came to the Baja, that there wouldn’t be any Turkey Vultures (I’ve developed a love for them). However, it seemed to me like there are more Turkey Vultures here than anywhere else in Mexico. It is a common sight to see 15 or 20 of them wheeling about over something dead. This was the first time I had ever seen detailed markings on the heads of the Turkey Vultures; they flew so close above us.

On our first day, we drove across the Baja to Lopez Mateos, a village known for the whales that come and breed in its bay. To get there, we passed over mountains (still covered in cacti and scrub brush) and over a flat plain with nothing much growing on it. The town was dry and dusty, even the parts right next to the ocean. Where we camped on the beach, in one direction, all I could see was flat scrub land; nothing poked up to mar the dusty view of sky. In the other direction across the bay, we could see sand dunes. That night while camping under the stars, I saw the brightest shooting star ever. It started in one corner of the sky and flew to another—its tail stretched the whole way and was brighter than the moon. I actually had time to see this shooting star, not just barely see its passing. Amazing!

The best thing about Lopze Mateos was seeing all the birds. It was Osprey city. It seemed that every telephone pole had an Osprey nest sitting on it. At dusk, every second bird we saw was an Osprey. They were as common as gulls in this town.

The other tourists in town, fat Americans, were petty stereotypical, and made me embarrassed to be seen with them. They came for the fishing opportunities in the bay and water. One of them said that his guide should cancel all their tours, so they could drive several hours to see a sports game. Another guy said we should “give the guy a couple of pesos to keep him happy.” This was after we told them where we were camping which was behind a gate that we needed him to open in order for our car to pass. The guy opening up the gate for us was doing us a favor, and so we certainly planned to tip him—but not because he needed to be kept happy! And, I think the worst thing about these Americans was that after seven years of living part- or full-time in Mexico, none of them spoke a word of Spanish.

Again the landscape changed as we drove back to the east side of the Baja. Now instead of an overall gray landscape, there were patches of green. Not tree-green, but cactus-green, and thorny plant-green. The mountains’ shapes changed too. Now, they resembled one side of the Grand Canyon, with canyons leading into them, between long arms. The soil was redder, sometimes covered in what looked like a green fuzz. The landscape was more reminiscent of the Zuni mesas than of somewhere in Mexico. Driving to find a place to camp on a beach, I was continually surprised to see the sea peeking out between the hills. The richness of the ocean color also shocked my eyes, as the landscape was so dry and washed out.

The mountainside came right down to the sand where we camped on a beach,. This beach was also our first taste of why people flock to the Baja. People in the U.S. and Canada drive down to the Baja, find a beach, and park their trailer there for the winter. The beach where we found ourselves was full of people from BC. Not just anywhere from BC either, but from Victoria, Pender Island, and French Creek (Vancouver Island). The people from BC expressed shock that we were heading back up to Canada instead of continuing to travel to miss Vancouver’s worst weather. But I like Vancouver weather! Also, this group of people were the first not to ask what Georgie and I were doing for school this Fall because many of had traveled with their kids as well.

Later that afternoon, we took a great hike up a hill behind the beach. Except for the huge tarantula, I loved it. We saw a great view of the surrounding area. To one side stretched the beach, with all it’s RV’s. On the other side of the hill was a bay filled with sailboats. On the hill itself was the classic light on the classic cacti. The sun was just setting, bathing everything in a warm glow. The cacti were bright, against a dark sky where the sun had already set.

The cacti about which I am writing are Cardon Cacti. They are tall (several meters high), with one central stalk; some have arms coming out of that stalk. The feature that makes them look funny are their “waists” and textures. There are ridges stretching the length of the plant, starting at the top and extending to the bottom. The newer part of the cactus has spines on the ridges. This makes them look funny; spiny parts meeting not-spiny parts, creating a tangle of different textures. These cacti also seem concerned about their weight. Every couple of meters, the cacti’s diameter decreases, as if wearing a tightly cinched belt. These are cacti with character.

We camped at one end of the beach where the beach narrowed and became ‘bouldery’. (We persist in sleeping under the stars with the biting insects). The boulders were Perfect Perches for Pelicans . I love Pelicans! I think they are one of the best creatures found on the Mexican coast. They soar just a few centimeters above the water, gain altitude, and then dive. Diving involves plummeting toward the water at a breakneck pace, with their neck stretched out. After they hit the water, they pop up like a cork, sometimes wriggling and shaking their head if they caught fish. It is amazing to me that the pelicanos (as they are called here) can see the fish from several meters above the water and not break their neck on the ocean floor. There was one pelicano that came up with a fish after every dive. Another pelican had another pelican shadowing it. We think the shadow was a young one. But it was like the two were playing follow the leader. The mother would dive and soar and flap it’s wings, the young one only a few heart beats behind in every move. They looked like synchronized swimmers, or aerial dancers.

The diversity in the vegetation in the Baja continues to astound me. In little coves on both the west and east side of the Baja there are often mangroves, ecosystems that I associate with the tropics. In these coves, there were mangrove patches ending right at the dry desert sand. They are little pockets of lushness.

On the night of the 6^th we camped at a b-e-a-u-tiful beach. It stretched for several miles to either side of our camp and had no other people camping there. All of the soft white sand was ours—at least for that night. There wasn’t much to see that night, except the crystal clear sky and stars. Half way through the night we all woke up and gazed at the stars. It was cool seeing the constellations move across the sky. And, since we were facing east and there where no islands blocked the view, the sunrise was amazing - all pinks and yellows. The next morning (who knows what time; since my watch died, I have had no idea of the date, day and time) Georgie and I woke up to a visitor. The owner had come down to collect our rent, and to show us turtle eggs. He had marked the places that sea turtles had buried their eggs. In the sand, we could see the tracks of a turtle. An indentation from her head, arms, and chest. For each turtle, there were two sets of tracks; one showing the turtle walking up the beach, the other showing it walking back down the beach. I seem to be saying this a lot, but it was amazing. Before leaving, my Mom, Georgie and I went for a great swim in the clear, sand-lined ocean..

About halfway between somewhere and somewhere else, the cacti started morphing. First, the land started to look like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. There were spindly, tall, gray things that looked wind-blown, all facing in one direction. Our next experience with the Dr. Seuss creations was walking amongst them. They are like giant, inverted, fuzzy, green carrots. The plants extended 5 to 6 meters into the air. Their tops curled over and had yellow flowers sprouting from the tips. The skin on them was a pale sand color, with bright green twigs sticking out horizontally. The green bits seemed to come out in levels—a spiral of branches going up the tree (if it is one!)

Among the weird life forms were boulders. From the car, the landscape looked like giant dinosaurs had used this place as an outhouse, and then it all became fossilized. Instead of hills, there were piles of boulders. It was incredibly fun to walk on, hopping from one rock expanse to another. Georgie and I played “don’t touch the sand.”

There was also amazing rock-art there. Underneath a huge rock were the paintings. The site was completely hidden; there was no clue as to what was beneath the rock. If there hadn’t been a sign, we would never have found it; and even with the sign, we were confused. We needed to crouch to get underneath the rock, but once inside, the ceiling was at least a meter high. The underside of the rock was covered in paintings. There was no extra space; some of the images were even overlapping. Looking up, we could recognize cacti, corn and a sun. I have never seen so much ancient art before in one place. Apparently, the back country of Baja is littered with many such sites. Wow.

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Last year, a group of Seycove students did a social justice project in the Baja, specifically in Vincente Guerrero (a little town 4 hours south of the border) with an organization call Hero Holidays. Hero Holidays is based in Toronto and builds houses for the homeless in the Baja and the Dominican Republic. In addition to houses, they also build community centers. Groups in Canada raise money for the houses ($5000 for each house, plus furnishings) and then some people fly down to help build the houses. Initially, Hero Holidays picked the families for whom the houses are to be built. Now, the community is taking charge and choosing which families are most needy.

One of my teachers was the Seycove organizer for the project last summer. When she heard that we would be driving up the Baja through Vincente Guerrero, she asked us if we would do a follow-up with the families who received houses. Of course, we said yes!

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After a long drive down a bumpy dirt road, we arrived at the houses built by Seycove families. There were two of them, bright green, one-room buildings. I applaud the Seycove students; the houses looked very well-built and are very much appreciated. There were three generations living in one house, and there were 5 or 6 children in the third generation. There must have been around 15 people living in a house the size of our living room. The older generations didn’t speak any Spanish, only Mixteco. So the children were our interpreters.

This one little girl named Ophelia was the main ambassador. She was nine years old, would walk 30 minutes to and from school every day, and had cavities in each of her teeth. Ophelia was out going and had a sense of humor. When we were asking her about Mixtec words, our pronunciation of them made her giggle. In fact, the rest of the family also opened up when we started making fools of ourselves.

They are so poor. Everyone was thin and dirty. Very few wore shoes. When we gave them our gifts of food, it was immediately eaten. One big bag of nuts was the first to go. The children ate their food so fast…There is no way for me to adequately describe their situation. Ophelia waved as we drove away—we had made friends.

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The wife of the translator who works for Hero Holidays is a nurse at the mission/clinic /orphanage. Of course, we wanted to play violin for the kids at the orphanage but that couldn’t be arranged. Instead, we were able to play for the disabled children at the clinic. There is a program that takes disabled children off of the street and cares for them for the day, then brings them back to their family at the end of the day. The program provides the children walkers, wheelchairs, clothes, food, education, and fun. Some of these children had Down’s Syndrome, Muscular Dystrophy or many other problems.

We played our normal set—to enthusiastic applause. But the best part was when the children got a chance to play the violin themselves. Their faces lit up when Daddy would approach them with the instrument. The kids that didn’t have the strength to hold up the violin only held the bow, holding it in two hands and using their whole body to make it move. When Daddy would guide their hands to play on different strings they looked so happy. They got these beatific smiles on their faces and were reluctant to let go of the violin. It was wonderful to be a part of making the kids happy. It was amazing how these kids sounded no different than anyone else we have heard try the violin. They sounded the same as healthy children! And it was nice for them to do something normal and for the world to come to them, instead of being isolated in their wheelchairs.

And now we’re on our way out of Mexico!

It feels like the Baja should barely count as part of Mexico. Almost everyone speaks English here so we don’t even get to use our Spanish, and, in some places, the Americans outnumber the Mexicans. In those places, it can be hard to find any Mexican culture. Even the otherwise ubiquitous hot, spicy peppers are hardly a presence. They don’t grow here, and the food isn’t as spicy as we’ve had everywhere else. Or it might be because of all the tourists: almost everywhere we’ve been, we’ve been the only gringo’s around. Its pretty nice to feel like we’re the only tourists. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the Baja, and I would go back there—but not with the hopes of actually experiencing Mexican culture.