01/8/18 - San
Jose del Cabo, Mexico
The first leg of my journey
went as smoothly as could be expected in an eight-seater
Cessna with ground temperatures in the mid-teens and a
buffeting wind that made the day frigid and the ride a
little harrowing. Pilot, co-pilot, and one other
passenger on the 45-minute hop and the two flight
officers have not yet reached the shaving stage of their
lives. But, fly they could in winds that made the ride a
little bumpy. The view right at sunset, however, was
spectacular with the lights from the Susquehanna River
hydro-electric dams clearly marking the way south where
the lights from Baltimore beckoned. How does one dress
in frigid temperatures, knowing the next day will bring
temperatures more than 70 degrees warmer? Carefully,
very carefully, that’s how and my attire was perfect,
though I froze my ears off (this is a G-rated blog) the
next morning at 5:00 a.m. when the temperature had
plummeted to 8 degrees and I stood outside for 10
minutes waiting to catch Uber for the ride to the
airport when I missed the hotel’s shuttle by a minute or
two. Tee shirt, short-sleeved shirt, thin, cotton
sweater, and gore-tex windbreaker did the trick and I
shed the layers as the temperature warmed.
The Southwest flight to Houston
was completely booked and I was forced (yeah, right) to
sit in the middle seat between two, very-gorgeous young
ladies. Kaitlyn at the window, is an aspiring actress in
college in LA, flying home to Houston after visiting a
boyfriend in PA. Wendy, on the aisle, is a
graduate-degree-holding meteorologist with the US
Weather Bureau. The flight was smooth, but both ladies
willingly consoled this anxious passenger. Actually, the
flight was so smooth they didn’t even fall for the
anxious-passenger bit. It was a great flight until Wendy
embarrassed herself by spilling her coffee on my lap as
she rose to visit the restroom. She sought help from the
stewardess who came running with paper towels to wipe up
the mess, which was no more than six or eight
tablespoons of cold coffee, but targeted perfectly on
the fly of my khakis so the stewardess refused to blot
the spot for me, despite my urging. Laughs were had by
all and I told Wendy that, if she had to spill coffee on
someone on the flight, she couldn’t have picked a better
person. It was no big deal to me and, though offered
cocktails that we refused to soothe our inconvenience,
there was no lasting damage and not even a stain. The
2.5 hour flight from Houston to Los Cabos was
uneventful, though a little choppy over the mountains,
and we arrived ahead of schedule to 82 degree
temperatures - a 74 degree difference from departure in
Baltimore. Now, this was more like it!
I tend to get a little wordy on
my first couple of blogs, so go pour yourself a drink
and relax, there’s more to tell. I took the shuttle to
the center of San Jose del Cabo and was the first
passenger to disembark, since everybody else in the full
van was headed to all-inclusive resorts in and about
Cabo San Lucas. They must have been more shocked than I
when the driver stopped at the Yuca Inn where I usually
stay in San Jose only to find nothing but a hole in the
ground. The Yuca Inn is no more! My friend, Yuca, whose
life’s work was destroyed, must have found a buyer for
the perfectly located land adjacent to the town’s
central plaza. It appears that a shopping center is
planned. I hope Yuca made a fortune! I quickly told the
driver to drop me at the Tropicana, a more luxurious,
though still Mexican hotel where I have stayed when I
have had guests who would have been repulsed with my
digs at Yuca’s place. Unfortunately, there was only one
suite left in the place and I refused to pay the price
that I never even inquired about. I pulled the heavy
suitcase and backpack toward the central plaza, looking
for a hotel I had read about online and found quickly
after only asking directions once. Two short blocks away
and running out of gas after the 4:00 a.m. wake-up and a
long day of flying, I found a clean, pleasant room in a
thoroughly Mexican hotel almost diagonally opposite the
ex-Yuca Inn across the plaza. With king-sized bed,
renovated bathroom, and much hot water for $53/night,
the place is a real find, squeaky clean with a
comfortable bed; and just a few steps up to lug the
baggage.
I slept a lot after entering my
room, but managed to celebrate my arrival with a great
dinner at La Panga Restaurante that I had yet to try. A
tad expensive, Schim would never eat there, but the
ceviche appetizer and the pizza-like entree were very
tasty. The “pizza” was on a tortilla grande and covered
in shrimp, basil, another green, avocado, and topped
with a black mole sauce that included grasshoppers. The
hoppers must have been puréed in the sauce, because, try
as I might, I couldn’t find a body, though the small
shrimp bodies were readily distinguishable.
I’m almost done; breathe
deeply. Yesterday, I made my way by bus to the marina
where I negotiated a half-day fishing trip on a panga,
the small boats on which I have had such success in
previous years, including the catching of a marlin
without belt, seat, or heavy fishing gear. The fishing
here is simply amazing! I went, now an experienced hand
at the process, with a price in mind - down $50 from
what I paid last time. The tourist count is down and I
correctly figured that I could find somebody willing to
accept my $100 (2,000 pesos) offer. They hesitated, but
if willing to wait until Tuesday, they were willing to
take my offer. In Mexico, one must learn to negotiate. I
will fish tomorrow, delaying my trip to La Paz by one
day, then board the bus to cross the desert to that city
on the Sea of Cortez.
Waiting for the return bus in
the hot sun at the closest stop to the marina, I noticed
an awning over a pharmacy front stoop where two men were
sitting. I wandered over and asked if I could have a
seat on the empty, soft chair in the shade and they
quickly agreed. Turns out, the elder of the two was
there selling fishing trips and other water activities,
but I was no longer a potential customer. After talking,
however, he learned that I would be looking for an
apartment in La Paz and he said, “maybe, I can help!” He
picked up his phone, started calling people, including
his father who lives in La Paz, and I now have a tip on
a two-bedroom house in La Paz that the owner offered on
the phone to me for $388/month. Jose, the hawker, also
gave me his father’s phone number and said he is willing
to meet me at the bus station to help in my search.
Somewhere Jose and his father will get a cut of any
rentals but, at least, I have a lead on living quarters
for the winter. That’s it; I’m out of wind! I promise
future updates will be a little less wordy. Hasta luego!
01/11/18 - La Paz, Baja California Sur, Mexico
Half of my final day in San
Jose was spent on the Pacific Ocean, the rest in bed
resting from the arduous fishing activities of the
morning. I only caught seven fish, but every one of them
fought like a gladiator. Three, beautiful, leaping
dorado (mahi-mahi) and four, deep-diving, muscular
bonito were all that I could handle - no fighting chair,
no belt. My guide, 72-year-old Eduardo, with perhaps
three or four teeth remaining in his head and speaking
nary a word of English, knew a thing or two about
fishing those waters. He slowly trolled the sardines
that I had purchased on the way out to sea from men in
another panga (boat) who made their living selling bait,
though we had to wait a few minutes while they headed to
shore to catch more after they sold out their initial
catch. Occasionally throwing live sardines out as chum,
he maneuvered the ones on our lines directly to where he
saw the dorado taking the chum near the surface. I think
we could have caught six or eight more dorado and as
many bonito as we wanted, but I was tuckered. I told
Eduardo that I had enough and that we could go in and I
think the old fellow was tuckered out, too, because he
readily complied. I couldn’t have spent $100 more
enjoyably! What a rich and gorgeous place to fish!! I
kept one filet off the smallest dorado, took it to the
nearest restaurant just off the dock, and had them grill
the mahi-mahi for me. Nothing like really fresh fish!
They added a salad, rice, and some local, steamed
vegetables (see photo) that provided a sumptuous lunch.
The delicious, pina colada was a suitable accompaniment,
I thought. Am I living the good life, or what? I will
post a few pictures....
The following morning I packed,
and headed to the bus, catching a ride with an
English-speaking local that I met near the dock a couple
days earlier. I paid him a much lower rate than the taxi
drivers were demanding for short rides to the marina and
the bus station. Unfortunately, the ride back from the
marina was interrupted by the police who stopped Jose.
The strong taxi union has the police enforcing a
no-transporting-gringos rule, so the taxis can extort
exorbitant fees from the tourists. I watched as Jose
argued, then surreptitiously paid a bribe of $25 (500
pesos) to the officer. Mexico has changed little,
although I was told that 600 local officers had recently
been fired for corruption in an attempt to combat the
drug cartels. They have apparently not fired all of the
dirty police or seriously impacted the cartels.
As the bus pulled out of the
station for the three-hour ride to La Paz, I ruminated
about the condition in which I had found San Jose.
September’s hurricane, which had delivered a direct hit
on the city and poured 60 inches of rain in a couple
days (remember, this is a desert), did significant
damage to the quaint town I remembered. The main street
looked barren with many trees down and the ones that
survived only displaying small palm fronds at their
crowns. Replacement trees were much shorter and offered
little of the color I remembered in prior trips. Major
renovations to the central plaza and the main street
were under way and better-engineered sidewalks,
accessible ramps, and curbs will offer a more modern
look when completed, but the storm unfortunately washed
away a considerable amount of the town’s charm, too.
Pulling into the bus station in
La Paz, after stops in Cabo San Lucas and Todos Santos,
right on time, I employed a 65-year-old with a hand
truck to wheel my bags (suitcases packed for three
months are heavy) four blocks down the newly-refinished
malecon (concrete board walk) to a hotel in which I had
rested in previous visits to this fair city. Negotiating
their rate from their first offer of $82.75 down to a
more reasonable $57, including a full breakfast, I
booked a beautifully-renovated room and marveled at the
improvements. New, king-sized bed, bath with a tiled and
glass shower, the place is Americanized and not where I
would want to stay long term. I immediately put out my
feelers among the locals, Rainbow (see prior blogs),
realtors, shopkeepers, et al, that I am in search of a
two-bedroom apartment. I'm afraid that Schim will find
me, so I need a second bed. The mind boggles at the
thought of having to share one with him!
This town is as beautiful as I
remembered and I feel right at home. Now, if only I can
find a great apartment...... Hasta luego!
01/15/18 - La Paz, Mexico
No luck! The search continues
for an apartment in La Paz, a much more arduous task
than in prior years. Apparently, tourists have not
listened to the State Department’s warning to avoid the
Baja, because most of the apartments I have seen listed
are booked for the winter. It is also an indication that
the tourists have found La Paz; perhaps, my blog is read
more widely than I figured. Maybe, Schim is right and I
have to begin thinking about Columbia, Ecuador, Panama,
Viet Nam, and Thailand to find lower prices and
available housing. That is, if I’m given good health for
another year of wandering the world.
My weekend was spent rather
quietly, occasionally looking for an apartment, but
always finding restaurants in which to enjoy the Baja’s
cuisine. Actually, I skipped dinner yesterday after a
large lunch and skipped lunch today in a poorly-planned,
weight-loss program I have thrown together daily. I have
been walking greater distances each day in my search for
housing and that, along with the skipped meals, should
make me a somewhat lighter human being, though I haven’t
had to buy new clothing just yet. I watched the Eagles
playoff game on Sunday in my hotel room and enjoyed
hearing the play-by-play announcer and the color
commentator describe the game in Spanish. I even
understood a word or two along the way. The commercials
were great, too.
I walked to dinner on Saturday
evening at Bandito’s, where they cook steaks and ribs on
a charcoal grill designed to fit under the hood of a
pickup truck, the way the owner first started his
business on a street corner after moving here from San
Diego. On the way, walking down a dark street, I failed
to notice the sidewalk slope steeply down into a
driveway and I almost took a head-first tumble. The
slope slowed my feet, but my body mass continued to
pitch forward. What little athleticism remains
fortunately enabled me to jog a few steps to let my feet
catch up to my mass. I said “mass.” It was a trifle
embarrassing with a military guard pulling duty next to
where the stumble took place, but I remained calm and
cool while I wished him, “Buenos noches.” I must
remember to look down as I walk; the sidewalks are
literally an accident waiting to happen. There are
apparently no building codes in Mexico.
The day seemed a little
brighter this morning as I went for my morning stroll up
the Malecon. The weather continues to be perfect, but my
mind has not yet matched the temperature and the
sunshine. It takes a few weeks to get mentally in tune
with being alone in a foreign land. I reached that
mental state this morning. I think a brief period of
depression clouds the mind when you are focused on
surviving alone in a strange environment. I sat outside
a real estate office early this afternoon, where Carlos
is trying to help me find an apartment, and I relaxed
and read the Gringo Gazette, a newspaper for locals in
English. I simply relaxed, read, and let the world pass
by; this after a stroll out on the fishing pier into the
blue waters of La Paz Bay. I think I’ll be all right
when I fully adopt the mañana mentality. Hasta
luego.
01/18/18 - La Paz, Baja California
Sur, Mexico
“Good things come to those who
wait,” says the old adage and that may just be true in
Mexico, too. I have rented a house, a full casa, no
less! I almost rented another, but it was dark, required
climbing three flights of stairs, and had a very limited
view of an ugly part of the city. It was also at least
12 blocks from the seaside malecon where I spend much of
my time. It was cheaper at $425/month, but I could
picture a dreary existence and I don’t need that much
exercise every day!
The place I settled on for
$700/month has a few problems which I will describe in
detail momentarily, but it is a one story, three-short
blocks from La Paz Bay, and only four or five from the
northern end of the malecon. I give you the prices in
case you ever think about visiting the balmy Baja,
especially since I had a friend tell me a few weeks
before I departed that he paid $7,000/month for an
apartment in Florida. Now, the problems with my new
home: There are NO chairs on which to sit (one nice
sofa). No tables - not one! Not even in the kitchen or
beside either bed; there are two bedrooms with no
dressers, simply a king-sized bed in one and twins in
the other with a wooden, built-in closet in each. There
are no reading lights or lamps, only ceiling lights with
ceiling fans. There is temporarily no hot water. The
bathroom is tiny, no, I MEAN tiny. There is no place in
the bathroom to sit anything, no counter or shelf, just
a very small corner sink, a tiled shower, and a small,
low toilet. There is no place to hang a towel. But, the
straw that broke the camel’s back: there was no toilet
paper and no toilet paper holder. The tile floors are
badly worn or dirty or both. Dust covers most
everything; the place hasn’t been rented for eight
months. The windows are plentiful, but filthy. The small
kitchen counter, sink, and stove seem almost new,
although I will probably only use them to store things,
since there are no tables. The refrigerator is stainless
steel and brand, spanking new. The beds are new and
terrifically comfortable. My first night brought
spectacular rest. I love the place!!
The owner, Mike, is a funky,
former computer techie, born in Africa, who was raised
and worked in Switzerland, and has made his home in La
Paz for six years. There are four other buildings on the
small property, a nice patio, and a beautiful, though
dusty, desert garden with a variety of young fruit
trees. Mike rented my house to two “older” American
women as unfurnished and, since they moved out eight
months ago, he has been slowly turning it into a
furnished rental, although apparently, Mexican slowly.
He seems willing to get whatever I need to make my life
more comfortable and within the last few minutes brought
in a small table and chair that he took from another of
the houses. He rents two of the other buildings as
furnished apartments and both of them look beautiful.
The one he calls a casita (small house) is especially
lovely, but is rented for $70/night. I showered in the
other upstairs (one flight) apartment this morning and
did a load of laundry in a new washer. There is a new,
unvented dryer next to it, but I hung my wash on a line
he stretched across the porch of that property. A maid
will clean my house later this afternoon and I will try
to contract her to wash the windows. The place is
extremely bright, with large windows in every room that
make up two walls in the master bedroom. They need to be
clean! Bachelors oft-times don’t notice such things. A
repairman has been here to check the on-demand, hot
water system and is in the process of getting parts to
repair that equipment. I think I’ll learn to call the
place home, especially when I get hot water and a few
more places to sit.
Why did I rent a place with so
many shortcomings? First, there is a paucity of rental
properties close to the malecon and those that are
available are much more expensive. Secondly, I saw the
dreary place first and this place looked much better,
even after dark. Thirdly, there is the after-dark thing.
I learned of the place while drinking two pina coladas
with friends from my last visit. One of their friends
sitting at the table, Mike, said, “What about my place?”
So, we visited this house in the dark after imbibing a
couple of large pina coladas and I think that caused a
judgment problem. There is a travel tip there: never
rent a place after dark and after drinking - the tidbits
of knowledge that I pass on to my readers is almost
endless.
Oh, the toilet paper? Mike gave
me a couple rolls last night before I left for dinner.
Problem solved. I must admit it feels a little like
camping, but I think it will improve a little each day.
I’ll try to keep you informed about the progress. “Good
things come to those who wait!” Hasta mañana.
01/21/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Still no hot water and I’m
beginning to feel like a nag, since I remind Mike,
whenever the opportunity presents itself, that I am
without that hot liquid. I tell him that I am his
conscience, but I know it is impossible to find workmen
or businesses open on the weekend. I do sense a
laissez-faire attitude about his property management,
however, and I may have to continue the reminders to
bring my casa up to the standards of the other rentals
on his property. In the meantime, I spend my days in my
casa and around town, but when it’s time for bed, I
climb to the second floor of another building on the
grounds where there is a beautifully-decorated, studio
apartment with hot water, a large shower, and an
almost-new, comfortable, memory-foam mattress. The
mattress is Swiss-made and I sleep like a rock in it
but, since it is on a platform only six inches off the
floor, ingress and egress are somewhat awkward for an
old man. Thank God, there are no videos of that process.
Since my last update, I have
made a couple of routine excursions that will become a
regular part of my existence. Two days ago, I took a
taxi to a large grocery store and bought some supplies
for my little hideaway in the desert. Taxis cost about
$2.50 to go anywhere in town, so it is not an expensive
proposition to taxi hither and yon. In twenty minutes or
so, however, I can walk up the malecon to the hotel
where I previously laid my head and to the hangouts of
other, English-speaking residents. In 10 minutes, I can
be in the marina, headquarters for many American
sailboats, where there is an above-average, Mexican
restaurant that serves three meals a day. The grocery
store trip always provides an entertaining diversion.
Searching for a specific item, however, can be a
challenge. I recall searching for saltines on my last
visit here and becoming stymied because I knew not what
they called them in Spanish. I ran into them the other
day and recognized their name, but I cannot remember it
today. Such is the challenge of traveling in your senior
years.
I found Starbuck’s Frappuccinos
in the refrigerated section, bought four of them, so I
can now have breakfast - a banana, a couple of plain,
short-bread-like cookies, and a Frappuccino - which
saves me a trip to a restaurant. I now eat that
breakfast while sitting at my lone, little table in my
lone little chair, and type my updates. I apologize in
advance for any crumbs. I also purchased a box of local
string cheese, several containers of yogurt, three
bananas, a couple small bottles of coke, a small ginger
ale, paper towels, a broom and dustpan, and three
bottles of Clamato juice. Forgetting, of course, toilet
paper and bottled water. The massive refrigerator still
looks empty and after a couple of breakfasts, badly
needs restocked. That’s a project for another day and I
may combine that with a movie in the theater on the same
floor as the grocery store. I love it when a plan starts
to come together.
Yesterday, after a stroll for
lunch to the above-average restaurant at the marina,
called the Dock Cafe, I boarded the ferry for a
10-minute trip to Paraiso Del Mar, the golf course on
the peninsula/island across the bay. Walking into the
pro-shop, I was greeted by a loud, “Harry,” from the
golf pro, Marco, with whom I played a few rounds in past
visits to La Paz. Either his memory is much better than
mine, I remembered his from re-reading a prior blog, or
my practice of telling Latin American folks that my name
is Harry, “Harry Potter,” makes me easy to remember. A
taxi driver, a waiter, and now Marco, have all called me
by name at first sight. After a brief re-acquaintance
and an introduction to his 22-year-old daughter, now
working weekends at the club for her dad, Marco loaned
me a putter and I practice-putted for 15 minutes or so.
Because the trip was a spur-of-the-moment event, I
hadn’t worn a hat or brought suntan lotion along, so a
long time in the sun was inadvisable. I bid Marco adieu
and returned to the mainland for my afternoon siesta and
to research my target restaurant for the evening.
Exhausting work, this. Hasta pronto.
01/24/18 - La Paz,
BCS, Mexico
Saladitas, hot water, Uber,
religious parades, Eagles triumph, sunsets, collectivos.
So much to tell you and so little time! Let me start
with Saladitas, because the world wants to know:
On my second trip to Soriana, the modern, very-large,
grocery store a mile or two down the road that borders
the malecon, I ran into the saltine section again and,
voila, there on a box in bold letters was the Mexican
name for the product served most often here with ceviche
or seafood salads - saladitas! I couldn’t remember the
name on my last update and, now, I can’t get the name
out of what’s left of my mind.
After a 10-hour installation
project by the owner, the temporary tenant in the
casita, yours truly, and a Mexican plumber yesterday, I
finally have hot water! A licensed American plumber
could have made the foot-long, four-copper-pipe,
replacement installation in an hour - tops. Not so fast
with the sigh of relief for me, though. This morning’s
shower was more than adventurous. The on-demand water
heater heats only six liters of water and the water it
initially produced through the bullet-like, rain shower
head was scalding hot. When I got that adjusted by
adding cold water, I lathered my hair only to be
instantly sprayed in very cold water. Apparently in that
short time, I had exhausted the six liter capacity of
the machine. This is going to take a major adjustment to
my shower routine. Mike the landlord made the mistake of
asking me how the shower worked this morning and I gave
him an accurate report. He spent 30 minutes or so trying
to get the shower adjusted and, finally, appeared to get
a solid stream of perfectly warmed water. It took Mike,
and it will take me mañana, a brain surgeon’s touch on
the two faucets to get the right temperature on the
water piercing my body. Mike also offered to get a new
shower head. Hallelujah!
While the troops were working
on the hot water, I took a collectivo (mini-bus) from
the corner to the Soriana Hiper, saving a one-way taxi
fare of $2.60. The collectivo, the transportation local
folks use, cost less than fifty cents. With the $80
worth of groceries that I purchased stuffed into many,
little, plastic bags - packed there by alternating male
senior citizens whom it is customary to tip a few pesos
- I needed to take a taxi home. But, two dollars saved
on the round-trip is two dollars earned, or so Ben
Franklin’s old adage goes. Well, it goes something like
that.
Last night, I used Uber for the
first time in Mexico. Who would believe that La Paz has
Uber? Not I. Two minutes after making the phone call and
watching his progress on the map on my phone, the
driver, Jesus, pulled up in front of the casa. Yes, I
said Jesus was my Uber driver! The short trip to the
Mexican restaurant of the evening cost $2.00, instead of
the taxi rate of $2.60, saving me sixty cents, not
including the tip I customarily give to taxi drivers. At
this rate, I might be able to extend my stay in the
Baja! I walked home in the dark, a real challenge with
few street lights, dangerously-constructed sidewalks,
and rough, ankle-turning, street surfaces. Mike, my
landlord, followed the Uber process, impressed with the
service he had never seen before. They were still
working on my hot water when I arrived home, but
finished within the hour, a full 10 hours after the
project began.
On a blustery, chilly afternoon
and evening in La Paz, I watched the NFL championship
game in two bars, the first an open-air nightclub-type
too cold for my old bones, despite the blanket they
provided to their few customers to ward off the chill.
Ten minutes before half-time, an incessant police siren
kept getting closer to the bar along the malecon, until
right at the two minute mark of the first half, some
sort of religious parade with at least two thousand
participants marching gaily and waving white flags or
holding white, helium-filled balloons began marching
past. I know it was a religious parade because a
religious figure with a crown on his head and ensconced
in a small, clear, cubical, acrylic box was carried
nearer the beginning of the parade on the shoulders of
six participants. Immediately following the
saint/religious figure was the first of eight, flat-bed
trucks with bands, singing celebrants and more marchers.
The music seemed more rock and roll than religious to me
and the celebrants were dancing and singing with great
fervor. The parade lasted through half-time and as it
ended I left the bar and headed home along the malecon.
Many tourists were gazing at the heavens and
photographing (I had no phone or camera with me) the
most spectacular sunset that I have ever seen. I have
been in many locations in the world that claim the best
sunsets and I have been completely unimpressed. This
sunset impressed the daylights (no pun intended) out of
me!! Stretching from the horizon to my zenith (directly
overhead), were wide bands of orange or coral-colored,
brightly-lit, cirrus clouds interspersed with bands of
crystal-blue sky and 10 degrees below my zenith was the
quarter moon. A spectacular sight, proving without a
doubt that the Eagles victory was heaven sent.
I couldn’t update yesterday as
planned when the hot water transplant took place right
beside my writing table, still the only table in the
house. You’ll have to admit that I made up for it today
with blarney to spare. I’ll try to abbreviate future
updates. Hasta pronto!
01/26/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
The shower saga has reached a
fantastic conclusion! Yesterday morning’s shower, day
two of the saga, brought a perfect shower experience.
Apparently, the new on-demand water heater needed to be
primed or needed to practice, because all of the
problems of the first day’s shower disappeared in the
second iteration. The faucets were turned the same way,
I stood in the same place, the gas-fired heater fired
up, and delivered a beautiful shower. I owe my apologies
to Mike, the engineer/landlord and the Mexican plumber
for criticizing their work. This morning’s shower was
much the same. I think they have this problem completely
solved.
Yesterday morning brought a
chilly start, which required a walk to the marina, a
seat at a table overlooking the clear water, and a cup
of coffee with a touch of Bailey’s to ward off the
chill. Come on, it was on the menu - cafe irelandia. The
high temperature for the day still reached 75 degrees,
but the start brought a light breeze which made it feel
colder. I have alternated frappuccino and a local pastry
at home one day while updating on the computer with a
short, two block walk on the next to a tiny, local
restaurant where I am a source of entertainment. On my
first visit, the family that owns the place couldn’t
change my 100 peso ($5.00) note for a $3.00 breakfast,
so I joked with them that, maybe, I could pay tomorrow.
To my surprise they quickly agreed and I left on my trip
to the mega grocery store, where I got change. On the
way home, I asked the cabbie to stop at the little place
and paid them, much to THEIR surprise. I also included
the remaining $2 as a propina (tip) which pleased them
even more.
This morning on my second trip
to the place, the daughter proudly told me that her
mother, seated in the corner drinking a cup of coffee,
had celebrated her 67th birthday on Wednesday. To which
I responded, this is all in Spanish because I haven’t
heard a word of English in the place, “in the Estados
Unidos, when you have a birthday you get many kisses
(besos).” Whereupon I grossly puckered up to indicate
that it was my turn to give kisses. The family roared,
so I proceeded over to the mother and gave her a big hug
with a kiss on each cheek that brought down the house. I
try to spread a little good will with each visit to a
foreign land.
Speaking of which, another of
my practices is to invite a hard-working lady to join me
for dinner at a nice restaurant, one that she could ill
afford. Yes, my wife knows about all of these practices
in advance of each “date” and gets a review of the meal
and the conversation by phone immediately thereafter. My
first “date” this year involved a waitress at a
diner-like, breakfast restaurant where I had been a
regular two years ago. She had always been warm and
friendly, so when I returned to Rancho Viejo while
living at the hotel, I learned that she had recently
undergone a divorce and she had her oldest child living
with her, while her younger two lived with her husband
and his new mujere. Sounded like a person who could use
a little cheering up, so I invited her to dinner. We had
a nice time, one I’m certain she will remember for a
long time. Of course I returned to my casa and recounted
the evening for my wife.
Last night, I invited my
(Mike’s) cleaning lady to dinner, since she is living
with the same familial conditions as Maria, my first
dinner companion. I went to a great restaurant ($$$)
where she would have a great meal, a nice conversation,
and a story to tell. My secret motive in all this, no,
not what all my golfing buddies are thinking, is that
the conversations are all in Spanish, since I would only
invite a non-English-speaking person, so I must focus
intently on bringing my Spanish skills into play. It is
always a long, tiring conversation, exercising that
portion of the brain that processes language, instead of
that portion of the brain that my golfing buddies are
using right now. Anyway, Aida failed to show up last
night. No phone call, nada. I waited an hour and a half,
then enjoyed a fantastic meal of ensalada caprese with
avocado, then one of the best prime ribs I have ever
eaten. Expensive, yes, but I only had to pay for one. I
was stood up, but it certainly didn’t impact my ego to
be stood up for a platonic meal. Perhaps, she didn’t
have clothing she felt appropriate, perhaps one of her
children needed attention. Who knows, but I should find
out when she works around one of Mike’s other rentals
later today.
That’s it for today. Lunch will
be a small piece of the huge piece of prime rib that I
brought home in a doggy bag last night. Adios.
01/29/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Ahh, a leather recliner with a
small, attached, swiveling, clear, acrylic table with
drink holder, another drink holder in the arm of the
chair - a great new addition to the furniture in my
casa, you would naturally think. But, no, it was my
movie seat in the theater on the second floor, right
next to the mega-grocery store where I shop for
groceries. After dinner on Friday night - a large,
delicious, grilled octopus, now that you asked - I
thought I needed some entertainment, so I boarded the
collectivo for the short ride to the theater. I asked at
the multi-plex counter what movie was playing next,
picked an assigned seat from the computer which
displayed those still available, and paid $4.71 for my
ticket to watch Matt Damon star in a ridiculous film
about humans being shrunk to five inches tall to address
the huge threat of over-population in the world. Here
called “Small, Big Life,” but may be titled “Downsizing”
at home. Stupid movie, for which he was probably paid
millions to star, but it served its purpose of helping
me pass the time and I exited the theater a few minutes
after 10:00 p.m.
The grocery store was still
open so I bought a few breakfast items to eat while I
update next time. Did I mention that the
freshly-squeezed orange juice is fantastic here? Even
the juice packaged in quart-sized, milk-container-like
boxes and marked freshly squeezed explodes with flavor,
much more than the popular, 100% not-from-concentrate
juice at home.
Don’t worry about my housing. I
may not have a lounge chair, but I have a large,
very-comfortable sofa and ottoman. I also now have
curtains on the four most important windows in my abode
which sufficiently diminish the street lights and
provide a modicum of privacy. Just this morning, Miguel
(Mike, my landlord) brought down two end tables and
placed them beside the beds in each room. We (?) are
making steady progress on making this into a furnished
apartment. On Saturday, Mike and I drove to the edge of
town and shopped through the Segundas (second hand
stores) looking for a dining table and chairs. We found
a number of tables and chairs that would have looked
great in a formal dining room at home, but which Mike
and I agreed would not have the Mexican feel. Who wants
to rent a house in La Paz when it has an American,
formal dining room look to it? Not I, but I know there
are people who travel overseas only to stay in Hiltons
or rent apartments that look like home. My preference is
when in Mexico, live Mexican. When in Spain, live
Spanish, and when in Argentina, live Argentinean. I
think you get the picture. Anyway, Mike is coming
through a little at a time and I love the place more
with each improvement. Remember, “good things come to
those who wait.”
This morning, I lugged a bag of
dirty clothes down to the laundry, a short block and a
half away and right on the way to my new breakfast spot.
Will pick up the clean duds tomorrow at 11:00. Yes,
there is a washer on the second floor of the building
where another studio is located here on the property,
but I would have to hang the laundered clothing on the
porch of that building while there are residents in the
casita. A very pleasant couple from British Columbia,
halfway between Victoria and Vancouver, is renting the
place for a few days and I wouldn’t want to diminish
their enjoyment of the garden by having my undies
flapping in front of them. Soon, Mike will have a
clothes line stretched between my casa and the
neighbor’s wall and I will then wash my own clothes
again. We looked for a multiple clothes line hanger the
other day at a hardware store on the way back from the
Segundas, but found nothing. I’m confident Mike will
find something soon.
Oh, food wise, I weakened
yesterday and bought my first Mexican hamburger. Not bad
and I’ll have a photo shortly. It is not a hardship to
go without burgers since, for whatever reason, I only
eat two or three burgers a year. I also took photos of
my new friends from the breakfast place to share with
you. Enjoy! Adios.
01/31/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
“It takes a village to raise a
child,” but sometimes a single family member can inspire
a person into action. This time it was my brother, John,
in the midst of a successful, VA-directed, weight-loss
and exercise program who humbled me by describing to me
on the phone his 3.5 mile walk in the bad weather of PA
while I languish on my sofa in the perfect walking
weather of the Baja. “I enjoy and look forward to my
walk every day,” he said and I remembered that same
feeling during my 20-year, morning, walking regimen laid
low by plantar fasciitis (now completely gone) and
abdominal surgery (now fully healed). What was I waiting
for?
I had been increasing my
walking here, usually to or from restaurants where I
have been eating mostly mariscos (seafood), but I had
hated every step along the way. I just endured, but
yesterday, his words ringing in my mind, I tied on my
walking sneakers, put on the hat I hadn’t yet worn, and
headed out to the malecon, determined to enjoy my walk.
Walk I did, and once the creaky knee pain subsided, I
started enjoying the walk. To the end of the new malecon
construction and all the way back, with only two stops
in between to shoot the breeze about the latest local
news, I covered somewhere between four and five miles.
It was all a matter of mindset, my brother was right, I
enjoyed the walk and the accomplishment. I know that I
am losing weight because of a much lighter diet, though
I savor every bite and try to share the experience with
readers, but the walk revived a long-dormant feeling. If
I can keep up the exercise, I’m certain to lose weight
more quickly. Nobody will recognize me when I return
home. Thanks, John!
About the local news: There was
a small gun battle in town the day before yesterday, but
it was some distance from my little casa - at least six
or eight blocks. Not to be concerned! I never heard a
thing and slept like a baby. They were talking about it
in town, though, but it didn’t rattle anybody except the
neighbors. Police and marines surrounded a house and a
gun battle ensued for five hours (the locals say) with
machine guns fired by the military, etc. Nobody even
killed. Five or six people inside were captured,
including two women (the locals tell me they were
prostitutes) and the guy the police were after - an
escaped prisoner from the Cabo San Lucas prison. They
seized many weapons, too.
The taxi drivers and my local
friends tell me there is nothing to worry about for
tourists unless a stray shell hits you. Probably more
dangerous in deer season in PA. It is certainly more
dangerous in parts of Baltimore and Chicago. There is
plenty of police and military presence and the
government is sending even more help. They are very
conscious of protecting tourists, so I’ll just let them
do their work. I’ll keep you updated! Hasta pronto.
02/02/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Cuatro!! Cuatro!! That’s what I
need to run through the neighborhood (barrio) screaming,
in an effort to have the neighbors look out for an
incoming projectile. Yes, that was FORE! FORE! - in
Spanish, a poorly used golf metaphor. I was informed
today that my traveling shadow, Schim, is on his way to
the Baja and will arrive on February 11th. The neighbors
need somehow to be warned to lock up their women-folk
and also their refrigerators when the big fellow from
Orlando arrives. Nothing I do will be good enough and
everything will be too expensive when the man known
embarrassingly to drink salsa from the nacho serving
bowl while thanking the waiter for the free soup ambles
into town. An entire week of retraining will be
necessary for him to reach a level where I feel
comfortable introducing him as a friend.
Actually, the schedule for
visitors to my little corner of the world is shaping up
pretty well. Schim will be here on the 11th and leave on
the 20th, no doubt leaving fire and destruction in his
wake, destroying five weeks of the warm, neighborly,
diplomatic advances I have made in this Mexican city. On
the 20th, golfing buddy and restaurateur, David, will
arrive eager to soak up some sunshine and take a few
hacks at a golf ball or two. The day before David
departs, February 28th, my wife will fly into San Jose
where I will deliver David for his flight home. Perhaps,
things will get a little more colorful to report with
visitors in town and my month-long loneliness will end.
There is potential for that.
Yesterday was a dreary day, one
that delighted the locals since an infrequent rain
produced puddles on the streets and sidewalks. The very
light drizzle ruined my planned excursion to the driving
range across the bay, but I endured by reading and
studying Spanish all day. It brightened enough by
evening that I was able to sit outside at Il Rustico, a
nice Italian restaurant, and enjoy my prosciutto and
melon, then a decent pizza. I couldn’t finish the pizza,
but brought a portion of it home to the fridge for
dinner tonight.
This morning began dreary
again, but I ventured outside for breakfast, planning to
catch an early ferry to the golf course. The day
brightened and the weather was perfect for hitting the
little, white, ball. I had to buy a glove and arrange to
return Monday for more practice and to pay for the
glove, before deciding whether to become a member of the
club for two months. The pro has always given me a fair
rate to do that, but I’m not yet certain I want to play
that much golf. I hit some lousy shots on the range, the
first I have hit in three or four months, but overall, I
was thrilled with most of my practice. Hit with borrowed
rental clubs, the pro takes care of me, my first efforts
were “look up,” line drives, but the more I hit, the
better the shots got. I only hit part of a small bucket
of balls, quitting before I could pull any muscles not
used in such a long time and that was very successful. I
did exhaust myself, however and, for the first time in
my life, I fell asleep while writing an email. Maybe, it
was Schim, the recipient, who made me doze, but the
short siesta that proceeded this writing was desperately
needed. I’ll need a day or two more of practice and
muscle stretching before venturing out on the course,
but I’m looking forward to that experience. My game
should be a few days ahead of David’s by the time he
arrives. Might be the time to place a wager on the
round. Hmmm. Buen fin de semana!
02/05/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Eagles win!! Eagles win!!
Though I am a much bigger fan of Penn State football and
the Phillies, I celebrated my contribution to the
Eagles’ Super Bowl victory last night. I watched the
game in the same two bars where I watched their victory
over the Vikings, not breaking the mojo that I created
with that last, awesome, playoff win. It took great
effort, but I downed two, large pina coladas and three
tacos gobernador during the first half. The tacos were
the best I have had here, with many shrimp, much cheese,
and sautéed onions, served with small bowls of salsa
(liquid fire I do not touch), pico de gallo, and
guacamole to add to your taste. The latter two for me
contributing to a scrumptious, moist taco that required
intense focus in order to cheer on the Eagles. In the
second brew pub, reached just as halftime ended, I drank
a Clamato juice (two alcohol drinks are my limit) and a
serving of the smallest wings I have ever seen. The
waitress assured me with a big smile that they were not
pigeon wings, though I’m still not sure, but they were
tasty and the heat they generated was surely felt by the
Eagles offense. Super Bowl champs - how about that!
This morning after my desayuno
(breakfast) stop, where I shared photos of my family
with my new friends at the restaurant, I decided to get
a haircut. Not willing to risk the abuse and the
suggestions Schim gives to the barber when I am on the
chair, I decided to search for the shop where I got a
haircut with my friend, Ron, the last time I was in La
Paz. I’m afraid that my narratives have whet Schim’s
appetite for some cheap meals and a little Mexican
adventure, since he has moved up his arrival date to
this Friday. THIS FRIDAY? I have warned the neighbors
and the landlord of his arrival and many plan to send
their families to visit relatives on the mainland.
I called a taxi that I use
regularly and tried unsuccessfully to describe the
location of the barber shop. We cruised for an hour,
unable to locate it, though I passed it on foot the
other day and have a clear mental picture of its
location. Whether the driver intentionally prolonged the
search I have no idea, but after taking the same streets
for the second and third time, I became suspicious and a
little short tempered. I finally told him to take me to
one of the dozen or so other peluquerias (barber shops)
that we had passed during our quest. Finally, and $10
later, he dropped me at a small, one-person, unisex shop
where a woman was finishing the haircut of a young man
whose hair looked pretty good. I jumped in the chair not
knowing what to expect, but think she did an acceptable
job. I won’t be mistaken for Brad Pitt, but people won’t
run away in horror or burst out laughing, either, at
least no more so than usual. I will include a selfie in
my next group of photos.
Two new furnishings arrived
over the weekend. No, no tables or chairs, simply a
coffee pot which will be used by my visitors; I prefer
one cup daily consumed in a cafe or restaurant. I still
have only one small table and chair on which I am
writing this blog, but Mike, the landlord, has ordered a
new, large dining table and six chairs that could arrive
before Schim blows into town. Mike also delivered and
set-up a brand-new, smart, large-screen TV for the
living room. With his Netflix subscription, I can now
watch movies at home; who knows, Schim and I may want to
cuddle while watching a flick? Adios!
02/07/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Living in the lap of luxury
these days! The dining room table, six chairs, and a
book shelf to support and elevate the big screen TV all
arrived yesterday! Brand new, Mexican-made furniture
that looks great in my little casa and almost makes it
feel like home. A few more amenities here and there, a
chair here, a table there, a few pictures on the walls,
and the place will be fully decorated. The landlord is
doing a great job addressing my needs, little by little,
but yesterday was a windfall.
I left after breakfast at my
desayuno stop, fully intending to shop until I dropped
in both Walmart and Home Depot, located in adjacent
shopping malls a $3 Uber ride away. I needed shelving
for the bathroom, a small throw rug to keep street soil
off the sometimes-wet, white-tiled, bathroom floor, a
couple more towels, something to hang from the shower
head to hold soap and shampoo, an air freshener for the
stale air that hangs in the living room on still days,
and a few grocery items. Not a huge Walmart fan, a place
in which I never set foot at home, I started there and
bought everything on my list before realizing that I was
out of gas. Shopped out! I passed on some shelving that
might fit over the toilet and provide the only storage
space in the tiny bathroom, because I wasn’t certain it
would fit. I will return today with measurements marked
on my jean belt (who packs a tape measure?) to see if
the shelving will squeeze into the small space
available. Shopped out! I was exhausted, but it was
mainly my feet that were killing me. I should have known
better than to wear sandals for anything that requires
lengthy walking or standing, but I didn’t. I took a
waiting taxi home, unwilling to wait for Uber and delay
removing my sandals. That’s when I discovered that Mike
had moved in the new furniture. A great surprise!
Everything I bought fit or
worked perfectly. I even ate some of the cereal this
morning for breakfast. Kellogg’s muesli with honey, not
the Swiss muesli I eat occasionally at home, but it sure
tasted good this morning. I missed the frijoles, of
course, but the cereal and the vanilla Frappuccino hit
the spot. As soon as I finish writing, I will head back
out shopping once more; this time with soft,
orthotic-lined shoes and I will begin at Home Depot to
spread the wealth. I still could use a stretchable wash
line so that I can use the washer on this property
instead of walking my laundry a block and a half down
the street and paying somebody to wash and fold it.
Pretty nice to pick up the laundry and put it in the
closet, knowing that all my clothes are clean again
without doing any work, though.
Carnaval begins on Thursday and
Schim arrives on Friday. He will, no doubt, think the
fiesta is in honor of his arrival, but we’ll have to
power our way through the crowds at the bus station to
find a taxi to get his trunks to the casa. He has been
writing, reviewing his clothing selection and his color
coordination with me and discussing how he will contact
me when he arrives. Here’s hoping he packs only two
trunks for this short visit. He will land in the Los
Cabos airport and immediately board an express bus that
will transport him to the La Paz terminal where I will
meet him among the throngs of celebrants gathered for
Carnaval.
David is also reviewing details
of his travel here, now only two weeks away. It is his
first venture into Mexico, so he will have a few
adjustments to make. David is originally from England,
so he should find the very “rustic” nature of Mexico a
new experience. He will note that few people stop
mid-day for tea. He could struggle a tad, eh wot? Things
are about to get interesting! Hasta pronto.
02/09/18 - La Paz,
BCS, Mexico
“Perico,” the chef answered
when I asked what kind of delicious fish she had served
me. I previously told her to bring me what she thought
best that night and that is what I got. It was
scrumptious and the presentation beautiful, but later I
got to thinking about another delicious “catch of the
day” I had eaten in a fine-dining restaurant at home
that had me up all night with severe diarrhea. Was this
the same fish? Beware of Hawaiian butter fish, also
called escolar!! While delicious, it contains oils that
react negatively to most people’s intestinal tracts. So
much so, that the fish has been banned from commercial
use in Japan and the Philippines, I have been told. It
certainly has been banned from my diet, that’s for sure.
I had never heard of Perico, so as soon as I got home
that evening, I googled it, which would have been a
little late had it been escolar. Great news! In Spanish,
Perico refers to dolphin fish - “mahi-mahi” in Hawaiian.
I’ll include a photo of the dish and a few others in the
next day or so.
Yesterday, I played my first
round of golf of 2018 and it went amazingly well for a
first outing with a mixed set of rental clubs, no golf
shoes, little talent, and a very rusty swing. I met a
professional golfer, Ty, and his father-in-law, Bob, on
the ferry both heading over to play the course for the
first time. They were delighted not having to endure any
more of the Canadian winter, since they are from Alberta
which is currently experiencing extremely nasty weather,
even for Alberta. Ty is the head pro and manager at a
course right outside Calgary where his in-laws reside
during the summer months. They have purchased a condo
here and, since his retirement a couple years ago, Bob
and his wife spend six months a year in this beautiful
desert city. Ty is a left-hander who hit long, low,
screaming hooks all day. He had at least three birdies;
I did not, nor did Bob. I shot 52-48 an even 100, which
is way better than it sounds. This course has the
largest, most diabolically-undulating greens that I have
ever seen on a course. I four-putted three times and
three-putted once on the front nine, needing a record
(for me) of 23 putts. I needed only 16 on the back
totaling 39 putts, for those counting. I have taken 42
putts on my worst day ever on much, much flatter greens,
so it wasn’t a bad day. We played tees that made the
course 6200 yards long.
By the time I walked home from
the ferry, maybe six blocks, I was tuckered out. 100
swings in the desert heat had taken their toll! I didn’t
even leave the house for dinner, making three vanilla
cookies and a small glass of milk my meal for the
evening. I should have gone to a fine restaurant, since
today is the day that Shim arrives and I know we will be
eating (cheap) street food for the duration of his stay.
The cleaning lady is here, making the place spic and
span for the big fella’s arrival. I need to pick up my
laundry at 2:00 this afternoon, hang it in the closet,
and head for the bus station. An afternoon siesta might
also be appropriate. Schim should arrive between 5:00
and 6:00 p.m. He has already emailed me from Houston,
indicating his safe arrival there after a smooth flight
in an upgraded seat. The guy knows all the angles! Hasta
pronto!
02/12/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Schim arrived right on time,
within a couple minutes of my arrival from the 20-minute
walk up the malecon to the bus station. After a 4:30
a.m. departure from his house, he was exhausted from a
long day of travel - two, 2.5 hour flights and a
three-hour, mini-bus ride on rough desert roads. We
quickly taxied to my little casa where he unpacked,
unwound, and shared (ad nauseam) his travel experiences
of the day. Then, the hunger struck him. “Where are we
going to eat, tonight?” I gave him a choice of seafood
at a local favorite within walking distance, or a trip
by Uber to an inexpensive, local, Mexican grill for some
standard Mexican fare. He chose the seafood place, so we
walked about five blocks to El Toro Guero, a
thatched-roof-covered, local hot-spot whose seafood is
inexpensive, fresh, and delicious. Catching a glimpse of
grilled octopus (my favorite) on a plate as we walked
past a row of tables, Schim decided that was what he
wanted for dinner. First, however, he decided that we
should have a shrimp appetizer, so he asked me to order
the “FIesta de Camarones.” He was also going to
order the octopus, but I convinced him to wait until we
finished the shrimp to order that dish. A good thing,
too!! Check my photos to see the monstrous,
probably-would-easily-have-served-four, dish of shrimp
that appeared at our table. Butterflied shrimp, fried
shrimp wrapped in bacon, coconut shrimp, shrimp with a
spicy sauce over rice, and tempura shrimp served in a
wannabe washtub over a bed of lettuce. We tried, but we
couldn’t handle it all; the octopus would have to wait
for another night. We easily brought home a dozen pieces
of uneaten shrimp for the fridge, but two days later as
I write this, Schim reports to me that the refrigerated
shrimp has been devoured. He ate it all, a little at a
time, also the rest of the box of cookies and the bag of
Snickers that I put in the fridge because I know his
proclivity for constant snacking. Today, we will have to
restock at Soriana, the huge grocery store he has never
visited. That trip will encompass several hours as he
critiques their marketing techniques and product
displays. Sears started to falter when the Schimster
retired, no doubt.
The man who takes pictures of
postcards to avoid entrance fees in sites like castles,
museums, and antiquities has done it again. Last night,
at the opening parade of this city’s colorful Carnaval,
we watched about 45 minutes of the four-hour festivities
with loud, contagious music, colorful floats, beautiful
lasses in gorgeous costumes, and bands of supporters
singing and dancing down the street, some with bouncing
umbrellas streaming lacy, coordinated cloth and dancing
Mummers’ style. The huge throng of excited people
gathered on both sides of the parade, urged participants
on and begged for the candy and favors tossed from the
floats. It was an impressive spectacle, certainly not at
the level of Rio’s Carnaval, but thrilling. THEN, the
clock struck 7:30 p.m. and the Schimster was ready for
bed! “When are we leaving?” And, “I’m ready when you
are,” spilled desperately from his lips. I was afraid he
might fall asleep on the way home, so we left the
festivities, heading home in a taxi, and the big guy was
in bed before 8:00 p.m. The taxi driver informed us that
the festivities would last until 4:00 a.m. We only
missed eight hours of the celebration. Oh, this is going
to be an exciting couple of weeks!
This morning, he was up again
at 4:00 a.m. and reading his novel, sipping coffee at
the dining room table, and waiting for the day’s action.
He maintains that it is not jet-lag; these are his
normal waking and sleeping hours at home in Florida. Oh,
his lucky significant other, MJ! I will try to endure
and keep you informed. Hasta luego!
02/15/18 - La Paz,
BCS, Mexico
La Tortuga!! For three or more
years, Schim has remembered a terrible, little, and very
cheap restaurant in emails to me as the finest purveyor
of Mexican cuisine on the planet. I remembered it as a
horribly-dirty place, one step above a dirt-floor food
stall, owned by a wonderful, old lady who performed all
the tasks in the six-table dining room while cooking
seafood dishes in her dark, adjacent kitchen out of
sight around the corner. Before his arrival, I warned
him that I would only dine in Tortuga (turtle) one time
and no more. Sunday night was that night and Schim now
agrees with my critique of the place, venturing so far
as to say, “I’ll never go back,” and muttering almost
under his breath that he didn’t think the sweet, old
lady had changed her sweater since our last visit. My
bowl of fish stew was fine, but Schim’s dish of a shrimp
creole-look-a-like appeared a little skimpy. I felt it
necessary to ask several times if the lemonade and the
ice cubes that I was drinking had been prepared with
aqua purificada and she assured me that it had. It was
that kind of place.
Monday morning, we buzzed
around the golf course in a cart and Schim exited the
cart only one time when I insisted that he walk on a
huge, undulating, double green to appreciate how
difficult putting might be on that surface. He took one
step onto the green, bent down, touched the grass,
exclaimed, “That grass is soft,” and returned
immediately to the cart. He whined the rest of the way
on the 40 minute trip about how cold it was; it was an
overcast, breezy day, but at 75 degrees the old boy was
freezing? As we rode the ferry back to the mainland, he
did reluctantly confess that he enjoyed the experience,
“Now, what’s for lunch?” he asked. He views golf courses
the way he does museums - with a hit and run approach.
Yesterday, we rented a car from
Avis and went on a day-trip to El Triunfo, a desert
mining town, now all but a ghost town, and enjoyed lunch
in a beautifully renovated bake shop/restaurant. One of
the Waltons of Walmart fame has a gorgeously- renovated
home, one of only 20 or so in the town, that must serve
as a remote getaway for a person of that wealth. The
small, dusty, neighboring town of San Antonio was
apparently a thriving gold and silver mining town in the
distant past, but now only has a handful of residents, a
church, and a tiny elementary school. A visit there
certainly makes one, even Schim, appreciate the finer
things in life that we normally take for granted at
home. It was a long day, especially since the navigator
only gave instructions once the driver, yours truly, was
past the turn-off or intersection. A glance at a map
might also have helped, but 20 mile detours through the
desert heading the opposite direction to Tijuana seemed
to make the day much more interesting and asking policia
federales (state police) directions gave the police a
chance to practice their English.
On our return, I swung by the
Costa Baja Golf Course designed by Gary Player, and
Schim finally gushed a little over the views. The course
has been closed and reopened only a few weeks ago,
displaying many brown spots on the fairways, but the
elevation changes and the view of La Paz Bay were as
spectacular as ever. The Schimster even snapped a photo
or two. Maybe, there’s hope for him, yet. Nah, not a
chance! Hasta pronto.
02/17/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Pictures, pastries, and
patience! Much easier than having the film developed and
mailing the negatives home, as I used to do, the
transmission of pictures is still a royal pain.
Yesterday, I sent 25 pictures and captions to my
daughter, the webmaster, but it must have taken me 3
hours to complete the process. First, the pictures were
too large and transmission took so long they froze in my
outbox with the little thingy spinning incessantly.
Next, pictures went and captions didn’t. Then, only six
pictures got through until I was finally instructed, by
the webmaster herself, to reduce the size of the photos,
write the caption, and send them in bundles of five (I
slipped in a couple of six-photo-bundles just to see
what I could get away with). But, each time, I had to go
back through the photo albums, select the picture, and
re-write the caption. Finally, after spending much of
the day frustrated by my ineptitude, I got the photos
through. I hope you enjoy them.
A couple days ago in the heat
of the day, Schim and I hopped a collectivo (poor folks’
bus) and headed to the central market where food stands
sell many traditional Mexican dishes; think menudo and
pozole (tripe soup and beef & hominy soup) - photos
included. Afterward, we caught another collectivo to
head home. I inquired of the driver before boarding,
“will this bus go to Soriana?” the large grocery store
we had visited a day or two earlier. The driver nodded
yes, and we climbed aboard. Schim roughly tossing a
young girl and her grandmother to the floor to capture a
seat for us. Within three or four blocks I told Schim
that the collectivo was headed in the wrong direction.
Four or five blocks further in the wrong direction, we
disembarked in the middle of a strange neighborhood. It
turns out there is more than one Soriana in this large,
capital city. Who knew?? I did know the general
direction home, but it took me several blocks in the
broiling sun to convince Schim that we could afford to
split the $2.00 taxi fare to get there. We hailed a
passing mini-van/taxi-cab with a crew of two: husband
driving and wife hawking the home-made pastries she had
baked and stuffed with dulce de leche. When we arrived
home, I took my change in pastries, about eight in
number. We bid the husband and wife team adieu (adios)
and started to unlock the gate while the taxi pulled
away. As we entered our property, the taxi hurriedly
backed up, the husband jumped from the van, and waved
another cellophane-wrapped pastry at us, explaining that
they hadn’t given us enough pastries for our money. GET
OUT! How great are these people and why, again, should
we build a wall? These are warm, friendly, honest,
hard-working people; I feel safe and privileged to be
able to live among them for a short time.
Patience is a laudable virtue
but one that is unevenly distributed in the world’s
population. Fortunately, I seem to possess a lot; Schim
possesses none! In Mexico, known by all to exhibit a
wonderful mañana attitude and lifestyle, one sits at a
restaurant table until a waiter or waitress approaches
to take a drink order, almost like at home but the wait
is a little longer. Schim yells, “Cerveza,” at the host
or hostess even before taking his seat, then laments the
lack of service in the place when the beer is slow to
appear. Here, once a food order is placed, even in the
cheapest of restaurants that Schim prefers, the food is
made from scratch, beginning when the order is received
by the kitchen. This takes time, mañana time, and during
that time, Schim is energized, then frazzled at the time
being wasted. All of this while folks at other tables
engage in delightful, familial conversation while
waiting. Schim is the reason “fast food” was created.
The other evening I called
Uber, always my Uber (never his), and the lovely, young,
21-year-old lady, Luisa, who arrived in her second week
of employment with the company, had a little difficulty
finding the Greek restaurant we were seeking. OK,
perhaps it was more than a little difficulty, perhaps 20
minutes or so, but she kept trying, circling blocks,
checking her GPS, nervously searching for our
destination. After the first three minutes, Schim began
sniping from the back seat. I have a granddaughter
Luisa’s age and I could picture her under the pressure
of two strange men demanding instant service. Actually,
I treated her a little like my oldest granddaughter to
make up for the ever-louder sniping from the back seat.
Fortunately, she spoke little English, but I’m certain
she could read his tone of voice. Finally, I told her to
let us out next to an Italian restaurant where I had
eaten before. She was much relieved and I for her. He
grumbled all the way into his seat, even sitting this
time before yelling, “Cerveza!” The man has no patience
and, if time permitted, I would discuss “tolerance,”
another valued trait I have yet to see exhibited. He
heads home Tuesday and I can’t seem to get him to move
up his departure. Adios.
02/18/18 - La Paz, BCS,
Mexico
OK! OK! Maybe, I was a little harsh in my use of Schim
as a foil in my writing. Really, he is the Costello to
my Abbott, the Hardy to my Laurel. But, when both my
wife and my daughter reacted negatively to my abuse of
the Schimster, I realized that I needed to apologize:
I’m sorry Schim, really I am! Please note, however,
that Schim never asked me to apologize and he laughed
heartily when I told him of the reaction of the
webmaster and my wife. He knows how he treats me - by
throwing objects through the elevated window from the
kitchen into the bathroom when I am in the midst of my
morning ablutions. He realizes his cross-body blocks
of me into masonry walls while walking at night
deserve a rebuke, so he felt no pain with my
descriptions of him on the blog. But, I am truly
sorry, Schim, for all those readers who felt a need to
defend your honor. There, I feel so much better.
Wait, I guess I should make one other
confession to cleanse my soul: he didn’t really throw
the girl and her grandmother to the floor to capture a
seat. He did hip-check me into the seat across the
aisle to secure a shady-side seat for himself,
however. Please do not think for a minute that this is
a one-sided battle. He handles himself quite nicely
until the chips are down with police presence or some
other pressure-filled situation arises. Then, he
buckles. Oops, there I go again. Sorry, Schim.
He is not a bad roommate, though. This
morning, Sunday, he was up early again (4:00 a.m.) and
decided that the floors that he had swept several
times in the last few days needed mopping. He even
paid for yesterday’s groceries which included a mop
and a small table needed for make-up application when
my wife arrives. After his very thorough mopping,
which he completed while respecting my space where I
was finishing my night’s sleep, he hand-washed two
shirts and two pairs of underwear to help him stay
clean until Tuesday, his departure date. His laundry
now hangs on plastic hangers hung from a tree limb in
the back yard. Most nights, he is in bed by 7:30 p.m.
and up by 4:00 a.m. - what a schedule!
Today, as his laundry dried, we walked five
blocks for a great breakfast at a place Schim and I
found a few years back that has now become a go-to
place for locals for Sunday, after-church breakfast.
The live vocalist, accompanied by recorded music, who
learned the lyrics to my favorite Mexican cancion the
last time I was in town, recognized me and sang a
beautiful rendition of Maria Elena for me. Schim was
embarrassed and stood outside listening
surreptitiously as I joined the vocalist for a refrain
or two. Life is good and I feel so much better now
that I have freed myself from the guilt I have been
carrying. Hasta luego!
02/22/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Schim’s gone! Schim’s gone!
Let the fiesta begin! I drove Schim to the airport two
days ago in the 2001 Jeep Cherokee Sport that I rented
from a friend for the trip. The Jeep had 158,000 miles
on it, slightly more than the Volvo S 80 that I sold a
month before embarking on this adventure. Despite
Schim’s complaints during the entire trip, the old,
red Jeep performed admirably on the ride across the
Baja. We stopped at Oxxo, the Mexican WaWa or 7-11,
and picked up two gallons of purified water in case we
broke down and needed to survive in the desert. The
necessity of survival was not likely, though, the road
is well-traveled and the Mexicans are notoriously
generous in offering help to troubled travelers. I’m
sure that they would have stopped to help almost
immediately. The water also could be used if we had an
overheating problem and we used some outside the Oxxo
to wet the windshield prior to wiping with the paper
towels we also purchased at the store. I’m a little
OCD (obsessive compulsive) about driving with clean
windows.
Schim, certain I had taken
the wrong road to get to Los Cabos, finally admitted
his mistake and enjoyed the scenic, desert drive. As
we swung close to Todos Santos on the Pacific Ocean
and as the road turned to face the ocean, we clearly
saw a whale breach not far from shore. I had to keep
my eyes on the road, but Schim saw two more breaches
as we drove, but I only caught a glimpse. For once, he
seemed impressed. We buzzed through Cabo San Lucas on
the way because I felt that he should at least see the
famous Baja beach town. Schim was disinterested, as
usual, too focused on getting to the airport on time.
Get there we did, almost an hour and a half before his
flight was scheduled to take off. Both Schim’s
take-off and David’s arrival from Baltimore, via
Houston, were delayed, however.
I enjoyed a pina colada while
waiting and had a long conversation with a retired,
widowed, 83-year-old teacher from Colorado, while we
sat at an outside bar at the arrivals door of the
airport. She and three lady friends bought a time
share in Cabo San Lucas many years ago and, though all
of her friends have now passed, she still enjoys
coming to the Baja; this time her younger sister and
her sister’s friend were coming to join her and were
on the same flight as David. Her husband, who died of
a sudden heart attack 12 years ago, was a rancher who
milked dairy cattle. Her son took over the ranch,
negotiated a deal with an Australian yoghurt company,
and now milks more than 1,000 head a day, then
processes the food on the ranch in new buildings
constructed for the process. It was an interesting
conversation and the time waiting for David passed
rapidly.
David, who is a very
successful restaurateur in my home town, enjoys dining
in fine restaurants and even picks up an occasional
check. His visit will involve a real change in routine
and very different restaurant choices. We have had two
dinners together and both produced excellent cuisine,
even impressing David who photographed a couple
presentations. Speaking of photographing: David
mentioned in an email that he was going to bring his
camera and I pictured a small “point and shoot” Kodak
or cheap Canon. NOT! David rolled out the airport door
with two suitcases, a large camera bag and a tripod.
Inside the bag was a Nikon camera with a three-foot
long lens and all the accoutrements to take fantastic
photos. This was going to be a change. Schim many
times took photos on the fly, producing blurred photos
(see his octopus shot) that he published anyway. David
and I spent the night in the Hotel Colli, the same
small Mexican hotel where I stayed originally this
year when I found the Yuca Inn demolished. It cost us
about $25/each to split the cost of the very clean,
basic hotel that had a great shower and bathroom.
After breakfast along the
marina in Cabo San Lucas, where David probably got
some good pictures of the famous spring break oasis,
we headed on the old, long, winding road through the
mountains to Los Barriles, San Antonio, Il Triunfo,
and eventually La Paz. It was a sunny day and we had a
great ride through the desert, observing cattle,
horses, and goats grazing on the free range of the
desert. Fortunately, those animals don’t move as
quickly as deer, so despite there being no fencing,
there was no real danger of hitting anybody’s
livestock. Big Red, our new name for the Jeep
Cherokee, performed beautifully the entire trip. One
small glitch developed when we assumed that the road
through the center of Los Barriles would rejoin old
route 1 so that we could continue our journey as
intended. Unfortunately, we crossed a wide arroyo
where the paved road was washed away and continued
driving and climbing up a couple of very curvy
mountain roads before realizing that we were not going
to rejoin our intended route. David got great
pictures, I’m sure, but I decided to turn around and
retrace our steps back through Los Barriles to return
to the right highway. We probably went 30 miles out of
the way on those curvy roads with few guard rails
despite precipitous drop-offs. I was forced to
downshift to first gear (automatic transmission)
several times to preserve braking power down the steep
slopes. We survived, joking about our imminent demise,
and visited the aforementioned towns before arriving
in La Paz a half hour before sunset. It was a full,
tiring day! I will update as I get time while
attempting to give David a taste of Mexico and La Paz
on his first visit to the country. Hasta luego.
02/26/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Gel pen? Gel pen?? David
apparently has a touch of the OCD like I enjoy with
requiring a clean windshield when I drive. Aren’t we
all a little obsessive compulsive about something?
David’s gel pen leaked as he filled out the Mexican
immigration forms on the plane on the way South. The
stewardesses helped him clean up as best they could,
but a little of the stain remains almost a week later.
Had that happened to me, I would have found another
ball point pen and continued about my daily affairs.
Not David! He has a gel pen OCD condition, the first I
have ever observed and diagnosed. We had to go on a
gel-pen hunt that covered two days in two cities, Cabo
(Walmart) and here in La Paz (Walmart, Soriana,
pharmacies) until, finally, in an Office Max I never
knew existed, we found the gel pen he so desperately
needed.
Definitely an upgrade over
the Schimster, like trading a Yugo for a Rolls Royce,
David is equally clean and tidy, considerate,
complimentary, caring, appreciative, and tolerant.
What a change! Furthermore, he’s a golfer! A slow
golfer, one I used to call deliberate; but no, he’s a
slow golfer, but a golfer. Reading every word on the
course guidebook describing each hole before teeing
off and meticulously cleaning each of the rental clubs
before and after hitting a shot, we played two slow
rounds of golf since David’s arrival. One at the
course across the bay where foursomes played through
us as David studied his approach to each hole and,
yesterday, where we were almost alone on the course
and his deliberate (slow) play caused absolutely no
delays for anyone. We stunk up both courses, but
exercised muscles and swings that have laid dormant
since October.
The man is a “Roadrunner”
magnet! I drove Schim around the course, though
hurriedly so he could get home to eat another Snickers
bar, and we saw nary a single, flightless, desert bird
made famous by his “beep, beep” chirping at the
ever-present coyote. But, David has seen almost a
dozen of the interesting creatures in two days on two,
different golf courses. They seem almost attracted to
him, walking on the fairway directly in front of the
golf cart and posing until he can zip open his camera
bag, clip on the appropriate lens, set up his tripod,
focus the shutter, and select his shutter speed. Did I
mention that he is a little deliberate about
everything?
The dining has been
fantastic. David is enjoying the food presentations at
the finest restaurants in La Paz, although we have
also eaten burritos from street vendors and will have
dinner tonight at the corner taco stand. We usually
share a bottle of wine with dinner each evening and
have both been impressed by the quality of the Mexican
wine produced around Ensenada on this peninsula. David
is eager to ride a collectivo and I will give him that
experience today as we head to the market for a bowl
of menudo (tripe soup). I feel certain that he has
experienced a real sampling of life in Mexico and on
the Baja in this, his first venture South of the
border. He departs on Thursday and we will pick up my
wife Wednesday afternoon at the Los Cabos Airport. I
will update when possible in the next few days. Hasta
pronto!
03/02/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Schim is gone; David is history and
Joan, my wife, is here. End of story, but really I
should make clear that David and Schim were great
roommates. That, despite all their quirks and
idiosyncrasies that my comments described in great
detail. The three of us are all rather clean and
orderly human beings, for men, and there was never a
problem with clothes on the floor, dirt tracked in
from the dusty garden, sloppy bathrooms, or general
disagreement. Schim even swept and mopped the floor,
including the porch, several times during his visit.
Both men brewed and drank coffee every morning and
always cleaned up after themselves. Both emptied the
trash and helped this old-timer lug groceries and
heavy bottles of water into our little casa. No doubt,
I will miss them, but I wouldn’t want them to be aware
of that. I believe that I have successfully polished
their social skills sufficiently to return them to
their significant others who will certainly notice a
change in their behavior. Well, maybe not Schim.
After his arrival, David and I had
dinner in an expensive restaurant in San Jose del Cabo
where the service was excellent, the food
presentations beautiful, but the food itself only good
- seven on a one-to-ten scale. After a night in a
small hotel in San Jose, David and I had a delicious
breakfast in the marina in Cabo San Lucas where David
could experience the shills hawking restaurant service
and glass-bottom boat trips to see the famous arch and
others selling silver jewelry to the throngs walking
the beautiful docks. We left Los Cabos and headed back
past the airport and took the winding, back road
through Los Barriles, San Antonio, and Il Triunfo
before reaching La Paz. It was a full day of desert
driving and we both enjoyed the cactus, cows, goats,
and flora of the desert. We (I) did make one bad
decision exiting Los Barriles, crossing a wide arroyo
where previous rains had deposited sand on long
stretches of the road before heading up through the
mountains that I assumed would intersect with the road
to Il Triunfo. It did not and after 10 miles or so of
extremely winding road with no guard rails protecting
against severe drops into steep canyons, I decided to
hang a U and return through the arroyo and Los
Barriles the way we had entered. It slowed our trip to
La Paz and David kept urging me to continue to see
where the road would take us, but I opted to take the
safer route and retreat. I now think that either road
would have gotten us to familiar territory, but we
ended up seeing the two, tiny desert villages
before arriving safely in La Paz.
David’s week with me was a
whirlwind of day trips to beaches, a small adventure
when miscommunication caused the keys to be locked in
the old Jeep Cherokee Sport with the engine running,
and fantastic dining. We tried all of the fine
restaurants of La Paz, those which Schim shunned, and
enjoyed a delightful bottle of wine with almost every
dinner. Oh, the locksmith, called by a worker at the
beach, showed up in about twenty minutes, efficiently
opened the door, and charged less than $20 for the
work. The weather the last few days during David’s
visit was cool and blustery which caused a
cancellation of the boat trip to tour Espiritu Santo
island with its sea-lion colony, its frigate-bird
roost, interesting rock formations, and the many
porpoises that follow the tour boat on its three-mile
trip to the island which is a Mexican national park.
To substitute for the cancellation David chose to
visit San Carlos on the Pacific Coast, so we picked up
some water and headed north on the road to Tijuana,
unencumbered by maps or a knowledge of the distance to
be covered. We drove three and a half hours north
through bleak desert with only an occasional dirt road
intersecting our paved, two-lane highway until we ran
into rain near the small city of Constitution, a real
desert oasis. The wipers on the old Jeep lasted for
one full swipe across the windshield, then the
driver’s side blade bent like a pretzel, rendering its
wiping abilities hopeless. We struggled to view the
road through the windshield until, in Constitution, we
found a local, auto parts store where new blades were
purchased. Turns out that it rains so infrequently in
the Baja that wiper blades rarely last more than three
months before becoming hard, cracked, and inoperable.
The new blades worked perfectly and with a sound,
joint decision to cancel the last three and a half
hours of our journey, and return to La Paz. My friends
who rented the car to me have promised to refund the
$13.50 cost of the new wiper blades. Life in the Baja
seems to offer one adventure after another.
On our way back to San Jose del
Cabo, David and I returned to Todo Santos, another of
our prior day trips, to exchange a tee-shirt he had
purchased at the Hotel California. There, we booked
two rooms in the same small hotel where we had stayed
previously and headed to the airport to pick up Joan.
Everything went well in the exchange of visitors; that
night, we enjoyed a wonderful al fresco dinner
together despite cool windy weather and thrilled at
the outstanding guitarist and female vocalist who
entertained us, the only visitors to the restaurant
that night, since wiser heads remained indoors on the
blustery evening. David flew safely to LA the next
morning, then on to Baltimore. Here’s hoping he
returns a little less stressed and his employees
notice the difference. Hasta pronto.
03/03/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
“Yes, officer, that is
alcohol that you smell,” I replied on Friday night to
the policeman who stopped me for ostensibly crossing
the intersection too rapidly to allow pedestrians to
cross as we headed for a nightclub that produced a
pleasant evening of progressive jazz. “My wife and I
each had a glass of wine with dinner a few minutes
ago,” I explained, failing to mention that we
continued to refill the glass until the bottle of wine
that we shared over a wonderful meal was empty. The
street corner cop seemed like he was trying to figure
out what to do with me as he persisted in holding my
driver’s license in his hand while talking to me and
then, talking to somebody on the phone whom he had
called about me. I offered him 100 pesos ($5) so he
could drink a cerveza after work, but he refused to
take the bribe that is so commonly given to police
officers here in Mexico. Score one for the corruption
forces as they try to clean up the system! After five
minutes or so, which seemed like an hour to my wife, a
near-by business owner came out of his store and said
something to the officer and motioned to me with
fingers to his eyes to indicate that he was watching
the situation. The cop finally returned the license
with a mumbled word or two that I did not catch and
the business man waved to me to pull away. Another
Mexican adventure ends pleasantly.
Dinner before that colorful
experience included a huge, delicious, special, sushi
roll shared by the two of us, followed by a big Caesar
salad for Joan with a delicious, seared, ahi tuna
filet for me. The wine was a full bodied, Mexican
Cabernet, the only red offered by the fine, new
restaurant with an inexcusably-puny, wine list. We
left the restaurant in good spirits, Joan commenting
that she felt the effects of the wine, but I didn’t
notice any such effects and was surprised when the cop
later indicated that he could smell alcohol. There are
signs, as there should be, around the country’s byways
that warn, “do not drink and drive.” I almost paid the
price for showing no common sense, although I was
certain that I was driving cautiously. I still believe
the police stop was a “bum rap.” Hasta luego!
03/05/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
There really weren’t any
unique experiences to report during Schim’s visit this
year, such as his drinking the salsa dip or his
yelling louder when Spanish-speaking locals don’t
understand him. Actually, I think that I have polished
his act through our years of travel together. The
interplay between us is almost becoming routine and
somewhat boring. I was genuinely pleased with his
tidiness this year; his routine sweeping and mopping
of the floors and emptying of the trash made him
almost a pleasant person with whom to live. I’ll miss
him next year when he travels to Viet Nam as he
threatened almost daily to me.
I did miss reporting about a
colorful, local experience that occurred while David
was here and I need to report that for the record: Our
one collectivo ride took us an entire loop of the
route regularly taken by the small bus and still only
cost us fifty cents each, although we (David) gave the
driver another 20 pesos ($1) as we disembarked.
Something quite natural, but not usually seen on
public transportation in the USA, occurred when the
beautiful, young mother sitting across from us in a
forward facing seat (our seat faced sideways) suddenly
pulled her blouse down, removed her breast, and
started suckling the almost two-year-old child she
carried on her lap. David and I observed this sudden
action before we could avert our eyes from the
feeding, but neither of us felt embarrassment or
discomfort during the entire process and discussed how
very natural the act was. I admit to saying a small
prayer thanking the Almighty that Schim was not on the
bus.
Joan and I spent the weekend
making use of the rental car I hired for the week. On
Saturday, we drove to Pichilingue, Balandra, and
Tecolote beaches to admire the various shades of
turquoise waters of the Sea of Cortez that lapped the
shoreline. We lunched at Tecolote where the on-shore
breeze forced us to dine inside, still with a great
view, through dirty windows, of the gorgeous sand and
surf. Joan had what she said was a delicious plate of
large, grilled shrimp served with steamed veggies and
white rice. I had a shrimp aguachile, mostly because I
had no idea what it was and had always wanted to find
out. Raw, shelled and deveined, smallish, butterflied
shrimp covered with onions on a plate lined with
cucumber slices and drenched in lime juice infused
with spicy chile powder. Like a ceviche, the citric
acid of the lime juice “cooked” the shrimp somewhat
and apparently killed any bacteria that might have
risen up to plague me later. Not something that I
would especially order again, but tasty and safe,
though I was a little concerned at the time of
consumption about Montezuma’s later visit.
On Sunday, we drove an hour
back to Todos Santos where Joan read about a house
tour of historic homes in the desert/seaside town that
is being rapidly gentrified. I remembered the town,
where I spent three days twenty years ago, as a dusty,
desert town with dirt streets and few buildings of
significance. The house tour exposed the
gentrification of beautiful, old, clay brick and
stuccoed houses and the gorgeous gardens that their
facades had secreted away. Although many of the homes
are still in a state of renovation, the few that were
completed were awesomely beautiful in a Mexican desert
kind of way. Only one of the homes was for sale and
its list price of $649,000 probably means that Joan
and I won’t be moving there anytime soon. Hasta luego!
03/08/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Feeling better today, but
over the last couple of days I must have gotten a
touch of what my wife battled for several weeks before
arriving in the sunny climes and warm temps of the
Baja. Just felt pretty washed out and tired, so we
stayed in the casa, venturing out only for meals; we
even skipped dinner last night because I didn’t feel
quite up to it. Amazing what a few Tylenol and vitamin
C can do, if indeed I am almost healed. Perky right
now, as I await my wife’s final preparations so we can
venture out for breakfast.
I haven’t mentioned
hitchhikers this year, although I have picked up three
folks looking for free transportation. The first, with
David in the car for the natural protection Brits
offer, turned out to be drunk and slurring his Spanish
words. It is tough enough trying to learn a second
language without having to eliminate the extraneous
sounds that drunkenness contributes, but this fellow
thought we should take him to the door of his house.
After winding through streets in the outskirts of the
city that have never seen a gringo and becoming good
and lost, I informed our guest that this was as far as
we go and he’d have to walk the rest of the way. No
argument; he muttered something and disembarked. David
and I proceeded through developments with no apparent
exits, inquired about directions several times, and
finally found enough familiar landmarks to find our
way home.
Oscar was standing on the
side of the road with a large grin on his face as Joan
and I returned on the four-lane highway from Todos
Santos. Maybe it was the white grin, but Joan insisted
that I stop and give him a ride (right). A cook and
married with three children, Oscar hitchhikes 25 miles
every morning to his place of employment and back
again to the outskirts of La Paz every afternoon. Talk
about a dedicated employee! He works six days a week,
including Sundays, and hitchhiking is part of his
daily routine. In the short ride, Joan became quite
friendly with Oscar, several times exercising her
Spanish vocabulary to cross examine him.
Heading to Il Triunfo, the
desert, mining, almost-ghost town with a population of
300 (just two gringos) for my third visit of the
winter, a young fellow’s thumb caught my attention as
we passed through the policias federales (state police
with sub-machine guns) check point. The police have,
to my knowledge, never stopped a gringo and have been
receptive to hand waves and giving directions in past
dealings. The young fellow on the side of the road
just past the checkpoint obviously needed a ride. I
asked him where he was headed and he said to Cabo San
Lucas. When I told him that I was going to Il Triunfo,
he told me that was good enough, even though that
meant he would have to hitch the rest of the way on
the winding, two-lane road instead of the
much-more-heavily-traveled, four-lane highway to Cabo
San Lucas. He wasn’t married, had three children, and
worked on a ranch someplace, either near Ensenada or
Cabo; I never could pinpoint the location. The
conversation was not as extensive as the one with
Oscar and Joan didn’t grill him as deeply. Time for
breakfast (desayuno). Adios.
03/12/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
The weekend was spent as my
wife desired: rest, chill, nap, rest, relax, repeat,
then dinner at a nice restaurant. She needed some
downtime to recharge her batteries and where better
than a place with a beautiful climate, friendly
people, and a safe abode. Temperatures rose into the
mid 80s this past week which made the chilling and
relaxing a necessity during the afternoon hours -
let’s call it a siesta! What a great idea! Joan has
taken to watching Netflix movies into the night, last
night two feature films of some sort, while I head to
bed to read for a short time before my eye lids lose
interest. Actually, I never feel a thing and go from
reading to out cold in seconds, my falling Kindle
sometimes causing facial bruises that make it look as
if I have been in a knock-down, drag-out fight. Up
early this morning (6:15 - no daylight saving time
here), I showered, dressed, and headed to the little
restaurant where Lulu and Patti inquired about Joan,
worried about her health. Much relieved when I
informed them that she was still sleeping, they
prepared my breakfast of eggs, scrambled with
mushrooms, cheese, and chorizo, which they served with
frijoles, and a small salad. With coffee: $3.75.
Since turning in the Avis
rental car, we have been taking Uber to our
destination restaurants and I always inquire as to how
long the driver has been working for Uber, how long
they work each day, their families, etc. Some of these
drivers and, with unemployment rampant, there always
seem to be plenty of drivers available, many young and
driving in their first week of employment, work as
many as 18 hours a day, chauffeuring people hither and
yon. The fellow who drives for 18 hours daily was 27
years old and had three children whom he couldn’t see
very often with that schedule. Last night’s driver,
who spoke decent English, works a full shift at the
airport, then drives another 10 hours for Uber. These
folks are anything but lazy! Hard working and willing
to do the most menial of tasks, I wonder what our
farmers and businesses will do when the wall is
complete and everyone has been returned to their
country of origin. Almost all the Mexicans (illegal or
not) have simply been trying to improve the lot of
their family. They deserve a way to return to our
country legally with a work permit or some other
vehicle that permits them to help our economy and
their families. Let’s hope Congress and this loony
administration find a way to get that
accomplished.
My wife returns home on
Friday with an arduous itinerary through Mexico City
and Atlanta. She selected that route so that she can
fly into Harrisburg the same day in order to prepare
for a visit by grandchildren on the weekend. I will
drive her to San Jose del Cabo, spend the night there,
then take her to the airport and return to La Paz. I
will return home on April 11th, spend the night in
Baltimore, then fly to Lancaster the next morning. No
convoluted itinerary for me. Hasta pronto!
03/17/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Thursday evening, the day
before Joan’s flight, we made contact with an old
friend who, we learned on the internet, was
vacationing in Cabo San Lucas. We were staying in San
Jose del Cabo only a half hour’s drive away and we met
at a sister time-share to where they are staying.
Marble and granite everywhere, huge, shaped swimming
pools, large, gorgeous fountains, waiters everywhere,
white-linen-table-clothed restaurant tables elevated
just above the beach, a menu and wine list fit for a
king, the place was a little more upscale than that to
which we had become accustomed. Our small Mexican
hotel ($53/night), though spotlessly clean and with a
large, tiled, modern bathroom, paled in comparison to
the humongous building straddling the beach in
downtown Cabo where we dined. We had a fantastic
evening getting updated on family and friends, since
Larry, almost a nephew when our children were young,
now lives in Spokane and we hadn’t seen him in several
years. We were thrilled to meet his fiancée and I
tried, as best I knew how, to be on my good behavior.
Methinks, I failed miserably.
The following morning, I took
Joan to the airport at 7:00 a.m. and began to unload
her suitcases from the trunk of the white, Nissan
Versa that I had rented for the day. As I unloaded the
second bag, the only two men sitting outside the
terminal at that time of day called to me, informing
me that Joan had dropped something as she exited the
car, her mind on the long, long day ahead of her.
Seeing nothing, I looked at the men, one about 30, the
other in his early sixties and wearing cowboy boots
and a cowboy hat. The younger fellow arose, walked
over to the car, reached in front of the right rear
tire, and pulled out Joan’s large iPhone, without
which she would have been lost. Had I pulled out, even
a foot or so, I would have crushed her phone. I
thanked the men profusely and, after seeing that
Joan’s bags were wheeled into the right Aero Mexico
counter by the porter whom I had tipped a few pesos
for the service, I returned outside to the car. I
approached the two men, still thanking them for their
help, and attempted to give them 100 pesos ($5.00)
each in appreciation for their assistance. They
smiled, but firmly refused the money, apparently not
willing to take money for something that anyone should
do without compensation. What wonderful people, the
Mexicans! Mr. Trump, tear down the wall; start
building bridges.
Schim, David, and Joan are
gone. I am alone again, the first time since the
beginning of February - more than a month. It is time
to get reacquainted with myself. Being alone requires
a completely different mindset than sharing your
existence with another human being. No considerations
need be given, whether to leave your toiletry kit in
the tiny bathroom - no, the room is too small and it
will inconvenience the other party with whom I am
sharing space - or in what restaurant should we dine
tonight - in whatever restaurant the taste buds
indicate. Tonight, I’m thinking the corner burrito
stand. What fantastic burritos! Best in the world, I’m
sure. Hasta pronto!
03/20/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
A chunky, chicken salad
sandwich, white bread, no toast, lettuce and tomato
optional. Of all the traditional American foods why,
oh, why, do I so crave a chicken salad sandwich?
Almost concluding my third month in Mexico and
accustomed from past experience to longing for the
comfort food of home in this general time span, this
chicken salad craving came as a surprise. In years
past, I have craved chicken pot pie, (boiled, no
crust), a standard American breakfast of eggs,
sausage, and toast. Or, sausage gravy over fresh, warm
biscuits, and a good cup of coffee. Yes, I have longed
for those dishes before, but never a chunky, chicken
salad sandwich. I have handled the cravings before and
I will do it again, I guess, but never has a chicken
salad sandwich so occupied my thoughts and my taste
buds. Plenty of mayo, please.
Who goes to a traditional,
Chinese, acupuncturist doctor for a bad muscle spasm
in one’s back? Me! The local gringos, seeing my
struggles with the back spasm, almost universally
recommended Dr. Chung, just such a specialist. Having
practiced in Mexico for 39 years and in La Paz for 29
of them, I felt comfortable as the clean, slim,
mature, professionally-attired doctor extracted the
long, thin, needles that he planned to stick in the
meaty part of my hands and the inner thighs on both
legs. A little twinge of pain from my right hand from
one of the two needles there, but nothing I couldn’t
handle, completed the studied insertion of the
needles. His attractive, Mexican assistant, also very
professionally attired, then entered the treatment
room and attached electrical stimulation wires to four
of the needles, one on each hand and leg. 25 minutes
of mild stimulation, “comfortable, not hard,” was how
he described the current that would have the muscles
in my thigh twitching for the entire torture, ah
treatment. I dozed off for a few seconds and then,
surprise, as I sat up, the pain was gone. Pretty
impressive! I go back today for a follow-up treatment
that the good doctor believes will solve the problem
completely.
I completed the second
acupuncture treatment after writing the first part of
today’s blog and feel really good about the results.
Paid the doctor $26.75 each day for his knowledge and
the use of his equipment and electricity. I know that
I couldn’t get treatment for that price at home. So
pleased was I with the treatment that I booked him to
give me a few more treatments when he said he could
significantly reduce the bane of all older men, an
enlarged prostate. I won’t update you on the progress
of his work in that area but, if you see me with a
large smile on my face when I arrive home, you’ll know
the procedure was a success. Hasta luego!
03/22/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Without a doubt, it is one of
the best feelings in the world and why so few partake
of it I am at a loss to say. Two nights ago, I sat in
the Romeo y Juliette gelato shop just off the malecon
facing Rainbow Hawk across the tiny table. I was in
the process of giving the old, van-living hippie my
“to go” (para llevar) box of over-portioned spaghetti
with house-smoked sea bass that was simply too much
for me to eat earlier at the Prana Restaurant. I had
them box almost half of the dish before I began eating
and ticketed it in support of Rainbow and his life’s
goal to use the internet to save the planet. He hasn’t
worked in the more than forty years he has lived in La
Paz and has absolutely no income save from the
largesse of others, one of whom donated the old VW van
which Rainbow has called home for the last decade. My
support felt good, but that’s not the feeling that I’m
talking about, though it paved the way.
In the beginning of our
conversation and as Rainbow began to partake of the
delicious, though spicy dish, an eight or nine-year
old boy entered the ice cream shop with a wooden box
of chiclets and candy strapped around his neck and
offered for sale. He was followed by his mother who
had a small, burlap-covered board with cheap jewelry
displayed thereon and his obviously-blind-in-one-eyed
father who was also selling a product that I cannot
recall. I and everyone else in the crowded little shop
declined purchase and the father led his family out
the door. The boy, however, stopped in front of the
ice cream display cabinet and looked longingly at the
multitude of flavors of gelato brightly lit for all to
see. He then moved to the door and a mere step before
he got outside I could take it no more. I called,
“amigo” and he turned to look at me as I rose from my
seat. I pointed to the case and asked, “quieres algo?”
Do you want some? He quickly nodded his head and I
told the server to give him what he wanted, which
turned out to be a cup (made of cone material) with
two dips of flavored gelato. As I watched him start to
eat, I realized that his mother and father were
standing behind him with large smiles on their faces.
Realizing that the boy would probably have to share
his treat with his parents outside and that they were
probably hungry, too, I asked them if they also wanted
some. I ended up buying two-dip dishes for the entire
family and they thanked me profusely as they left the
shop. It cost but $5.00 American (100 pesos). I
noticed during the transaction that everybody in the
crowded shop had a smile on their face or were nodding
their heads, pleased that I had recognized the
family’s need. MAN, what a great feeling!! Why more
people don’t act when they see people in need is
beyond me. I’m trying to help where I can. Luego!
03/25/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
There have been a few
interesting occurrences in the last few days, but the
weather has not been one of them. Here in the Baja we
have suffered through the same, rather-boring
conditions since we last visited. Warm, sunny days, it
is 84 as I write, with temps sometimes reaching the
low 90s, but always dropping into the low 70s or even
the mid 60s in time for delightful, alfresco, evening
dining in the beautiful, desert gardens manicured by
better restaurants. The meals have been wonderful,
too, though - go figure, I still long for a chunky,
chicken salad sandwich on white, no toast, despite
some wonderful Italian cuisine that has crossed my
lips. Think house-made pappardelle noodles in a
wonderful gorgonzola sauce or a rich, tagliatelle
staple with butter and Parmesan cheese after an
appetizer of imported prosciutto and melon. I even
enjoyed a very good Japanese meal last evening at
Minato where an excellent miso soup and a curried
shrimp on steamed white-rice dish made for a wonderful
repast. But, enough of the boring times through which
I suffer.
Sitting in one of those
beautiful gardens late last week, I was alarmed to
hear my name called as a man approached my table when
I began to pay my check. Thinking I owed him money, I
was pleasantly surprised to learn that it was my
neighbor from two years ago who, along with his wife,
share my loathing of the winters that also make their
home in beautiful, rural Colorado Springs unbearable.
Walt had written me that they would be in La Paz
again, but my frenetic schedule of visitors and
blogging kept me from responding to his email. We had
a nice conversation and a smooth Grand Marnier at
their rented house only a few blocks from the Sorstis
Restaurant where we had dined that evening. Yesterday,
I responded to their text message to join them for
Easter dinner next Sunday at a restaurant only a short
walk from my humble abode. It will be pleasant to have
company at a meal again.
Friday, after the third of my
acupuncture treatments, I restocked my larder at the
grocery store with enough yoghurt, cereal, milk, and
drinks to last until my return to the tundra. One of
the items I purchased, however, provided a lunch right
out of the box the following day. I’m not certain how
to translate its name into English, so I’ll just write
the name as it appears on the box: Haagen Dazs.
Exactly! I ate half-a-pint of vanilla as lunch on
Saturday and floated the other half, after it thawed,
in my bowl of cereal the next morning. I know, I’m
ashamed of myself. The good news is that there is
another pint in my freezer with my name clearly
written upon it. Hasta pronto.
03/28/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Acupuncture treatments three
and four for prostate reduction produced a couple
novel experiences. I know that I promised not to
inform you of my progress from these treatments and
I’ll keep my promise, however, something unique
occurred during these sessions that I simply have to
share:
After the five needles along
my spine and the twenty-five minutes of electrical
stimulation that followed, I rolled onto my back for
part two of the treatment. Three needles near my
navel, one above each knee, three down the inside of
each calf, and one on the inside of both ankles and I
was ready for an additional twenty-five minutes of the
juice. As Dr. Chung’s able assistant fastened the
electrodes to the needles, the good doctor explained
that this time he was going to also treat me with an
herb. He explained that the herb, I learned later that
the herb was called Moxa, grew wild in China and one
could sometimes see fields of the stuff growing. When
harvested, he continued, the plant is dried for three
years, like tobacco, to remove its moisture and
intensify its natural oils. He showed me the piece he
would use to treat me: wrapped in paper, round, and it
looked like it was about as tall as a pencil eraser,
but twice as big in diameter. He measured solemnly,
then put the herb on one of the needles in my
stomach; I know this because he let me take a
peek. He said that once he lit it, (LIT IT???) it
would smell like marijuana, but it was not that exotic
herb, or so he claimed. And, lit it he did! He again
permitted me to partially sit up to see the burning
herb on the needle situated a precisely-measured
distance above my skin. Talk about a strange sight:
lying on my back watching gray/white smoke waft up
from my belly and giving off the pungent odor of, yes,
marijuana. The doctor had explained that when both
Moxa and marijuana are lit in the same room he can
tell the difference. Having only experienced marijuana
smoke from the clouds escaping from “drug stores” in
Amsterdam and the school bathrooms where I tracked
student users of the product, this sure smelled like
marijuana to me. The doctor showed me a box of Moxa,
slightly larger than a cigar box, and said, “this much
cost me $5.00; marijuana would have cost much more!”
That needle felt warm and I
could only hope that the warmth would do as the doctor
said and speed the healing energy to its intended
target - the malfunctioning gland. For the remainder
of the day, my shirt smelled like marijuana to me and,
as I shopped at the grocery store, I’m certain I
imagined the glances and smiles that clerks and other
customers shot my way. Treatment number four just
ended and another shirt has accumulated the odor, but
I have no plans to be seen in public until dinner
tonight. Besides, I’m feeling hungry and can’t seem to
remember why I started writing this... Adios!
03/31/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Unsatisfied with my reports
of progress from my acupuncture treatments, even after
inhaling clouds of Moxa for the past two sessions, Dr.
Chung informed me that he would try an additional
energy path to accelerate the improvement of my
health. After six needles in my spine at my lower back
and the concomitant, 25-minute period of electrical
stimulation, the doctor asked me to exit the treatment
table and take a seat facing away from him on the
small, plastic bench (no back) that he had placed in
the center of the examining room floor. I figured
things were going to get interesting when he began to
measure the top of my skull with his hands. He wasn’t
going to put needles in the top of my head to treat a
gland that was almost light years lower in my body,
was he? Oh, but yes, he was! These were the least
comfortable needles so far, though not really painful,
and he inserted three, then manipulated them under my
scalp. I remember hoping that he didn’t put too much
force on these needles, enter my cranium, and shower
cerebrospinal fluid, fountain-like, on the floor
before me. No, he stopped manipulating those three
needles and placed three more under my scalp, then had
me climb back up on the treatment table on my back. He
continued the treatment with three needles in my
stomach, three down the inside of each calf, and one
on the inside of each ankle. Nothing different there.
Enter his electrocution
assistant who placed electrodes on seemingly all of
the needles he had inserted; I had more wires running
out of my body than Hoover Dam. This stimulation
seemed longer than 25 minutes, but probably wasn’t.
When the Chinese, electronic music warned that my
stimulating experience had ended, though, I admit that
I was much relieved. No sign of the cranial fluid,
either. Whew!
I shared the story of the
kind Mexican men who wouldn’t take money when they saw
my wife’s phone under my rental car and the doctor
told me that he had a similar experience. He lost his
phone while visiting his daughter in Cabo San Lucas
(she is an acupuncturist there) and, later that
evening, his daughter called his number. A Venezuelan
man answered the phone and verified that he had found
it earlier in the day. They made arrangements to
reclaim the phone and Dr. Chung offered the man 1,000
pesos (just over $50) as a reward and the Venezuelan
refused the money, too. There are plenty of good
people left in the world and a great number of them
are in Mexico.
Not that I want our President
to hear, but there are apparently a few of the
criminal element left in this great nation, too. My
acquaintance, Rainbow Hawk, spends his days, once he
awakens from his van parked on the street, surfing the
internet. Saving the world from the evil American
government, the all-too-powerful international
corporations, and environmental polluters, he spends
his day in the gelato shop that somehow tolerates his
daily presence, reading and typing on the used iPad
somebody recently gave him. When he takes Rosa, his
mangy-looking dog, for a walk on the beach across the
street, he puts his iPad in a beat-up back pack and
puts it in a corner of the shop stuffed in a small,
cubby-like space next to a cabinet close to the public
rest room. Last week, Rainbow returned from Rosa’s
constitutional to find the back pack gone. Some
low-life had stolen the center of Rainbow’s world. He
is now left with a small, old, smart phone that
somebody else had given him to right the problems of
the world, but he can only forward clips that he reads
there; the keyboard is way to small for his large,
oft-times-dirty hands. A couple of years ago, I bought
Rainbow a used keyboard after his imploded, but this
year I think I will allow others of his friends and
supporters to step forward. Sometimes, even in Mexico,
the world is not a very fair place. Hasta pronto!
04/03/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Improved Spanish-language
skills are one of my goals whenever I winter in a
Latin country. I’ve observed other gringos who,
unfortunately, don’t even make an effort and, quite
indignantly, fully expect others to communicate in
English. I’ve enjoyed many compliments this winter
from waiters, waitresses, and taxi and Uber drivers
about the quality of my Spanish. One Uber driver, I
think it was Manuel, said it was so good that he could
understand everything I said. Sadly, the reverse is
not always true, but I can tell by how often my
drivers engage me in rapid-fire conversation that they
think I understand more than I do. I get by,
understanding many times by the context of the
conversation, their non-verbal tells, or by mentally
pasting a word or two together, but I estimate that I
fully understand less than 50% of the conversations in
which I am engaged. Smiling often and at the proper
times also convinces locals that I understand, when I
am often clueless. When my son (#2, who is fluent in
four languages) hears me speak Spanish, he always
informs me that, “Dad, your Spanish is atrocious!”
Blood kin, however, are always the toughest critics.
I’m going with the local evaluations of my language
skills.
After my final acupuncture
treatment of the week, my ego took a significant hit,
though. Finding my barber shop closed (Good Friday)
and heading home, I passed the California Rotisserie
Restaurant where I have eaten many times. Not wanting
to waste the trip downtown, a 10-peso (50 cent)
investment on the collectivo, I decided to take some
rotisserie chicken home for lunch. “What the heck,” I
thought, “why not get a whole chicken?” I have a great
refrigerator, but no microwave, and thought that I
could eat the leftovers cold for lunch the next day. I
ordered the chicken in my best, easily-understood
Spanish, but noticed how good and fresh the fried
chicken looked, too, so I ordered one, extra,
fried-chicken thigh (musclo) to go along with my
order. I watched carefully, making sure that one of
the cooks got a freshly-roasted rotisserie chicken out
of the oven and failed to watch what the woman with
whom I had placed my order was doing. I thought the
price was high, but didn’t do the actual computation
until I got home. They charged me $17.00 (315 pesos)
for my chicken! I kept thinking that Schim would have
gone ballistic, but it was too late; I was already
home. It was only 11:00 a.m., so I had to keep the
chicken warm for an hour or so. I covered the foam,
take-out dishes with a couple of clean towels and put
my pillow on top. That provided enough insulation so
that an hour-and-a-half later the dishes were still
really warm - one has to improvise. Time for lunch and
to see what was in the covered, foam dishes.
I thought the two, plastic, grocery
bags seemed heavy in the cab on the way home but, when
I looked into them and saw three, large, covered,
take-out dishes I was a little taken aback. I watched
the man cut my chicken into four pieces with a huge
pair of scissors and saw him forcefully squeeze them
into one box. Whatever could be in the other two boxes
and in the brown, paper bag that had now gotten quite
greasy on the outside? One box contained the
rotisserie chicken I had selected out of the oven.
Surprise! The second box contained two side dishes:
what must have been a pound of french fries and an
equal amount of macaroni salad. Much, much more than I
could eat - I rarely eat fries and only one or two
when I do indulge. The third box contained identical
contents: more french fries and macaroni salad than I
eat in a decade! I was expecting chicken only; I
didn’t want any side dishes! Oh, yes, the greasy bag
contained pieces of what turned out to be another
whole, fried chicken! There were also 12 small,
plastic, sauce containers: six with catsup and six
with melt-your-dental-work, hot sauce. Perhaps, just
perhaps, my blood kin is a better evaluator of my
language skills than my Uber driver.
Not to worry about the
children starving in some far off country and food
waste from my refrigerator. As I got over my shock
from the take-out contents, I spied Mike, my landlord,
watering his backyard garden. I called to him and
offered him plenty of chicken. He took one container
of fries and macaroni (he almost needed a hand truck
to carry it home) and one small bag of fried chicken
that he later told me was delicious. I ate a portion
of my fried chicken, a spoonful or two of macaroni,
and two fries. The rest went into the fridge for
future lunches or dinner. To date, I have had four
more meals from that purchase and there is still one
serving of macaroni salad, two rotisserie chicken
breasts, and three pieces of fried chicken (today’s
lunch), left in the fridge. That, plus a full serving
(minus two fries) of the french fries. Mike told me
yesterday that he couldn’t eat all the fries, either,
but that he had cut them up the next morning and ate
them with his eggs. “Scrumptious,” he exclaimed!
While, perhaps, this turned out to be an economical
purchase (Schim would be so proud), right now, I don’t
care if I see another chicken this year. Wait, that
chicken salad on white is still etched in my mind. So,
too, is that pint of Haagen Dazs with my name on it in
the freezer. Adios!
04/04/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
My favorite breakfast stop
was closed Monday and Tuesday, the days immediately
following Easter, and I thought it was for an extended
holiday. Turns out, they were closed for spring
housecleaning. There was nobody there when I stopped
on Monday, so I proceeded around the corner to a
wooden, coffee shack where on many mornings I had seen
folks drinking their morning wake-up. Two, young women
were selling coffee, so I bought a cup, doctored it
with a little leche (milk) and a touch of sugar, and
saw some packaged cookies that looked like they might
deserve a dunk. Not so. I dunked, then soaked, and the
cookie still remained so dry I could barely swallow
the surprisingly-good coffee. I returned the package
to the ladies, told them they could give the rest to
their favorite customers, and headed a half-block
closer to my house where I stopped at a street-side
taco stand usually crowded with many folks eating
breakfast on the two, small, plastic, white tables set
up on the sidewalk. The owner was very welcoming and
spoke a little English, so I ordered a shrimp taco
(one) for breakfast and drank my coffee. Amazingly
inexpensive and scrumptious. But, a taco for
breakfast?
Tuesday, I returned to find
Patti and Lulu in their small restaurant, but with a
sign on the door indicating they were closed again.
Since I have almost become a part of their huge
family, they opened the door to explain to me that
they were closed to clean the place. And cleaning they
were. Ceiling, walls, tables, table cloths, chairs,
kitchen: all were scrubbed until they almost shone.
They had no breakfast for me, however, so I headed to
the coffee shack once more. As I sat preparing my
coffee, a middle-aged lady arrived and ordered
something to go (para llevar). I watched with great
interest as one of the ladies put a flour tortilla on
a flat-top grill that was right in front of my nose,
but which I hadn’t noticed in my two, prior visits.
She cooked and prepared a burrito while another, older
woman sat on the stool beside me and ordered a
sandwich. Again, I watched the entire process as the
“chef” sliced what looked like an Italian roll, placed
it on the grill to toast, and slapped two slices of
ham and a piece of cheese on top of the grill that she
had pre-greased with mayonnaise. Both sandwiches
looked great and, because I had enjoyed their
fabrication so much, I volunteered to pay for the
ladies’ breakfasts. They asked why and I answered,
“because I can and because I enjoyed watching so
much.” They were thrilled and I was sorely tempted to
order one myself, but the line had started forming at
the taco stand and I promised that I would return
there. I paid for the two sandwiches and was shocked
to learn that the bill, with my small coffee included,
was 41 pesos ($2.25). Sure didn’t cost much to spread
a little good will!
I moved on to the now-crowded
taco stand to see most folks ordering what this “chef”
was stirring on his flat-top grill. It was deep red,
almost maroon, and looked like pulled pork, but was
decidedly not that. I inquired as to what he was
cooking and he told me, “Marlin ahumado,” (smoked
marlin). So, I ordered one, smoked-marlin taco, one,
shrimp taco, sat on a stool along the wall at a
bar-like table, and once again ate tacos for
breakfast. Wow, they were both delicious and I can see
why these folks consume that meal on most mornings.
Actually, with the tortillas Mexicans are served with
every meal, they make almost every dish into a taco.
Not complaining, just reporting. The smoked marlin was
far better than I thought. I keep thinking of the
folks who go to resorts, eat in the resort-property
restaurants, and never get to enjoy the food actually
eaten by the locals. I prefer to do it my way.
One week left to enjoy the tacos
and I return home. I have been eating “meals” at home,
cleaning out the fridge (only one-and-a-half chicken
breasts to go),drinking the wine, and all the
beverages I have purchased and getting mentally ready
to depart. Dinner last night was six or eight olives,
with pits, totopos (corn chips), and wine. Lunch was
the last of the fried chicken. Wait, the wine! I have
a small, cheap portable, travel, corkscrew that Schim
gave to me after an earlier trip. No matter how much I
pulled and tugged on that corkscrew, the cork would
not budge. I gave up in disgust and went to watch a
Richard Gere, spy thriller on Netflix until it hit me.
How about using a little science? I went back to the
kitchen, looked at the wine bottle with the small
corkscrew still imbedded in the cork, opened the
freezer, and placed the bottle inside. I figured the
cork would shrink from the cold before the bottle
would and I may get enough slack to “pop the cork!”
Fifteen minutes later, I retrieved the bottle, used
the same maximum force, and… and… out popped the
cork!!! It worked! It worked! Two small glasses of
wine and one movie later, I was asleep in my bed.
Hasta luego!
04/06/18 - La Paz, BCS, Mexico
Let’s call this my final
update for the 2018 winter adventure in La Paz, Baja
California Sur, Mexico. For those who somehow felt
obligated to follow along all the way, this day must
have seemed like it would never arrive. I must say
there were a few times that I thought the same thing
myself. For those who enjoyed my ramblings and read
voluntarily, thanks for coming along, at least
vicariously. As promised, there will be no quiz, but
you might mention to me when you see me that you
perused my updates this year. Without a little
feedback, these attempts at keeping you apprised of my
whereabouts will seem like a waste of time. Time that
I might otherwise have spent drinking Margaritas, Pina
Coladas, and Clamato Juice, fishing, hitting golf
balls, studying the nearby landscape and historical
sites, or visiting local libraries and museums.
I return to my homeland next
Thursday and will spend the time between now and then
packing and discarding furniture and equipment I
purchased to make life easier in this furnished, but
really unfurnished, casa. With only three beds in two
bedrooms, a sofa and ottoman in the living room, and a
refrigerator in the kitchen when I arrived, one could
hardly call this rental unit furnished. Now, after I
have added a few creature comforts, like a table,
lamps, bathroom shelving, throw rugs, wall hooks,
mirrors, and cleaning equipment, the place has become
very comfortable and I will miss it. I appreciate the
dining table and chairs, coffee pot, the large screen
TV and the TV shelf that my landlord added while I was
here. I will especially miss the wonderful, warm,
friendly, and welcoming people of Mexico, but I will
also miss the gorgeous weather with which I have been
blessed all winter. What snow??
Tuesday morning, I will hoist
my pack onto my back and roll my suitcase to the curb
to the awaiting Uber car for transport to the bus
station. My ticket has been purchased for the
three-hour ride back to San Jose del Cabo where I will
get a good night’s sleep before taking another taxi to
the airport on Wednesday morning for the Southwest
Airlines flight through Houston and back to Baltimore.
David, who visited me here in La Paz, has volunteered
to pick me up at BWI in the middle of the night to
drive me home. My flight arrives at 12:35 a.m., so I
don’t imagine that I will be able to retrieve my
suitcase and exit the airport until 1:00 a.m. It takes
a great friend to volunteer for that kind of duty and
I will be forever grateful. Thanks again, David!
I wish for all of you a
fantastic remainder of 2018! Most certainly the
weather will have to improve over what you have
experienced so far this year. As a matter of fact, I
will include some of this fantastic weather in my
suitcase and bring it home for you. As the weather
quickly warms after Thursday, remember from whence the
fair weather and warm breezes come. Adios!!
|
