January
7, 2016 - San Jose del Cabo, Mexico
I touched down yesterday
afternoon five minutes ahead of schedule at 12:25 p.m.
after two tolerable flights, first from Baltimore and
then from Houston. The leg from Houston was pretty rough
as we climbed to cruising altitude and when we descended
into the Cabo airport, but I survived the ordeal with
only the initial half-Xanax that got me on the plane in
Baltimore. How refreshing to fly Southwestern where all
employees seem genuinely glad to have you aboard and
where you can buy a one-way ticket at half the price of
a round-trip. They call their service "transfarency" and
it was just that. A breakdown of the costs on the ticket
displayed the ticket cost, the taxes, and the airport
fees. I felt informed and fairly charged. What a
difference to previous encounters with other carriers.
At the airport, I bought a
ticket ($14) into town on a collective van crammed with
tourists headed to Cabo San Lucas and resorts on the
beach, most probably paying $250/day and some even more
for all-inclusive stays. I was dropped first and I could
hear the murmuring in the van as I entered the tiny,
very eclectic Yuca Inn. But, it feels like home! Sitting
in my room, now equipped with working WiFi, in the tiny,
hand-fashioned Yuca Inn feels very comfortable and
familiar. The owner, Yuca, whose British bull terrier by
the same name still prowls the premises, remembered me
and gave me the last available room in his quaint,
freshly-painted establishment. No negotiation on room
price was necessary, because Yuca apologized for
increasing the rate since my last visit and the current
exchange rate still yielded a 25 cent discount over my
previous stay, now $31.25/night. I only mention the
pricing for those who think they can't afford a
three-month, winter excursion.
I was tired from my 3:45 a.m.
wake-up for the 6:40 a.m. departure in Baltimore and the
lack of sleep in the air, so I failed to stop at a bank
before checking into the hotel, but that was no problem
for Yuca. Mañana is soon enough for payment. Lunch at
the neighboring restaurant also was eaten with a promise
of payment, then I collapsed on my bed for what turned
into a three-hour nap. Man, I was exhausted!
I headed for dinner and the
task of acquiring money from an ATM in the familiar
little city, but met with my first dilemma of the trip.
My debit card would not work at the bank where I
customarily make withdrawals and, after a dozen tries, I
could feel my anxiety level rising. What to do if I
can't get cash? Well, there is always the cache in my
belt that I bring for such situations, but this hadn't
reached that level of emergency yet. How about another
bank? I asked two ladies on the street traveling with a
five-year-old carrying a pizza box if there was another,
nearby bank and they said "follow us." They took me for
a five-block walk up some pretty-dark, side streets,
then pointed to a brightly-lit building whose ATM
accepted my card and the legal tender problem was
resolved. It was comforting to say the least, but having
the cache in my belt kept the panic mode from kicking
in.
I dined alfresco in tee shirt
and long-sleeved shirt (no jacket) in a lovely courtyard
with a live guitarist singing beautiful Mexican ballads.
Quite a difference from the 15-degree trip to the
airport in the morning! Today, I paid Yuca for the room
and the smiling, gold-toothed lady in the restaurant for
yesterday's lunch and, after breakfast (spicy huevos
rancheros) in the same small restaurant, feel ready to
take on the world in shorts and a golf shirt.
I always seem to write too much
on the first day or two of each trip, so I apologize for
wasting your time. I promise brevity in future updates.
Hasta luego!
Pancho, the captain of the
super panga, gave it his best shot yesterday. Trolling,
chumming with huge chunks of calamari that he cut from
one of the giant slabs of cephalopod mollusk I had
purchased from a boat floating around the beautiful
marina while hawking its wares to fishermen heading to
sea. We also used live "caballito," a big-eyed scad,
baitfish, that I purchased at the mouth of the jetty on
the way out to sea at sunrise. The caballito would have
yielded a couple of pretty nice fillets had we chosen to
eat them instead of using them to tempt dorado and
wahoo, who shunned the offering we expectantly drifted
for a couple of hours when we first started fishing.
Then, Pancho got serious, switching to chumming calamari
for the tuna he described as active this time of year.
That was slow going, too, but the views of the sunrise,
the beach, the desert mountains behind them, and the
marine life all around us made it a thrilling adventure.
We saw four whales, in Spanish- ballena, one surfacing
only 50 yards from the boat and another breaching 200
yards from the boat with an earthquake-sounding thump
that vibrated our vessel. We spotted two marlin (well, I
only saw the second one), the first time I had ever seen
the beautiful dorsal fin protruding from the sea while
it searched for prey. We tried but were unable to get it
to rise for our lures.
Finally while chumming, one of
the heavy rod's clickers screamed and its pole bent
almost double. We tangled with our first tuna. Pancho
and I were the only humans on the boat (Pancho spoke no
English) and he quickly handed the rod to me to do the
heavy lifting. It took about 15 minutes to get the
small, gorgeous creature to the side of the boat where
Pancho expertly gaffed and hoisted it aboard. Probably a
20-25 pounder, it meant we weren't going to be shut out
on the half-day for which I had contracted. It was my
first-ever tuna and really a thrill. We caught seven
fish on the day: two, beautifully-colored trigger
fish that we returned to the water because Pancho
declared them inedible, a grey trigger fish that we kept
because of its value in ceviche, a favorite dish of
mine, and four, I said FOUR, tuna, the last a 40-50
pounder that took 30 minutes to bring aboard. This old
salt was exhausted! So exhausted was I that Pancho
fought the biggest creature for the last 8-10 minutes
while I lay gasping on the deck, begging for mercy and a
return to shore. I have photos of the catch I will share
after I complete this update. I have enjoyed two meals
of the tuna fillets after giving a generous portion,
probably five pounds, to Yuca at the hotel. We might
have had 40 or more pounds of filets cleaned and bagged
at the marina by the local filet experts, but I gave the
remainder to Pancho who will, no doubt, add extra income
by selling them to families and restauranteurs. Another
great day on the water at Los Cabos!
This morning, fortified by a
couple ibuprofen that Yuca prescribed for the sore
muscles sure to follow yesterday's fishing excursion, I
walked 2.5 miles up a steep hill to the bus station to
purchase a ticket for tomorrow's trip to La Paz, my
final destination for the winter. The ride will get me
there a day before my apartment is ready and I will
spend the night in one more hotel room, but I want to
get the lay of the land before checking in. More from La
Paz. Adios.
January 12, 2016
- La Paz, Baja Sur, Mexico
Unpacked at last! Unpacked at
last! Thank God Almighty, I"m unpacked at last. It seems
like it has been years that I have been living out of a
tightly-packed suitcase, but it has only been six days.
My wardrobe has been limited for the past week in fear
that I couldn't repack my togs in the one suitcase and
backpack that I carry. Man, that suitcase is heavy; I
packed way too many clothes this year. You'd think that
I would have learned by now. I'm getting to be a clothes
horse like Schim; I have to stop hanging around that
guy.
Sunday morning, right on
schedule, Yuca pulled his old, small pickup truck to the
bottom of the stairs (with homemade ramp) outside my
room and together we loaded the two bags into the dirty
bed of his truck. Saturday, Yuca had volunteered to take
me to the bus station on his way to a massage. He saved
me the cost of a taxi, since there was no way I intended
to pull that heavy, poorly-wheeled suitcase up the steep
hill for my departure.
Only five people (no chickens)
boarded the large, almost-new, tourist bus that must
have seated 50 people. Seats were assigned and, of
course, I was assigned a window seat and poor,
53-year-old Elisa was relegated to the aisle seat next
to mine. She spoke no English, but we eventually shared
details about our lives and families. She was a gnarled,
wrinkled, but friendly soul who looked more my age, a
couple of decades older than she admitted. We endured
the trip snuggling closely and laughing when she got
cold. We passed the time that way between glances at the
movie, in Spanish and starring Tom Hanks, about the
captain whose ship was hijacked off the coast of Africa.
At the stop in Todos Santos, an employee boarded the bus
to check tickets and I introduced her as "mi esposa."
She laughed and thanked me, since she is now single (she
may have told me why, but spoke too rapidly for me). She
has three children and was visiting a son and grandchild
in San Jose del Cabo. She was on the first leg of her
return home, a 15-hour ride. The bus was heading for
Ensenada, a city where I had stayed overnight on my
previous drives down the Baja and I inquired of the
driver about how long until the bus arrived there. When
he said 25 hours, I figure that I must have spent one or
two other nights on the way south, although my mind is a
little hazy on the details of that trip (tequila?). I
can't imagine 25 hours on the bus.
I booked a room in the same,
nice, beach-side hotel where I lived in my last visit
here and spent the evening talking to Rainbow Hawk who
hasn't changed one iota since then. The retired, radical
liberal, hippie, artist/musician, pothead still refuses
money from our "police-state" government and subsists on
the largesse of others. I bought him a lemonade, his
choice, and lunch the next day. He still has no problem
spending my Social Security money that I am sent monthly
by our "corrupt" government.
Late yesterday afternoon, I
found the real estate office and met the manager who
drove me to the apartment that I rented a couple of
months ago through Airbnb.com. It looks just like the
photos, but is located a little further from the central
area than I hoped. It is probably no more than a
kilometer from downtown and the daily hike will provide
the exercise I need. I am very close to the marina which
I often visited on previous trips for the restaurants
and the ferry to the golf course. It will simply require
getting accustomed to a different neighborhood. No
problema. I just finished my first load of laundry, and
it is great that I will not need to carry my clothes to
the laundry and back when the pickings become slim. The
Maytag washer and dryer is a luxury that I will enjoy.
Time to make myself at home! Unpacked at last!!
Hasta luego!
So much for the beautiful view
from my apartment of the marina and harbor, workmen
began digging ditches for sewer and water lines for a
new building to be constructed on the property next to
this one - the property directly in line with the view.
Ah, well, the sun is out and the temperature is still 72
degrees. I can always walk the short block to the beach.
The work is entertaining, though. They dug the ditches
by hand, quite a job, and yesterday they dug and piled
rocks and concrete scattered on the edges of the place.
A front end loader is now hoisting those rocks onto an
old, but serviceable dump truck for removal. With this
much time on one's hands, almost everything passes as
entertainment.
Lunch yesterday, I know you
missed the descriptions of food, was at a local seafood
restaurant a couple of blocks from home adjacent to the
marina. Like many restaurants, it was a building of
eclectic construction (and that's generous) with a
palapa roof, an attached tarp-covered patio, and an
additional bamboo-covered picnic area near a walled,
tapas bar piled with rows of Tupperware containers full
of condiments. There were many exciting dishes on the
menu, described in detail in Spanish (what else?) with
photos and I opted for a steamed, mixed dish of mariscos
(seafood) that included shrimp, octopus, and sea snail.
The description included pepinos (cucumbers) that I
love, but which my body rejects, so I asked them to hold
the cukes (or peps, I guess). The dish was delicious and
came covered with thinly sliced red onions. I took a
photo to make you hungry.
Dinner was in a much fancier
establishment, one that I had visited with my wife and
another couple for a Valentine's Day celebration three
years ago. Then called El Corazon (the Heart), it was
slightly remodeled and its name changed to something
that begins with an S, if that helps. The meal was
absolutely world class, and a lot more expensive than
lunch at $38, including two glasses of wine. The salad
was the best I have had in years with crumbled blue
cheese, sliced squash, walnuts, and fresh, fancy greens.
I could only eat half. The entree was red-wine-glazed,
pork spare ribs that put barbecued ribs to shame.
Sliced, baby potatoes and asparagus accompanied the
meal, but I took no photos since I was too busy savoring
the repast. I took two doggie boxes with me, because I
could also only eat half the ribs and knew that Rainbow
Hawk and his dog would probably appreciate something
other than the free tacos on which they customarily
survive.
On the long walk back to my
apartment at about 10:00 p.m., I dropped off the doggie
bag to Rainbow who was sitting with Rosa in his usual
base outside an ice cream shop. He and Rosa devoured the
meal without a "thank you," so it will be a while until
I take the trouble of carrying doggie bags his way.
Today, I am exhausted from all the construction I have
witnessed next door, so I soon need a nap. Adios!
The weekend began with a
Saturday morning beach party at the marina after a
Friday night invitation from none other than the
commodore of the yacht club, whom I met while dining at
a nearby seafood restaurant that had what passed as live
music. The commodore was a dancing fool and needed a
seat near the dance floor to rest between numbers. I
agreed to share my table with him and his partner and
that eventually produced the invitation. It was a
breakfast beach party and I eat breakfast, so I figured
why not? The beach itself was minuscule, but large
enough to house two bocce courts and a horseshoe pit
that were raked regularly. Inside the covered dining
area, where I had attended a Valentine's Day party a few
years ago, darts and cards were being played by boat
captains, their wives and/or husbands in what appeared
to be a weekly tournament for each event. Very welcoming
folks at the club and all were gringo or ex-pats as far
as I could tell. I heard only English spoken.
Since there was plenty of room
at my table, I was soon joined by Hal and Nancy,
originally from the state of Washington, but now
experienced mariners living the good life on their
55-foot ketch, complete with two lounge chairs and a
50-inch screen TV. They surely aren't roughing it and it
did sound like the good life. I miss my lounge chair.
After that, there was laundry
to do and, despite the pleas from Schim for more
updates, a life to lead in the Baja. The man asks about
whether his favorite (cheap) restaurant is still open,
why I haven't described what I eat daily for breakfast,
why I hadn't eaten menudo (to which I introduced him) at
the market, and all about Rainbow. Seems to me that if
the man is that interested in the Baja, he should have
made the trip. Wait, I didn't mean that!! I have
answered his questions in emails to fend off the big
question, "May I come down?"
I am a little embarrassed by a
rookie mistake I made in packing for the trip. A good
rule of thumb expressed by travel experts is to pack
your suitcase, then take half of it out and leave it
home. Some even recommend repeating the process. I
should have listened to them (and myself in
recommendations to others), I packed jeans, two pairs of
khakis ( I wore one on the flight), four pairs of
bermudas, four tee-shirts, seven golf shirts, and three
long-sleeved shirts ( I wore one down), three sweaters,
a sweatshirt, a light windbreaker and my Gore-tex golf
jacket. I was out of my mind!! I have a very convenient
washer and dryer and could have gotten by with a pair of
jeans, a pair or two of bermudas, and the tee-shirts.
Ridiculous! I strained unnecessarily with the heavy
suitcase. It reminds me of the way Schim always
packs. I have definitely picked up bad habits from the
big fellow from the Sunshine State.
Last night, I dined in the
great restaurant where I ate the other night when I
shared my doggie bag with Rainbow and met the owner who
sat with me for a great conversation. Phil (Felipe here)
is married to a Mexican woman and they have two,
beautiful daughters. We learned that we both played in
very competitive, fast-pitch, softball leagues in years
past. I in what was called the Pa. Major Softball
League, and Felipe on a touring team that often competed
with Eddie Feigner, the King and His Court. Turns out,
Felipe, as a slugging first baseman, has been enshrined
in the U. S Softball Hall of Fame located in Oklahoma,
where a native of our city was the American Softball
Commissioner for many years. We talked softball for so
long that he volunteered to drive me home to save a long
walk.
This morning on the way home
from breakfast, I bumped into Paul, who along with his
brother-in-law, Stan, moved into the apartment next to
mine yesterday. Stan, from Montana, has owned the
apartment for many years, but hasn't been here for more
than a year. Paul, from San Diego, is an avid fisherman
and, since Stan will be busy getting his driver's
license, tax paperwork, and other details ironed out for
the next week, I was invited to accompany Paul on an
early morning trip tomorrow. Paul makes fishing rods as
a hobby, so he says he has plenty of equipment to loan
me. I will meet him at 5:10 a.m. to make the one-hour
run to the best fishing. Paul says they have been
catching many marlin, so here we go again. I'll let you
know how we make out. Luego!
The fishing tally from
yesterday (but who counts?), Harry-4, Paul-2. When
fishing on a boat trolling on the high seas, it is just
a matter of fortune whose lure or bait is struck by the
prey, so it really is the entire boat who should get
credit for the day's catch. Our captain, Ephraim, Paul,
and yours truly were a team. My fish all happened to be
three to five pound bonitas, used for bait by local
shark fishermen. Paul, the San Diego fishing addict who
is at it again today with his brother-in-law, Stan,
reeled in a bonita of similar size, too. He also managed
to successfully fight a striped marlin about seven feet
long, from tip of bill to tail, weighing in an estimated
150 pounds, though it looked heavier than that to me.
The great fish fought Paul valiantly for at least 45
minutes, but our team boated six fish in little more
than half of what was described as a very slow day.
Ephraim welcomed all species aboard with several blows
to the head that set them quivering and onward to the
great sea in the sky. Paul and I usually release all
fish, but Ephraim must have seen meals for his family
and additional profit from today's catch. When we asked
how much he thought Paul's marlin weighed, Ephraim
responded, "five tacos" and we all enjoyed a hearty
laugh.
Paul and Stan invited me to
join them for dinner and took me to a new restaurant,
for me, that served great Mexican meals. They both
ordered roast beef and I opted for delicious short ribs
with mashed potatoes - comfort food which reminded me of
home. On the return to the apartment, the guys invited
me to join them for another day of fishing today, but I
declined. Paul would fish every day, Stan has been busy
completing government paperwork and is eager to get some
lures in the water, but one day at sea a week is enough
for this old salt. I will share some photos of
yesterday's marine exploits when I complete this update.
In more mundane matters, I am
washing the togs worn fishing, combined with my first
attempt to launder my bed linens. Wish me well.
Schim has asked for photos of
the apartment, photos of plates of food, and more
frequent updates. I am terrified that more updates will
pique his curiosity sufficiently for him to purchase an
airline ticket. La Paz is not ready for him, yet. I'll
need more time to brace them, but he may be right about
others being curious about where I am living. Maybe,
I'll give that a shot later today, if I can squeeze the
time into my busy schedule. Hasta mañana.
Fishing results from
yesterday's excursion: one marlin about 100 pounds, one
small, (enough filets for three of us) pargo (red
snapper), one large yellowtail, now shrink-wrapped and
frozen, and several near misses. No, I didn't change my
mind and fish on two consecutive days; these are the
results reported by Stan and Paul, my neighbors. The
near misses included a giant pargo, at least 50 pounds
and missed and lost with a swipe of the gaff by Ephraim,
the captain. A very large wahoo, hooked and fought by
Paul, that was also lost beside the boat with a sudden
twist of the fish's toothy head which severed the line
before the gaff could be introduced. Had they expected
wahoo, they would have used wire leader. It sounds like
they had a great time and I certainly enjoyed the shared
pargo filets that a restaurant cooked for us, but I
didn't miss a second, consecutive day on the high seas.
I might go fishing again next week but, then again, it's
about time to get the rust off my golf game. I might
just opt for taking the ferry to the course across the
bay for a little practice, instead.
Yesterday, I enjoyed a short
taxi ride and a leisurely shopping trip at the local
supermarket a mile or two away. Grocery shopping is
always fun in foreign lands to look at the differences
in stores, products, and marketing. This store, Mega,
was on the second floor of a shopping mall and required
an escalator ramp to reach the shopping and later to
descend to the parking level. After buying a couple
types of cheese, the challenge this trip was trying to
find the crackers on which to eat the cheese in place of
a dinner or lunch. I stopped a very nice lady, the
people here are amazingly friendly and helpful, and
tried to describe saltine crackers. Go ahead, you try it
without words. She made several attempts to decipher my
charades, but eventually failed. Ten minutes later, I
stumbled across "galletas" on the shelf, later passed
the lady in the aisle and showed her what my histrionics
had been about. Ah, "cookies," she said in English with
a huge smile, which was probably most of her English
vocabulary. Turns out "galletas" means cookies or
crackers, but I now have the makings for an hors
d'oeuvre to go with the Mexican red wine that I also
purchased.
Stan and Paul have been sharing
a smooth, delicious Tequila with me some evenings and
they explained that they have sampled them all and ended
up restricting themselves to only the "Sauza" brand. The
bottle has to have the black label and bottle cap, they
insisted, so I bought a bottle ($13) for my friend's
visit in March. As a good host, I certainly want to
provide them with an authentic beverage when they
arrive. With a hand of bananas, some sliced ham, a
couple cokes, a bottle of mustard, another of guacamole,
a half gallon of milk, a bag of corn chips, and the
bottle of wine, my grocery bill was $40. The taxi home
cost $3.00, including tip. It is amazing how simple,
everyday chores can turn into an exciting adventure. I'm
exhausted just recalling the effort. Not to worry; it is
soon nap time. Hasta pronto.
I tagged along yesterday with
Stan and Paul for a Sunday afternoon matinee of "The
Revenant" with Leonardo DiCaprio in a multiplex theater
with comfortable, adjustable seats in the most modern
shopping mall in the city. With the senior discount of
two pesos (11 cents), admission was an incredible $1.73.
Though the lobby was pretty crowded, other movie-goers
must have been watching "Star Wars," because there were
only a couple other folks in our theater. Not a pleasant
movie, although based on a true story, dialogue was
difficult to hear despite the great surround-sound
speakers in the theater. Mumbling actors, mouths full of
tobacco or jerky, and sound engineers showing off their
capabilities with their stereophonic hi-jinx was a
distraction. The winter scenery of Yellowstone Park was
spectacular and, after blood and guts aplenty, the good
guy (Leonardo) won. The film was in English with Spanish
subtitles which was not a problem. Afterward, a tour of
the mall, whose Mexican Walmart facsimile sold
everything from Italika motor scooters and four-wheelers
to groceries, automotive supplies, tires, television
sets, washers and dryers, wine, and tequila. In a quick
stop I picked up a bottle of red and a bottle of white
for any visitors.
Saturday was a blur, spent
completing "Boys in the Boat," a good read recommended
by my eldest son, and a Kindle search for another book
to replace it. Most reading occurred on my sofa while
waiting for laundry to finish, but I did spend a little
time reading in the courtyard under the grape arbor
watching an oriole and a hummingbird flit around the
orange and key lime trees. Dinner that evening was at
"El Rey Restaurante," a local place that sold no liquor.
Not to worry, they had the best "malteados" (milkshakes)
in town. Really, the vanilla shake I had with my chicken
tacos was one of the best I have had in years. I may
have to go back there again - oh, the price of the
milkshake was $1.00.
This morning, I made my first
venture across the bay to the Paraiso del Mar Golf
Course. The trip required a free, short voyage on the
boat shuttle and a golf cart ride to the club house. The
pro, with whom I had played golf in other visits here,
was off today, so I had nobody with whom to negotiate. I
paid $10 to hit an unlimited number of balls and was
given a mixed bag of rental clubs with which to get the
deed done. I hit the ball rather well, but limited
myself to 25 or 30 shots to ascertain if seldom-used
muscles would withstand the new exercise after three
months of rest. I'm happy to report that I have
experienced no pain so far, but I have that bottle of
"Suaza" tequila in reserve, should the pain become
unbearable tonight. Hasta luego!
There is almost as much white
in my bedroom as there must be back home with the
blizzard of 2016. My problem needn't be shoveled, rather
picked up, vacuumed, or blown away. The problem is
feathers! My pillows are apparently stuffed with down,
no, they are definitely stuffed with down. The feather
tips protrude from the pillow cover on occasion,
scratching and tickling at just the wrong time - at the
moment when finally drifting off to never, never
land. The feathers somehow also escape their
containment and float to the floor, causing the
white-out problem I just described. I haven't seen many
geese or ducks here, so my guess is the pillows are
stuffed with seagull down. Either that, or they are
manufactured on the mainland and flown here (no pun
intended). It is obviously not a major problem, although
the whiteness seems to appear like magic whenever my
eyes hit the floor. With the wonderful weather here, it
is a hardship I think I can endure.
I have found a lounge chair: a
leather, adjustable, lounge chair with a swiveling,
glass-top table, a light, and a call button with waiter
service for cocktails or popcorn. It is not in my living
room (I wish), but located in another theater we
(neighbors Stan and Paul) visited for a matinee
yesterday. We waited 40 minutes for the show, the Whitey
Bulger story, to begin, wondering why the movie was
starting so late. We found out quickly when "The
Revenant" began playing. We were in the wrong theater at
the multiplex cinema, much closer to my apartment than
the one we visited to see "The Revenant" yesterday.
Somehow, they had printed our tickets wrong, sending us
to the wrong theater, and we were able to get a refund.
No problem; here, there is always mañana, so we plan to
visit Whitey then, the day before Stan and Paul head
home to California.
Stan actually lives on his
ranch in Montana for at least half the year, but flees
south to his home in northern California when chill
winds begin to blow. Since 1992, he has owned the condo
here in La Paz where he and Paul, his brother-in-law,
escape periodically to fish the rich waters of the Sea
of Cortez. Stan, a retired veterinarian, is a great
storyteller, recounting numerous veterinary yarns and
jokes while we share a sipping tequila in the early
evening. One or two of those usually finds me in bed
before 9:00 p.m., so please don't inquire about the
night life. Next week after Stan and Paul depart,
Carnival begins here and, if I skip the tequila, I might
soon have more to report on the nightlife. Stay
tuned. Luego.
I found 770 pesos ($42.42)
today, just when I was running out of cash. No, it
wasn't lying in the gutter; that would have been a great
find, but I found this cash in my own leather wallet
that hangs from my belt under my pants - a precaution I
always take when traveling overseas. I was headed for a
bank ATM machine to replenish my pesos when I passed a
cambio (money exchange) office and remembered the 35
British Pounds that I noticed in my wallet the last time
I withdrew pesos. The British currency was left over
from a trip to Britain, September one year ago, and was
simply occupying space in my wallet. Since I can't
foresee any future trips to the British Isles, it was
going to waste and not earning any interest. It was my
money, but it was truly found when I cashed it in with a
smile on my face. I still withdrew more pesos at the ATM
and I should now have enough legal tender to get by for
a couple weeks.
Stan and Paul should be safely
back in San Diego by now, having flown from La Paz to
Tijuana and having somebody pick them up to transport
them home. I'm on my own again and the first day of
solitude has gone rather well. It began last evening
after their departure when I curled up with my Kindle
and made a real dent in the spy novel I'm reading. Not
wanting to put the book down, not even for a meal, I ate
a couple ham and string cheese roll-ups (with Dijon
mustard) in my apartment and washed them down with a
glass of mango juice. In bed by 9:00 p.m., I was
delightfully awakened (at 7:30 a.m.) with a Skype call
from my granddaughter, a freshman in college. It was
great to see (the iPad cameras are fantastic) and talk
to her again. Actually, though still in bed, I was
engaged in another Spanish lesson on the interesting
"Duolingo" website when she called, so she saw her
grandfather half-awake with bed head and a Spanish
accent while we talked. Her call invigorated me and I
jumped (OK, I rolled, joints creaking) out of bed and
went on my first real exercise walk of the trip, past
the cambio and the ATM. For those counting, my Garmin
(fit) bracelet measured the walk at just over 7,000
steps - a great start to the day! I may have to
start every day this way. No roll-ups for dinner
tonight, though, I'm thinking a little octopus may be in
order. Hasta luego!
Housekeeping Monday: stripping
beds, washing linens and whites, cookies and milk at
home for breakfast, shower and shave (hooray - new
blade celebration time), and then out to get my hair
cut. I took a cab to locate the barber whose address I
was uncertain about, and whom I never found. I wasn't
sure which main street the ex-pat, Canadian, real-estate
mogul told me the shop was on, so I took the cab to
cruise the general area. Never found the place, but
found a local, four-seat shop way outside the tourist
zone where I was treated like a celebrity. It helped
that I could joke a little in Spanish, but the owner,
who took a lunch break when it was my turn on his chair,
assigned me to the last chair in the shop where a
middle-aged (20 years younger than this gringo) woman
was finishing another guy. The owner rubbed his belly,
apologizing, telling me he was hungry, but said the
woman back there was the best. She was a little timid
with this old gringo, but, using clippers, scissors,
comb, and straight razor, I think she did a commendable
job. While walking from the shop to lunch, I even took a
post-haircut selfie to share when I complete this
update. The taxi cost 60 pesos, the same price as the
haircut, $3.29, and I tipped the woman $1.00 (20 pesos)
which was appreciated so much that I realized that
tipping was not a common practice.
I walked 2,500 steps back to
the malecon (the tiled, boardwalk-like promenade along
the sea) and had lunch of a cup of scrumptious seafood
soup and an individual, thin-crusted, seafood pizza that
was good. You won't get many superlatives about pizza
from me, since It is not one of my favorite meals; I had
to try a seafood pizza, though. I also drank two
lemonades and they were fantastic! The little "limons,"
which look like limes to me, are freshly squeezed for
each glass and they make the best lemonade on the planet
in almost every restaurant here. I then walked 3,000
more steps (are these Fit gadgets ridiculous or what?)
on the malecon and arrived home in time to put the
laundry in the dryer.
The weekend was absolutely
gorgeous with high temps both days in the middle 80's,
but there were really no unusual activities to report,
unless you consider the round across my bow fired by
Montezuma. It was apparently only a one-time, warning
shot fired Saturday night, but it got my attention. I'm
almost certain it was the old-looking tuna sashimi that
I ate when the restaurant where I was headed turned out
to be closed for lunch. I skipped a couple meals, ate
saltines for another, and Montezuma beat a hasty
retreat. I need to be a little more careful in
unfamiliar restaurants. Most of the weekend was spent
reading intensively and I polished off two Vince Flynn
spy novels quite rapidly. Good, quick reads.
It is now time to fold laundry,
remake the bed, and take the afternoon siesta - 5,500
steps, after all. Hasta luego!
Brrr, it's cold!!! Yesterday
was a blustery, windy day, the coolest since I arrived
back in January. Maybe, 71 degrees wouldn't be cold for
you, but when the sun went down and with the wind
gusting, the temperature must have plunged into the
mid-50's. I bundled up in jeans, tee-shirt, long-sleeved
shirt, and a very light, pullover windbreaker and made
my way down the hill to Bandito's for dinner. Bandito's
is owned by an American who came south to make his
fortune and he has been very successful. He began
selling burgers on a street corner from a grill he
fashioned under the hood of his pickup truck. He has
grown the business into a real restaurant, but the
hamburgers, ribs, and tortillas are still grilled under
the hood of the pickup that is the centerpiece of the
outdoor eatery. It was so chilly that the waitress gave
me a serape to put over my shoulders or across by lap
and I accepted. After studying the menu and feeling the
cool wind still whipping through the wooded restaurant,
I decided to cut and run. I apologized, told the
waitress that I would return on another night, and made
for a restaurant with real walls at the edge of the
marina near the water. I had a couple of the best
margaritas of the trip, a small plate of chicken
enchiladas with mild, green sauce and called it a night.
Fortunately, I had gotten in my
exercise walk wearing shorts and tee-shirt in the
morning when it was only a tad breezy because, as the
day progressed, the wind kept increasing. I passed the
8,000 step goal the gadget sets for me for the second
consecutive day and enjoyed the celebration vibration
the equipment buzzed on my wrist. I must be getting in
shape!
This morning, I located a new
restaurant recommended by Stan and Paul, even though
they mispronounced or I mis-heard the name of the place,
Mermalera. I asked the cabbie to find Mermalada and we
went on something of a wild goose chase, even though I
had instructions from Stan on how to find the place.
After the delicious mushroom and cheese omelette, I
walked six or seven blocks in the warm sunshine, the
wind has subsided, to the Telcel store and purchased a
telephone to use while in Mexico. I know, I waited long
enough, but Stan told me about a "gringo special" for
the phone and limited minutes, which will be all I need
for taxis, restaurants, and texts from my old buddy,
Ron, when he and his wife arrive at the beginning of
March. I paid $17.92 for the phone and 90 minutes of
time. Quite the bargain, I would think. All of the
morning's activities have pretty much exhausted me, so
you'll excuse me if I close my eyes for just a
minute. Hasta pronto!
Round-trip to McFisher's
Restaurant from my apartment is over three miles. Not a
long haul, but there is a sudden, steep slope from the
malecon to the restaurant itself and I made the trip
three times in the last few days before breathlessly
learning that the place was only open for breakfast and
lunch. The seafood restaurant was recommended in several
internet food blogs, but unmentioned in others that
ranked restaurants in La Paz. Two cabbies I asked never
heard of the place, although my pronunciation of
McFisher's in Spanish could have been a little short of
the mark.
I am expecting my wife and our
good friends, Ron and Karen, on March 4th for a two-week
visit, but Ron is infamous among our travel companions
for selecting restaurants after thorough research only
to find the places closed when we arrive. Ron has
focused in on McFisher's and mentioned it several times
in emails during my winter here. He is looking forward
to visiting what turned out to be a very rustic, local
seafood establishment. But, wouldn't you think he could
have mentioned that the place is only open two meals a
day? By the time he arrives in La Paz, he will have
targeted eight or ten places we have to eat. Ergo, my
advance research.
I weaved through the crowds
gathered at the main stage constructed for Carnival as a
beautiful singer (yes, I have photos) serenaded them in
the first performance of the week-long event. There are
four stages constructed on or along the malecon and each
is equipped with huge speakers that can clearly be heard
in my apartment that is at least half-a-mile away from
the closest venue. I was headed, again, to McFisher's
where I learned only the day before from a neighbor at
dinnertime that it was open for only two meals. I
finally got a seat in the place where all tables are
step through picnic tables, a real challenge with knees
made stiff from daily trips up that hill. They were out
of the clams and scallops that I selected from the menu,
so I ordered a "campechana," a shrimp-cocktail-type
appetizer served in a huge glass (bowl). Composed of
shrimp, octopus, sea snails, scallops, and clams, the
concoction was in a thin, red sauce, with lemon juice
and cilantro. It was mouth-wateringly delicious. Maybe,
I should forgive Ron for being so focused on the place.
I will definitely return, but I may consider a cab for
one leg of the trip. I walked both ways yesterday.
Last night, I was back at
Bandido's (now spelled correctly) where they remembered
me and greeted me warmly. "How warmly," you ask? They
covered my seat in one serape, pulled another over my
lap, and, finally, draped one across my shoulders. No
way this gringo was leaving for another restaurant last
night. I had ribs and onion rings only because I must
have nodded my head too slowly when he asked, "arroz,
cebollas fritas?" I wanted rice, but ended up with the
onion rings. All food was good, the under-the-hood grill
worked perfectly, and the serapes made it a cozy
evening. I walked home admiring the lights from the
carny rides, Ferris wheel, merry-go-round, death spiral,
etc., etc.
For me this winter, so far, has
been a very early-to-bed-and-early-to-rise kind of
vacation. Thinking it was because of my age and
forgetting early morning wake-ups for fishing
excursions, I deduced yesterday, as I crawled between
the sheets at 8:00 p.m., that I may still be on Eastern
Standard time. My body has always been slow to adjust to
time zone changes, but a month is ridiculous. This
morning, I awoke at 5:30 a.m. (7:30 EST) ready to
take on the world, but vaguely remembering a noisy gun
battle that took place outside my apartment building
around 11:00 p.m last night. It was either a gun battle
or the first day of Carnival also includes a late
evening fireworks display. Since I saw no bodies, blood,
or chalk-outlined body forms on my way to breakfast this
morning, let's go with the fireworks. Hasta pronto!
Carnaval weekend!! Ole! Party,
Party! NOT! I did stay out late last night, Sunday, to
watch the parade and crawled between the sheets at
(gasp!) 10:00 p.m. Actually, the parade was a colorful
and very noisy event, but it ended somewhere about 9:00
p.m. and I could have been in bed much earlier. As I
exited the hotel, however, where I watched the parade
from the fourth floor restaurant level, I walked about
20 steps and saw a TV set outside, hanging from the wall
of a bar/restaurant and noticed that the third quarter
of the super bowl was in progress. So, I stopped, had a
beverage, and rooted the Broncos on to victory along
with many other, interested Mexicans; at least, they had
a quarterback who wouldn't dance in the end zone - my
sole criterion for selecting the Broncos, since I am not
much of a professional football fan any longer. It's the
celebrations and lack of sportsmanship that has turned
me off completely. What are we teaching our young
athletes about sportsmanship, fair play, being a good
loser, a better winner, etc., etc.??
This was the sixth Carnaval
celebration I have enjoyed. One in Costa Rica, one three
years ago here, the big kahuna in Rio de Janeiro; and
two in Cadiz, Spain. My favorites were the two in Cadiz;
the one in Rio was the most colorful and biggest
man-made celebration I have seen, but the ones in Cadiz
were, by far, the most enjoyable and would have been
more so had I been able to understand the lyrics of the
original humorous songs, ridiculing the politicians, the
government, the church, and even athletic endeavors,
like golfers. The Carnaval here has grown since I last
saw it, now at least 50 floats participated. In La Paz,
it is a family event with many children dancing in
costumes, playing music, or dancing on the colorful
floats. No naked or topless women, sorry guys, it was a
tame, though celebratory, family event and one enjoyed
by the entire community.
A short word about meals this
weekend, because I had a couple of dandies. On Friday
night, you can see the wait staff in my photo, I enjoyed
arroz negro, black rice made that way from the ink sack
of the squid that was chopped and cooked in the rice,
making it one of my favorite dishes worldwide. Saturday
night found me at the Uruguayan Grill, a restaurant
founded by a native Uruguayan who cooked for Schim and
me on our last visit. I was saddened to learn that the
founder had passed away, at age 48, since my last visit.
The new, young grill-master, calling himself a maestro,
appears in another photo and cooked me one of the best
steaks I have eaten in my life. He really was a maestro
of the wood-fired grill on which he prepared the meat.
With a half-bottle of Chilean wine, it was a feast for a
king.
Today, Mario, the custodian of
this condo property, is scheduled to clean my apartment.
He was also scheduled to clean it on Friday at 3:00
p.m., but was a no-show. On Saturday he sheepishly
informed me that there was too much Carnaval and that
was the reason he missed his scheduled cleaning. A tad
too much of the tequila, methinks. Hasta Luego!
Carnaval is over!! A little
peace and quiet can now ensue and La Paz can once again
become the tranquil place of which the locals are so
proud and that we tourists enjoy so much. Yes, the place
is tranquil despite all the horror stories we hear at
home about the drug cartels and the killings associated
with them. I wanted to drive down, but was unable to get
a navigator to join me and my wife and family feared the
danger with which they were certain the trip was
fraught. Stan, who owns the condo across the walkway
from me and who drives down with some regularity put it
best when he said, "it's dangerous, all right, but only
if you drive through Los Angeles." I walk the dark
streets without fear at night, literally on the streets
because of the horrendous condition of the sidewalks,
and the folks I meet always greet me with a warm,
"buenas tardes" or "buenas noches," depending on the
time of day. I honestly feel safer here than in my own
hometown and that, too, is very safe. These are
wonderfully hospitable people and their town is aptly
named.
Not much new or exciting to
report, since I steered clear of the Carnaval
celebrations and the throngs of people after attending
the opening day parade. The long midway crammed wall to
wall with people, carny rides, and food stands is just
not my thing these days. It is probably my age, but I
don't even enjoy the crowds at baseball or football
games any longer.
The Schimster was in touch this
morning by email, describing how he bundles up (in
Orlando) with gloves, hat, and earmuffs to go on his
exercise walks - quite a mental picture that makes! He
made no mention of visiting, however, and I know the
stock market is down, so my guess is he'll stay home
this year. That means, of course, that my second bedroom
is available if you have always wanted to see the baja.
We would simply have to work out the dates. First come,
first served. Luego!
Today's high temperature is
forecast to reach 85 degrees, the beginning of a warming
spell that will break 90 degrees on Thursday for the
first time this winter. Indeed, by next weekend the high
is forecast to top off at 95 degrees. I do not say this
to rub it in to the poor folks in the mid-Atlantic who
are suffering through single digit temperatures, only to
indicate that the temperatures in the Baja will soon be
unbearable. Hopefully, this is just a February anomaly
and the high temps will return to the low 80's until
much later in the spring. It should still be shirtsleeve
weather in the evenings when walking to and from dinner
and that will make things tolerable. It will limit
outdoor activities for a few days, not that I have that
many, and my apartment has air-conditioners, so I should
be just fine.
I enjoyed the best tuna steak
of the trip last night, even better because of the
preparation than the ones I caught myself, grilled with
salt, pepper, and butter, accompanied by white rice and
a vegetable medley that made for a great meal. The night
before at my favorite seafood restaurant, Bismark-cito,
I had a spotted cabrilla filet, grilled and topped with
a light red salsa, onions, and mildly tangy peppers.
That fish, too, was remarkably delicious - as well it
should be. The fish or seafood consumed here is so fresh
that you know the animal must have been swimming that
morning and served the same evening. Absolutely
fantastic. Even non-fish lovers, like my wife, will find
these dishes worth exploring. Enough of the food, you
say? What else would I speak of?
This weekend, I plan an
exploratory trip to Pichilingue, where the ferry for
Mazatlan departs, and Balandra, reputed to be one of the
most beautiful beaches in Mexico. I have been to both
places before but, since I plan on taking my visitors
(wife and first time Mexican visitors, Ron and Karen)
there, I thought I should embark on a little advance
reconnaissance to be certain that things haven't changed
in three years. Other than that, this will probably be a
weekend to keep a cold drink and a good novel handy to
avoid the heat. Luego!
Who knew there was another Carnaval parade? Not I,
although I certainly wondered why the rides weren't
removed beginning on Wednesday of last week. Turns out
they ran the rides for the rest of the week in
preparation for the "Infantil Carnaval" (Childrens'
Carnaval) held yesterday, Sunday, at the end of Carnaval
week. I pretty much avoided the malecon and the
congestion all week, which restricted my exercise and my
choice of restaurants. I didn't want to dodge all the
people and all the rides and stands to get to some of my
favorite dining spots.
I did venture down yesterday
after the much smaller parade to avoid the crush, so I
was able to get a few photos of the many kids involved
in the celebration. Cute as can be, their parents were
justifiably proud of their little ones. I will share
those photos today.
Saturday was a very long day: I
caught the 10:00 o'clock bus from the station along the
malecon to Tecolote, the farthest beach on this side of
the peninsula. I have been to this beautiful spot
several times before and just decided to see if there
have been any changes since my last visit. The last
hurricane, not the giant that battered the Eastern shore
of the Sea of Cortez, but the one that lambasted San
Jose before crossing the peninsula and damaging La Paz,
removed much sand from Tecolote leaving large, worn
rocks protruding from the beach sand. Not to fear, say
the locals, eventually when the right storm hits, the
sand will be redeposited on top of the exposed stones.
Makes one wonder if all the dredging and pumping of sand
is necessary on the Delmarva beaches at home. I ate more
stuffed chocolate clams, spent two hours under a palapa,
reading, and watching people relax on the beach while
waiting for the next bus to arrive. A group of five
young ladies, I call them the Girls Club, sat at the
next table, pounding beer, chatting, laughing
uproariously, and occasionally splashing in the
turquoise water photographing one another. I got a
couple photos of that to share today also.
Saturday night, I ate a caprese
salad with goat cheese at Il Rustico, a nice Italian
restaurant a few blocks from my apartment, and would
have eaten more had I not engaged a newly arrived couple
at the bar, the only seats left in the house, in
conversation. From upstate New York and former business
owners, they own a house in La Paz and visit often. The
restaurant owner recognized them and warmly welcomed
them back with hugs. The New Yorker is newly retired and
we spent much time talking about retirement (he doesn't
get it, yet) and Rotary Club. He has accepted consulting
jobs with companies because of boredom and I recommended
Rotary as a way to focus his retirement efforts on
community service. He was very interested, to say the
least. I also gave him a better response to those
requesting his help with a corporate problem or
business: "NO!" His wife seemed to genuinely appreciate
my recommendation. He gave me his phone number and email
address so that we might continue our discussions some
day.
I departed before a main course
and after the owner "conveniently" found a table for
these regulars, heading for an "Arts Cafe" to listen to
the music for future reference when my friends and wife
arrive in a couple of weeks. Well, what a shock!! ELVIS
LIVES!! Elvis has apparently aged remarkably well and
acquired Spanish language fluency as he spoke in
Spanish, yet sang his hits in his native tongue.
Still handsome and almost looking younger than when he
supposedly passed to the great mansion in the sky, he
was clad in a bright red, sequined jump suit with a
wide, white belt. I get excited just thinking about the
performance again. I got some photos with my phone
camera, but my webmaster (daughter Abby) said that they
are not clear enough to bother you with. I'll try to get
her to post a couple of the best of the dark shots
anyway. I lasted about twenty minutes into his
performance and caught a cab home, crawling between the
sheets after 10:00 p.m. An exhausting day for this
caballero! That's right, I'm a caballero, again.
Adios.
It's funny how small things can
make such a big difference in one's existence.
Yesterday, two small revelations changed my life in huge
ways. First, I washed my bed clothes and while putting
the pillow case back on the one pillow that has littered
my bed, bedroom, and clothing with seagull feathers, I
had an epiphany. "Wait," said I to myself who was
listening intently, "there is another bed in the other
bedroom and, perhaps, it has a foam pillow instead of
down. Check it out!" Sure enough, the other room's
pillow is a soft, foam headrest that will eliminate the
feather shower that is now spreading over the entire
apartment. It is much more comfortable, too, I notice,
having spent two nights without quill pricks on my head
and neck. A small change and a major improvement to my
existence.
Then, I happened to ask my wife
on our daily Skype phone call Monday afternoon if she
uses fabric softener when washing my underwear at home.
She responded in the affirmative and another of my major
problems was brought to light. Yes, she uses fabric
softener and I haven't been doing that here, resulting
in an uncomfortable fabric that has caused me to walk
with a peculiar gait. I have a very stiff, female friend
whom I have often accused of starching her underwear and
I now believe that really is the root of her problem.
Talk about uncomfortable! I haven't been starching mine
but, whether from the hardness/softness of the water or
different laundry detergent, I have gotten the same
result. A quick, inexpensive, taxi ride to the Mega
grocery store yesterday produced the bottle of Downy
that will bring a smile to my face the next time I
launder and wear my delicates. Life will be so much
better and I will walk comfortably once more. Hanging
loose... Hasta pronto!
What a difference a day makes,
especially when that day begins with one's
unmentionables laundered and SOFTENED. I spent a large
part of yesterday laundering and softening my underwear,
ever mindful of my wife's admonition about "timing is
everything" when inserting the measured Downy into the
washing cycle. It made me a nervous wreck and I am not
accustomed to such pressure while on my winter hiatus.
The Downy must go in while there is water in the washer
or the clothes will turn blue and require rewashing.
Softened, blue undies would not cause me a problem, but
I faithfully and regularly opened the top-loading lid to
check for water. Finally, I made the big decision about
rinse cycles and poured the viscous, blue fluid into the
machine. The timing must have been OK, because the
delicates have not changed color and the smile on my
face displays the countenance of one wearing softened
undies. Ahhhh...
I got in more than 8,000 steps
yesterday (darned technology), but spent most the
daylight hours reading in my living room since the high
temperature of the day reached 92 degrees. I did not
want to turn crisp while spending hours in the tropical
sun, so I turned on the ceiling fans and chilled,
occasionally watching the home construction process on
the lot next door through my filthy windows. The
building process here is pretty amazing with labor costs
being the least expensive part of the project. These
folks do almost everything by hand, including loading
dump trucks with dirt. So impressed was I that I took a
photo of the process which still amazes me, what with
all the dust and heat involved. This morning, I took
another photo of the site which I'll share today for
your edification. The hand-built septic tank and footers
are almost all in place, so the above-ground part of the
project is about to go into full swing. It should be
interesting.
I enjoyed dinner again last
night at the Estancia Uruguay where the same, perfect
cut of steak turned out to be significantly tougher than
the last one. The camaraderie with Francisco, the grill
maestro, was enjoyable, but on a hot evening the grill
was throwing off too much heat. I should have selected a
table instead of the bar where the proximity to the
flame caused considerable sweating. Not able to finish
the large chunk of Canadian (that's what the maestro
said) beef, I had them box the final quarter of the cut,
add a small salad, and then walked back the malecon
where I made Rainbow Hawk's day by presenting him with
the doggie box. He shared it with Rosa, of course, and
complained about its toughness, but it might have been
his only meal of the day. He loved the small salad. I
said, "Buenas Noches," and continued home,
finishing the final leg of my 8,000 steps.
This morning, I decided to take
a few photos of flowers. This is the desert and I have
only seen a few drops, literally, of rain over the past
two months, so there aren't many native flowers other
than when the cacti bloom. But in yards and courtyards,
the locals nurture flowering plants that are not
plentiful, but they are very colorful at this time of
year even though it is their winter, too. I will share
those photos today, also. A big part of my day is
planning where I will dine each evening and I think
today I lean toward Spanish (Spain) cuisine. Plans may
change as the day progresses, but the current plan is to
return to the Spanish restaurant I like so much -
perhaps, tonight I'll go for a few tapas. Buen fin de
semana!! Hasta lunes.
February 22,
2016 - La Paz, Mexico
Marlin shoulder sashimi,
lobster thermidor, mixed seafood appetizer, and rich
paella were the primary, memorable meals of the weekend
past. This winter has not exactly been one of
deprivation. Who knew a marlin had a shoulder? Not I!
Bill, mouth, tail, fins, yes, but a shoulder? These
winter getaways are full of educational experiences. The
information about the sashimi came from Betto, a
diminutive neighbor who I remembered as the resident in
the apartment below mine in my last visit to La Paz,
when he inquired about whether I was dining alone before
he invited me to join him on Friday evening as I entered
the Spanish restaurant. I didn't immediately remember
from whence I knew him, but his tobacco enriched voice
and his habit of using the F-bomb in every other
sentence was very familiar. It only took a couple of
minutes seated across from him before I focused the
memory. A very interesting dinner companion, Betto is,
without doubt, the most intelligent person he has ever
met and he is more than willing to share his knowledge
and experience on any subject with whomsoever he comes
into contact. That is probably why he was dining alone.
After a thin, terrible, shared
paella prepared in the pan exactly according to the
detailed instructions given to the waiter by Betto, we
adjourned to another restaurant he recommended (home of
my delicious seafood fettuccine) for the marlin shoulder
sashimi prepared and served, he said, exactly as he had
taught them. The shoulder is first frozen, then
partially thawed to slice, then presented completely
thawed with ONLY two slices cut off and displayed next
to the unsliced, major portion of the shoulder. I must
say it was delicious. Marlin shoulder, go figure! Betto
is a San Francisco architect, real estate tycoon -
"$300,000 is nothing to me," an art connoisseur, an
accomplished fisherman and boat (kept in another Mexican
city) owner, and a year-round apartment tenant in the
building where I rented previously for half of what this
inexpensive abode costs me. His mother owns thousands of
shares of Google, bought when it was first offered at
what is now a ridiculously low price, and many other
blue chip stocks. Amazing!! Actually, I am more than a
little certain that Betto is too full of himself to be
believed about almost anything except, perhaps, about
marlin shoulder.
The remainder of the weekend
was spent, without Betto, reading and dining in quieter
surroundings and unaccompanied by F-bombs. I dined on
both Saturday and Sunday evenings at Bismark, the parent
restaurant of Bismark-cito, one of my favorite
restaurants along the malecon. Bismark was located by
taking a taxi to the place (I walked home afterward)
that I never knew existed. An excellent lobster
thermidor on Saturday, a rich paella preceded by a
half-order seafood appetizer on Sunday and the close
personal attention of the two waitresses, since I was
the only customer in the place, made for an excellent
evening.
I decided I would go grocery
shopping before dinner on Sunday, since I wasn't sure
how long Mega was open on the weekends, and I was out of
drinks; think freshly squeezed orange juice, coca cola,
milk, and Clamato juice. A taxi is required to get to
Mega and the driver provided information sure to
interest the dirty, old men who implore me to add spice
to these updates. For the first time in any of my
travels in taxis, the driver had an "amiga" that he felt
I should meet. I explained that I wasn't interested in
meeting his friend, but his continued sales pitch
described what was, no doubt, the highest paid
occupation in the baja. His "amiga" would spend an hour
with me for only 1,500 pesos ($83.15). I do not know
what brain surgeons, physicists, or CEOs make in Mexico,
but I have every confidence that nobody matches the
hourly rate of Raphael's "friend." Fortunately, that
expenditure was not in my budget. Hasta pronto!
I'm a little late with this
update, but a bout with my old archenemy, Montezuma,
laid me low for the past two or three days. Most times,
encounters with Montezuma, the travelers' nemesis, can
be traced back to particular meals, drinks, carelessness
with known, risky behaviors, etc. This time, I am at a
loss to know what got old Monty riled up. I ate
breakfast Monday in probably the cleanest, most hygienic
place in which I have dined this winter. I went for
three, chicken enchiladas in green salsa which tasted
great. With the cafe con leche, it made for a nice,
breakfast change of pace. Later that afternoon - I have
been eating only breakfasts and dinners to assist with
weight loss - I began experiencing some serious stomach
cramps and pains. Monty, himself, didn't make an
appearance until 1:30 in the morning, waking me from a
deep sleep. I felt much better the next day, but
continued fasting, an alternative defense for the nasty
affliction. A three-day fast was prescribed to me many
years ago by a pharmacist and former Peace Corps
volunteer living in Costa Rica. He claimed that a fast
of that length kills the bacteria causing the problem
and that your body doesn't then have to overcome all the
side effects of prescription drugs like Lomotil. It
has worked well for me in year's past.
This year, however, I had a
date for dinner with my neighbors, Walt and Linda from
Colorado, and I cut short the fast before even 24 hours
had passed. I had a great, grilled sea bass for dinner,
a couple of glasses of red wine, and enjoyed the company
on the walk home afterward. Montezuma's forces were
revived by my behavior, apparently, because 3:30 in the
morning brought a full-fledged counter attack by the
little nasties who don't succumb to a 20-hour fast. I
have not eaten in 32 hours now, having spent my birthday
yesterday reading on the sofa with only an occasional
drink of bottled, iced tea. Clear liquids are the only
food intake permitted to conquer the beast, according to
the pharmacist. I sense that I have Monty on the run (no
pun intended) and that another 40 hours should bring a
victorious end to the attack. In past battles of this
nature, I get pretty tired and weak in the last day, so
tomorrow should be the worst. Then, it will be gradually
back to the foods of Mexico. Sorry for the medical
report, but I thought you should know. Luego!
One of my friends and
occasional readers tells me that she always waits every
year for my medical emergency. If so, this is what she
has been eagerly anticipating: Montezuma fought a great
fight with two incursions into my rear echelon that
inflicted great damage. I fought back with two fasts,
hoping to starve the enemy into submission. The first
fast lasted only eight to ten hours and was terminated
solely because of a social commitment. When that short
fast failed, I got serious and imposed a 65-hour fast on
the opposition and that appeared to do the trick. Though
he fought a good fight even in retreat and I felt
miserable throughout the weekend, this morning is the
best I have felt in a week and I think old Monty has
lowered his flag and is in full retreat.
Saturday morning, however, but
still feeling my archenemy's reduced presence, I awoke
with a different kind of problem. Oh, my reader is going
to love this, reading while sunning on a Florida beach.
I could barely get out of bed with excruciating lower
back pain that I now believe came from the hours spent
on my back during the fast and my reluctance to be far
away from the porcelain battlefield. Seriously, and
those with lower back problems can identify, I couldn't
find a comfortable position and, even with hot water
beating on my back in the shower, couldn't wash below my
knees. I could barely dry myself. After a few minutes of
the agony, I knew I needed to seek relief. I called my
wife and, though sympathetic, she couldn't help. I
turned to the computer and went to Yelp, looking for a
chiropractor or even a masseuse with Saturday hours.
Thank God, I found a Physical
Therapy and Rehabilitation Clinic open until 1:00
p.m. I tried for 45 minutes to call for an
appointment, but was unable in that time to get my
throwaway phone to work. I now see why these cheap
things are called throwaway phones. It didn't help that
the instructions on the tiny phone were in Spanish
abbreviations, but I was helpless and desperate. I
headed, iPad in hand (for the clinic's address) one
block down the hill, one painful step at a time, to the
malecon where taxis pass in great numbers. Apparently,
that is not true on weekends, because I waited a full
half-hour for a taxi to go by. I was in agony standing
there, but getting into and out of the cab was an even
more painful experience.
We found the clinic and I
walked in without anything but the pain on my face and
cash in my wallet. The doctor agreed to see me! I think
he was a chiropractor or, maybe a physical therapist,
but they called him doctor and he was a wonderfully kind
and gentle human being who spoke a little more English
than his staff who were definitely monolingual. He
examined me gently, having me twist, turn, bend, tilt,
stretch, and lift my legs one at a time, looking for the
source of my distress. He had me remove my shirt, put on
a white, spotlessly clean, freshly-laundered, hospital
gown, and sit on the table. It took his help to get up
there and to remove my sandals. He had his staff cover
my lower back with a hot, moist compress, then give me
electrical stimulation therapy for 15 minutes, another
15 minutes of ultra sound therapy and finally, a
mini-massage with liniment of some kind on three
distinct areas of my lower back. It felt so good I
didn't want to leave, but it was time to depart. With
assistance from the staff, I put the sandals back
on and re-dressed after he explained that I would need
to make another visit on Monday and inquired as to
whether 9:00 a.m. was OK for me. My pain was reduced so
much that I quickly agreed.
This morning I returned to the
clinic and the treatment was extended to 20 minutes for
each portion. When I got off the exam table (again
covered with freshly laundered sheets), I put my own
sandals on and walked out the door pain free. Thank you,
doctor. Thank you, thank you. The cost of each visit was
$16.59, not including the inexpensive cost of the taxi.
Mexican medical care is pretty awesome. I hope this
makes my reader happy, but I hope she stays out in the
sun a little too long while reading the update. Hasta
pronto!
Much to do today: Packing,
cleaning, tidying, chiropractic treatment on back, pick
up Jeep Cherokee rental, schedule timing of three
prescription medications for third separate bout of
Montezuma, get blood tested for typhoid fever. Say
what?? The doctor said yesterday that one cause of
repeat diarrhea attacks could be typhoid fever, so it is
best to get the blood tested to eliminate that
possibility. I'm in!
Blood drawn at lab, results to
be emailed to me mañana = $6.41. Jeep safely in secured
parking of apartment - check. Laundry done, bed linens
changed - check. Chiropractic treatment first thing this
morning saved the day = $16.73. Lower back presents
concern about whether I can physically handle three-hour
drive to airport tomorrow. Will take my last three
ibuprofen before departure. Custodian (Mario) cleaned
apartment, even scrubbing ceiling fan blades (I know my
wife) = $11.15, including generous tip. Backpack
partially packed for long weekend away with wife and
friends. Last minute packing planned for early morning -
check. Electronics charged or charging - check. Empty
trash - whoops, one more job to do!
Yesterday's doctor's visit was
a story unto itself: The clinic on the corner, three
buildings away, turned out to be an acupuncture/laser
center and not really able to address Montezuma's
reappearance. Julie, the young lady at the reception
desk, informed me, however, that there was another
doctor on the next corner, only a block away. Very
gingerly, with the back affecting my command of my legs,
I headed for the next corner only to find the practice
was a rheumatologist and not open for 50 more minutes.
My back couldn't handle a 50-minute standing wait, but
not to fear. Julie had followed me in her SUV to be sure
I got to the right place. When she learned the office
was closed, get this, she asked me to get in her car and
she would drive me to a doctor's office. Only in Mexico
with its warm, wonderful people could this happen these
days.
The doctor's office was 10-15
blocks away and Julie came in with me to translate.
Having spent a couple years in England, her English was
quite good; at 36 years of age, she is back in college
studying psychology. We had a chance to talk while we
waited our turn with the doctor. We entered the small
doctor's office and I thought, perhaps, I was on "Candid
Camera." The doctor was wearing designer jeans, no doubt
designed by Sherwin Williams - tightest jeans on the
worst body in the world for wearing such apparel. Her
shoes were velvet, 5-inch, purple, spiked heels, and her
brightly-colored blouse sported red and purple blossoms.
It was her eye makeup, however, that captured the mood.
She had the thickest, caked, almost-fluorescent purple
eye lid (much more than liner or shadow) make-up I had
ever seen. She, seriously, looked more like I would
picture a working hooker to look than a physician. To
say I was skeptical would have been putting it mildly.
She asked about my medications,
weighed me, took my blood pressure (good), had me lie on
the examination table and probed my abdomen with her
hands. Actually, a pretty good exam. She delivered a
lecture about what I could eat or drink, asked if I was
allergic to any medication (no), and then threw the bomb
about typhoid fever. She wrote three prescriptions for
me which I have taken religiously so that I can fully
recuperate and participate with my guests this weekend.
Doctor's visit = an unbelievable $2.51.
It gets better. Julie drove me
back to her office and asked if I would like her to get
my medications filled. She had an appointment in her
office but, if I returned at 6:30 (2 hours later), she
would have my meds and a receipt. I did and she did.
Montezuma may have finally met his match. Sick, back
killing me, but what a great experience! Adios!
Safely back in La Paz after a
four-day trip to San Jose del Cabo, Cabo San Lucas, and
Todos Santos. Picked up my wife and friends at the Los
Cabos Airport right on schedule. Either the seats in the
rental Jeep Cherokee were therapeutic, the ibuprofen
healed miraculously, or my prayers were answered,
because I had no back pain on the entire 3.5 hour trip
(I got lost near La Paz which cost me an extra hour). On
the way, I picked up a young hitchhiker near Todos
Santos and dropped him in Cabo San Lucas, his first
visit to the town. Even with the lost hour and going out
of my way for Francisco (photo coming), I made amazing
time and shocked myself by walking pain free to the
arrivals gate to wait for my smiling visitors; the heat
and sunshine blew them away.
We spent two days in San Jose,
visiting that charming, little city and San Lucas,
including a boat tour which served us a bonus of seeing
a couple of whales partially breeching only a hundred
yards or so away. We were thrilled! On to Todos Santos
with a rough ride the next morning on a sand road to a
practically-empty, surfer beach, but a fantastic view of
the gorgeous Pacific on another, beautiful, sunny day.
Two nights in a great hotel, then back to La Paz this
morning, driven on a rare, cloudy day interspersed with
small scattered showers. It has been a great circuit so
far with several fantastic restaurant and musical
experiences along the way, including lunch here today
where nobody could stop talking about the quality of
their fresh-fish meals. One yellowtail steak with
vegetables for Karen, a rare tuna steak and fruit salad
for Joan, a large, campechana seafood cocktail for Ron,
and a delectable, marinated marlin steak with fruit
salad for me. The meal at McFisher's was unanimously
acclaimed as the best meal of the trip and that is
really saying something! With four beers, three cokes,
and a Clamato juice, the meal was only $41.00. We all
vowed to return for another visit to the local, rustic,
seafood location. Hasta pronto.
Like Schim, my wife does not
always heed my travel admonitions. This time, she forgot
about always brushing your teeth with bottled water and
was using tap water for that purpose since she arrived.
Either that carelessness or living in close proximity to
yours truly caused her to become another victim of my
archenemy, Montezuma. She is a little tougher than I and
she battled through the affliction in just one day,
sleeping through most of the day, but not missing that
evening's restaurant selection.
Unfortunately, while on a trip
to beautiful Tecolote Beach yesterday, we stopped at the
lab where my blood was being analyzed for typhoid fever
and learned that I tested positive for the contagious
and, apparently, incurable bacteria attack. The doctor
commiserated with me and told me that the seafood I have
been eating may have been the culprit and that it was
simply a matter of bad luck (malo suerte). He prescribed
another course of the antibiotic Cipro, so I have 10
more days of treatment to help "manage" the disease. He
also prescribed some drug to help my stomach tolerate
the Cipro, so I'm back to counting pills again. Because
of my wife's illness and similar symptoms, we decided to
have her blood tested, too, and the lab results will be
available at noon today. Here's hoping she doesn't have
to go on a Cipro regimen, although she's feeling
remarkably improved today.
Our friends, Ron and Karen,
have been spared Montezuma's anger, although he has
probably been evaluating their vulnerabilities. So far,
they have proven impervious to his best efforts. We have
had some great sightseeing and restaurant experiences;
Ron and Karen both dipped their feet into the turquoise
waters of the Sea of Cortez yesterday while Joan and I
sat under a beach umbrella and enjoyed the view and an
adult beverage. Despite Montezuma's (and the typhoid
[salmonella] bacteria's) attempts to the contrary, we
are having a great time in the Baja. Hasta pronto.
A great weekend was had by
all, except that Montezuma paid a short visit to my
wife. We had her blood tested because of the contagious
nature of the bacteria with which I think I am afflicted
and, delightfully, her results were negative. We have
read differing accounts about the accuracy of the blood
tests we have had, so I am taking the Cipro prescription
and will visit my doctor at home to confirm the
diagnosis (typhoid). Everybody is feeling much better
and we are able to explore, travel, and dine at the
great restaurants of our choice. Health-wise there is
nothing holding us back from a great time and we are
taking advantage.
Saturday, we were interested
spectators of what was called the "Americas Cup
Triathlon," which was held along the malecon and which
had more than a thousand participants. We were not among
them, but we enjoyed a great view of the spectacle as we
sat near the starting and finish lines along the route,
enjoying a delightful late lunch. $10,000 in prize money
drew elite triathletes from Mexico, Chile, Japan, and
heaven knows where else. It was a huge event which we
greatly enjoyed. That evening we had a meal at an
Argentinean-owned restaurant where Elvis paid a visit.
His show was a real treat and during the second set he
magically transformed himself into a Mexican peasant,
singing local songs. We were all greatly entertained
until after midnight, which for me is a feat in itself.
Sunday, after a fine breakfast
in a restaurant discovered by Ron and Karen on one of
their exercise walks, we headed into the desert on a day
of exploration. We visited the old gold-mining towns of
El Triunfo and San Antonio, stopping for lunch in El
Triunfo where one of the Waltons of Walmart wealth has a
beautiful, getaway home among the 50 or so that make up
the village. The paved, back road we took to return to
La Paz was extremely lightly traveled and we thrilled at
the gray fox, the two roadrunners, and the goats and
cattle that slowed our progress home. We enjoyed a
thoroughly delightful day, capped by four orders of
delicious barbecued spare ribs while seated outside
listening (and singing) to 50's hits. Pretty hard
to improve on that weekend! Hasta pronto!
Isla Espiritu Santo held her
secrets pretty closely to her vest at the beginning of
our boat tour yesterday to visit her beautiful beaches
and rock formations. But, eventually, she gave them up
to us and provided a surprise or two to top things off.
The tour from Tecolote Beach covered somewhere between
10 and 20 miles over smooth seas on the way out, but
little marine life to quicken our pulses. When we
finally reached the 200 strong colony of sea lions at
the furthest point of the tour, a little boredom had set
in, despite the turquoise, unbelievably-crystal-clear
waters that surround the group of uninhabited islands.
The sea lions provided plenty of entertainment,
welcoming us with their honking chatter and thrilling
the six brave souls among us who jumped in the water to
snorkel with them. Only one flipper was lost in the
exercise which was quickly terminated when the loco
captain spotted a couple of whales feeding nearby. We
headed out to track and spot the pair of whales several
times as they surfaced nearby to blow and catch a breath
of air. Sated from that excitement, we headed back for
half of those on board to continue their swim among the
noisy sea lions.
Then, it was off to a pristine
beach for a seaside lunch of ceviche, smoked marlin, or
a ham and cheese sandwich for the less adventurous
diners among us. Wading in the crystal clear, turquoise
water was like something out of a fairy tale and the
school of small, striped fish that sought the shelter of
our boat made it even more so. We dined, sunbathed,
collected shells, and used the Mexican bano - the ocean
or the bucket hidden between rocks and clearly labeled
WC. Then, after an hour or so of tropical bliss, we
headed back to Tecolote, only to have our journey
interrupted by a group of feeding dolphins (porpoises)
who surfaced often and swam directly underneath our boat
on occasion, clearly visible in the clear water. Many
beautiful photos of the passing dolphins were obtained,
though I was saving my camera battery and snapped none.
Perhaps, others will share the photos with me at a later
date and I with you.
We were hot, sweaty, sandy and
a little bruised from the seas which had turned a tad
rougher for our return to Tecolote and beat us around a
little. We were glad when the voyage home ended, though
disembarking from the vessel was a tad harrowing as the
choppy waves jostled the boat turning our exit into a
physical adventure all its own. Safely ashore, we headed
back to La Paz, a thirty-minute drive through desert and
ocean scenery. The shower felt fantastic, except that
Karen had only cold water when a water heater problem in
their hotel created another adventure, one I was happy
not to share.
Dinner was at a French
Restaurant, Trocodero (one can't eat Mexican cuisine
every night), where we met the owner of the Italian
restaurant we had first tried to visit, only to learn it
was closed on Tuesdays. We promised him that we would
return the next night (tonight), but enjoyed the
French-style, delicious duck tacos, a steak, and stuffed
chicken breast. Tonight, we return to Il Rustico where I
will dine on caprese salad and a little pasta. My
visitors return Saturday morning and are already sadly
planning their packing. They say their vacation has
flown by. Hasta pronto.
Plenty to report after last
weekend with wife and friends: the bad news concerns the
haircuts Ron and I got in the shop I frequented a couple
of times before. Ron and I ventured to the shop early
enough in the morning (about 9:30) so that the mujere
who normally cuts my hair was not yet at work. I got the
proprietor of the place, who has been cutting hair in
the shop he started since 1971. I had observed his work
in the past and was always disappointed that I got the
last chair in the shop and the woman who did a pretty
good job on my hair, because the owner's work always
seemed superior. Wow, was I wrong! On a scale of 1-10,
my haircut was a 0! I could have done a better job in a
selfie cut with power hedge trimmers. I have seen Amish
boys with better haircuts, depending on the size of the
bowl their father selected for the job. I mean
HORRENDOUS! The front was tolerable, but the back has
had me walking backwards out of restaurants and other
establishments after selecting tables that had me
sitting against the wall. Though Ron also complained
about his $3.00 cut, we all thought his hair looked
pretty good. On the same scale, I would have given his
cut a seven or eight. Oh well, it will grow back.
We had a delightful final
weekend together with a last night in San Jose del Cabo
and dinner in a courtyard with a romantic Spanish
guitar-player, before I dropped them at the airport for
their direct flight to Baltimore, which they completed
in less than four hours - must have been record time. I
was probably back in La Paz before they left Mexican air
space. They arrived happily home in the mixed rain and
snow after leaving the Baja's 87 degree weather. It will
take them a few days to adjust to the time change (three
hours) and the cold temps. I remain in the land of
perpetual sunshine, suffering in the intense heat. Meal
times are the loneliest, however. Hasta Luego.
Yesterday, I finished my update
and opened an email that saddened me greatly. I learned
of the passing of a close friend, golfing buddy, fellow
foundation board member, Rotary Club member, and a
genuinely good man. My friend, Bill, and his wife
visited me here in La Paz only three short years ago,
before his diagnosis with the leukemia that took him. He
battled the disease valiantly, enduring several
chemo-therapy treatments and a stem cell transplant, but
the horrible disease had its way. Bill was a gentleman
of the highest integrity, had a great sense of humor,
was a loyal friend, honest, forthright, and
compassionate. A loyal Penn State grad, we commiserated
over every football loss. I will miss him terribly.
As I walked to dinner last
night, I was presented with the clearest view of a full
moon and the nearby planet, Venus, that I have ever
seen. It may have been the clear desert air, but it
spoke to me of Bill leaving his earthly constraints and
traveling into a bigger hereafter. I will forever
remember him that way as I gaze into the heavens.
Time is flying and I have fewer
than 20 days remaining on my winter hiatus. Since the
weather has warmed at home, many of my golfing buddies
have started to hone their game while others have
wintered in Florida and have their game in mid-season
form. I, on the other hand, have eschewed golf for the
past five months, but now fear embarrassment when I
return to the links at home. To combat the fear, I began
crossing the bay this week in the ferry to head to the
range at the course where I have played in years past.
The pro, a wonderful man named Marco, remembered me from
three years ago and it must have been my magnetic
personality that he recalled, because he certainly
couldn't have been impressed with my golf game. He said
that he had just been looking through old tournaments
and came across my name. I inquired as to whether the
weekend tournaments still existed and Marco was quick to
invite me to participate this Saturday. Certainly, the
local participants have missed me since I never won
anything and they made off with all of my entrance fees.
The lunch afterward and the repartee of the group of
mostly local players make the tournament worthwhile, so
I have practiced twice and plan to make my first golfing
appearance Saturday morning. The practices have gone
well and I have plenty of built-in excuses with the
five-month layoff and the mis-matched set of rental
clubs that I will play, so I'll just have at it and let
the shots fall where they may. In years past, I have
played a couple rounds with Marco and we talked about
playing the fabulous, Gary Player-designed, Costa Brava
course up the coast sometime next week. Marco says that
he hasn't played the course in a year, so he is eager to
play it again. He can probably make a month's wages off
me and I'll be happy to contribute if I can get enough
strokes from him to give me a long-shot chance to
compete.
The weather has been picture
perfect! High temperatures in the mid-80's, evenings in
the 60's, low humidity, and beautiful, sunny skies with
light breezes. A guy could get used to this weather,
that's for sure. The return of the rental car has once
again increased my walking. Yesterday, I exceeded 9,000
steps and today am already approaching 3,000 and I still
have to walk to dinner, but who's counting. I'm sure
these FIT-type bracelets are good for something,
probably reminding you of your shortcomings, but I will
not be a slave to electronics and look forward to
returning home to cast the bracelet aside. Hasta pronto!
Yes, I shot 77 in my first
round of the year in the tournament held Saturday
morning on the peninsula course across the bay from my
apartment, but it was the last of the instructions given
by the golf pro that provided the motivation to keep my
head down and my shots straight. His last proclamation
before sending the 50 or so golfers out on the course
was, "And, be careful out there; the rattlesnakes are
out!" Obviously meaning that the slithering critters are
finished with their winter hibernation and apt to strike
at any time. I hit one ball in a pond, although I struck
it perfectly and, splash, it landed short in the agua,
but otherwise I kept the ball from the desert wastelands
that provide the real hazards on the course and the
hunting grounds for the desert rattlers. Did I forget to
mention that the tournament was the opening weekend
tournament in the summer series at the course and that
it was a unique, par three tournament? Every hole was a
par three with tees set up no more than 175 yards from
each green which made for a very interesting format that
encouraged many golfers of lesser ability (including
yours truly) to participate, although I only became
aware of the format when someone noticed me hitting my
driver on the range and mentioned that I wouldn't be
needing that club today. I only lost by 16 shots to a
golfer who had a hole-in-one on his very first tee shot
of the day - definitely a sandbagging, touring pro on
holiday preying on naive tourists.
Interestingly, to me at least,
was the sighting of a roadrunner at close range. The
colorful critter with its erect cock's comb and long,
flicking tail, played one hole with us, even following
us to the next tee eating insects and paying little
attention to the golfers. I almost took my camera to the
course, but decided that it would be too much trouble
and missed several perfect close-ups. Bernardo, the
local who shot 66 while playing with us, commented on
the intelligence of the species. He said the roadrunner
eats snakes, like the rattler I paranoiacally saw behind
every desert plant, by darting quickly around the
creature and pecking its head. Perhaps, I should have
been more frightened of the roadrunner. Beep, Beep!!
Hasta luego!
Easter Sunday brought another
day of golf on the peninsula course. This time, it was
my first full round on a long course with the most
severe, undulating, very fast greens one could ever
play. Using a mismatched set of rental clubs, used
balls, a short putter - like I haven't used in years,
and not recalling the layout (excuses, all), I rallied
with a par on the last hole, a long par five, which has
a large pond that guards the entrance to the green, for
a respectable 99. I began the day with an admonition to
myself that any score under 100 would be a successful
round. I hit my target! Maybe, next time I should set
the bar a little higher.
The round provided an amazing
view of desert animal life and, fortunately, I had taken
my camera. Some of the animals were too quick for me and
I couldn't grab the camera fast enough, but I saw them
clearly. A large, jack rabbit hopped into sight only a
few feet off of a tee while I was yards away from the
cart with no camera in hand. The four-foot-long, rat
snake, appeared on the dust, cart path as I turned a
corner where the other cart had stopped to point out the
slithering, harmless (according to Barry who seemed like
an expert) beast. It quickly slithered past my side of
the cart before pouring over the railroad-tie, cart-path
edge and into the desert where it disappeared from view
in seconds. I must have seen 10 roadrunners, one of
which had a lizard or a mouse in its bill as it
scampered off the fairway into the desert shrubs,
probably concerned with protecting its meal. An aerial
display was put on over several lakes by acrobatic
frigate birds who rapidly fluttered their wings and
switched their tails to adjust their dives into the
freshwater lakes for unsuspecting fish. A large flock of
coots ran from the carts on one hole, only flying to
land in the pond as the carts got very close. Other,
long-billed birds provided similar entertainment, but I
haven't taken the time to identify them. Perhaps, that
could be my goal for the day. I didn't get enough nature
photos to make a big splash (no pun intended), but I did
include several that you might enjoy. And, there is
always tomorrow when I will, once again, be sure to take
the camera.
Easter week, Semana Santa here,
is definitely a family affair in La Paz. Families, most
with adorable children, crowded the malecon, presenting
me with the task of avoiding the throngs by finding
other places to dine. The older I become, the more I
seem to dislike crowds. I remained in the area around my
apartment, dining on Saturday at the relatively
authentic Italian restaurant, Il Rustico, for prosciutto
and melon and fettuccine with butter and parmesana
(outstanding!). Sunday, I stayed near the marina and
away from the madding crowds of the malecon by heading
to Bandito's, for spare ribs grilled under the hood of a
truck, accompanied by continuous 50's music that had my
toes tapping while I licked my fingers, a common
practice in that rib/hamburger, outdoor eatery - the
place that supplies serapes when the temperatures drop.
None necessary this weekend, although I did see a couple
serapes provided for a six or eight-year-old youngster
who took a chill.
Time to plan my day. Never
mind, I think I'll take the day off. Hasta pronto!
March 31, 2016
- La Paz, Baja Sur, Mexico
A couple of nights ago after
finding several restaurants closed for an extended
Easter holiday, I found my way back to the Uruguayan
Grill where they call me by name (Harry Potter) upon my
arrival. Of course, I now even have taxi drivers
yelling "Harry Potter," as they pass me on the street.
Anything for a little recognition and some actually
think that's who I am - obviously now in late adulthood.
Anyway, after finishing my
steak, I had a great experience with a couple of women
who entered the restaurant, one at a time by twenty
minutes. Betsy was the first to arrive and was somewhat
overwhelmed since the staff spoke no English and she no
Spanish. This made her very susceptible to my best moves
which I quickly threw into high gear. She was waiting
for Jaclyn, a co-worker who was off playing tennis.
Turns out, both ladies were trained chefs, Betsy a
Culinary Institute alum who had at one time visited
York, PA, not far from my home. Both ladies, Jaclyn, a
Panamanian national whose training we didn't discuss,
were chefs on a "small," 250-foot yacht currently docked
in one of the La Paz marinas. The small vessel has a
crew of 16 and it is the job of these chefs to provide
three meals a day to the crew and the owners, an
85-year-old man and his 68-year-old wife. The owners own
a famous golf resort in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, extensive
real estate in Hawaii, and a publishing empire of some
sort. Betsy has worked on the ship for four years and I
can't imagine the wealth necessary to pay a crew of 16
year-round to man the yacht. They sail the world and the
ladies recounted the time they were docked in St.
Tropez, France, and heard beautiful piano music, then a
spectacular voice, only to learn that Andrea Bocelli was
docked next to them and had begun to rehearse. They
expressed disappointment that they never got to meet
him. The couple who own the yacht are not always on
board, as was the case that night, since they visit
other yacht owners and also own a couple "small" homes,
one described by Betsy as a 14,700 square foot mansion
that is unbelievable in its elegance. A nice little
place for two folks to call home, eh wot?
I bought the ladies a glass of
wine and commissioned a small (3 person) strolling,
mariachi band that happened to enter as I departed and
the ladies prepared to dine. I had the mariachis sing my
favorite old Mexican tune, "Maria Elena," for them as I
headed out the door. I'm sure they were thrilled.
I made the first step for my
return home last evening, purchasing my bus ticket (I
happened to walk past the bus station) back to San Jose
del Cabo, where I will spend one night at the Yucca Inn
before flying homeward bound to Baltimore. Hasta pronto.
April 4, 2016 - La Paz, Baja Sur,
Mexico
The suitcase lies open on
Schim's bed, though he never used it, and it contains
exactly one pair of khakis, the first item packed for
the return trip home. More will go in today to prepare
for Friday's bus trip to San Jose del Cabo. Though I
miss home greatly, it will be difficult to leave my
friends in La Paz, a couple of whom I shared in photos
today. There is Johnny, his nickname on the construction
site next door, and his deep desire to learn English,
though I am not certain he is literate in Spanish. Each
day we attempt a few new words - yesterday "here and
there," today "up and down." He runs to me every morning
as I head to breakfast and we review his recent words.
He lives in a shed built on the site to provide security
for the project. He is a delight!
And there is Julie, the
gorgeous, generous, soon-to-be psychologist like her
mother, who took me to a doctor when I was ill and later
brought my prescriptions to me. Julie also drove my wife
and me to a restaurant when she ran into us and learned
we were walking there to meet our friends. What a
sweetheart, one who possesses a great personality and
sense of humor! She spent a couple of years in London,
so her English was quite good. She made a lovely dinner
and lunch companion when I treated her for being so
compassionate with this sick gringo. Nah, not to worry,
she's a cougar and likes younger men; she even thought
my eldest son was too old for her. Drat!
The best news of the weekend,
however, came from the "Lady Lola." Betsy and Jaclyn,
Lola's chefs, invited me to dine with them on Thursday
at Sorstis, my favorite restaurant in La Paz. That's
great, of course, but they also invited me to tour the
250-foot Lady Lola some day this week. My own personal
yacht, a 14 ft., 40-year-old, aluminum fishing vessel
was traded in by my second son last year, so this is the
first yacht I will tour since I lost my own. 250 feet!!
Just imagine how much room there must be to store bait
on that ship!! I'll try to sneak a couple photos of the
live well for you while on board. Hasta pronto!
April 6, 2016 - La Paz, Baja Sur,
Mexico
ShowBoats International
Magazine, published in Monaco, named the 250-foot, Lady
Lola the "Most Beautiful Boat in the World" and she
certainly gets my vote. My friends, Jaclyn and Betsy,
chefs on the Lola gave me a tour of the vessel today;
her elegance and luxury blew me away! A limited-edition
Steinway grand piano graces the larger of the two
salons, for crying out loud. A swimming pool and hot tub
with water fall dazzle on one of her decks. The owners
spend little time in the grand salon, preferring instead
the smaller salon whose electrically controlled coffee
tables (higher, Madame?) probably make them more
comfortable. The garage/exercise room has essential
exercise equipment, oh, and also two jet skis and a
28-foot runabout. The 16-person crew, young and
international, come from the US, Canada, Ireland,
Panama, New Zealand, Australia, England, and probably
other exotic places I can no longer recall. Five
stewardesses address the needs of the owners when
aboard. One simply does laundry, washing and ironing,
although probably not so simply, but with the finest of
stainless steel washers and dryers. Others provide table
and maid service when required, using the most modern
equipment to provide the finest amenities possible -
wine chiller, soft ice cream maker, ice machine for the
cocktails? The ship travels to Europe, Panama, La Paz,
and who knows where else? The owners customarily do not
make the sea cruises, preferring instead to fly to
distant locales in their PRIVATE JET. The crew
transports the yacht. The owners don't have to pack for
trips, however; their wardrobes stay on board in
immaculate condition which eliminates that most dreaded
part of travel. The master suite was more luxurious than
any hotel in which I have ever stayed. Separate en suite
bathrooms (his and hers, come on) on either side of the
super, king-sized bed have all the conveniences of home,
if your home is the Biltmore mansion. Perhaps, I could
grow accustomed to this lifestyle.
The bridge is full of the
latest electronic equipment and, without a wheel, is
steered with a touch screen that looks like a CD or a
computer mouse-type device. There is no question that I
could never get the Lola out of her slip and into the
open seas. Unless you have a captain's license this is
one vessel you would probably not think about stealing.
24-hour security is provided by the crew just in case
that possibility tempts you.
To board, I had to remove my
shoes like the crew to protect the gorgeous, white,
inlaid carpets and I worked up a real sweat climbing all
the ladders (note the naval terminology) to change
levels on the gorgeous ship. It was an experience
of a lifetime and I am deeply indebted to Jaclyn and
Betsy with whom I will dine tomorrow night on my last
night in La Paz. They are currently insisting on buying
my dinner, but methinks that is up for negotiation. It
is Mexico, right?
The oddly shaped, though
slightly longer, Venus, owned by Mrs. Steve Jobs was
moored nearby and I got a couple photos of her. Hers is
a uniquely designed boat with a blunt, mirrored bow and
a huge, seemingly empty main deck. I'm certain it has
its fine points and all the trappings of wealth on
board, but for regal beauty I vote with the Lady Lola. I
took far too many pictures which I will share today and,
believe it or not, the chefs gave me a fantastic,
colored, glossy brochure with far better photos of the
yacht; the owner also owns a publishing empire of some
kind. Ask me to see it. They also gave me a couple of
elegant ship's napkins and a Lady Lola hat which I will
cherish. Again, I can't thank Jaclyn and Betsy enough
for the tour that was the highlight of this year's
winter adventure. Hasta one more time!
April 8, 2016 - La Paz, Baja Sur,
Mexico
Pods of porpoises feeding and
playing in the bay during my short commute on the ferry
to the golf course and the huge jack rabbit that crossed
directly in front of the golf cart delivering me to the
pro shop last Tuesday are two of the things I will miss
most about La Paz. But, the rich diversity of wildlife
pales in comparison to the unbelievably warm, friendly,
compassionate people who call this place home - it is
they whom I will miss most. Where else would a waiter in
a busy restaurant take off his apron when the taxi that
was supposed to return for me was late and announce that
he would drive me home? Where else would a woman like
Julie take a sick old gringo in her car to a doctor's
office, then make a trip to a pharmacy to get his meds
and deliver them to him?
The Baja and especially La Paz
is one of the safest, friendliest places I have visited
in my travels. Though family and friends successfully
cautioned me against it because of perceived danger, I
talked to two people this week, a man and a woman, both
seniors, who drove alone down the Baja and do it every
year. If I live long enough to return to the Baja, I
will most certainly drive.
The weather, a little breezy in
January requiring a sweater or windbreaker in the
evenings and early mornings, is almost always ideal.
This year, there was a morning, light drizzle and mist
the day I drove with wife and friends from Todos Santos
to La Paz, but by the time we arrived the sun had
returned and produced a lovely day. On one other
occasion in my more than three month visit, there was a
tiny shower that produced no more than a couple hundred
drops of precipitation on my patio. There was no other
bad weather! Actually, after I wrote this, on my very
last night in La Paz, we enjoyed a delightful evening
rain shower of a couple hours duration. During the
entire winter, every day's high temperature reached at
least into the 70's, although a few uncomfortably
touched 90 in the late afternoon. Weather wise, La Paz
is a perfect place to winter. I will miss the great, dry
climate, but am pleased that I will avoid the roasting
summer temperatures that even the locals dread.
The locals describe La Paz as
"muy tranquilo," (very calm) and they are right; there
is a peaceful, relaxed lifestyle in the city. Don't
expect rapid food service; each dish is prepared only
after you order it. So relax, have a drink, taste the
ever-present, complimentary totopos (corn chips) and
salsa (salsa), converse with one another or the friendly
wait staff, and enjoy the slower lifestyle. There are
many things I miss about home, but our frenetic
lifestyle is not among them. I can feel the energy and
stress building the minute I exit the plane on my
return.
The frenetic energy was there
when I landed in Baltimore, made even more frenzied by
the cold wind and spring snow that had my wife and other
drivers frazzled by the intemperate conditions. The
whole scene made me want to re-board the plane and
return to the warm, tranquil Mexican lifestyle I had
left behind that morning. I will, however endure. I hope
you enjoyed vicariously sharing my winter hiatus. Who
knows if I'll be given another year to enjoy such an
adventure? If I am, I'll see you back on these pages.
|
