Voted as "Best Baja Picture" by me... How can you have a bad day when it starts-out like this?
I've been thinking about this term for quite a while. When I was doing my pre-trip research on the Baja years ago, the "magic" of Baja was frequently mentioned. What is it exactly? It certainly can't be Tijuana - the first city you see when heading south. Next stop - San Quintin. Dusty, crowded, miles of greenhouses for growing strawberries and tomatoes. No magic there. Finally, arriving at El Rosario, about 1 1/2 days drive down, the highway turns eastward, towards the Catavina Desert. Rolling hills of strange-looking cactus and giant boulders. Humm.. There are some possibilities here. About this time a feeling of smallness and loneliness starts to set in. You realize that this is a vast area with very few people. Your senses begin to sharpen. Encounters with people take on a new meaning. Encounters with fellow travelers become special - more intense. Life stories are summarized and communicated quickly, as your new friends are likely to be leaving tomorrow to continue their own journey. You mention "Baja magic" to your newly made friends. They always nod knowingly. Something intangible is being shared and understood at a nonverbal level.
A few nights ago we were sitting on the beach by the fire. It was very still - no wind, the water lapping quietly a few feet away. The full moon was just rising over the hills on the other side of the bay into some mottled clouds. A strong moon beam, almost like a spot light, illuminated a path along the water. A tall Great Blue Heron was silently walking along the shore, looking for little fish. He was using the light of the campfire and moon to spot them. I looked up - the clouds ended right above us, in a sharp line. To the west, the sky was completely clear, the Milky Way was a bright streak. Orion, was sharply defined, and framed by two palapas. An amazing sight. Baja magic at its best.
Talking to different folks provides various perspectives about the magic. Chuck defined the magic by the effects it has on him. "When you are coming down here, you keep saying to yourself - this is too far of a drive. Never again!" and "When you return home, it's always good to be back in civilization and comfort again" "A few weeks later, though, you start to miss being down here, and look forward to returning again!" How true.
Ted felt that it was the sharp contrasts of the land which gave it a magical quality. You look one direction, and see desert, with cactus and mountains. Turn your head, and your have the multicolored sea and beaches.
Bobbe felt that it was the people that provided the magic. She was speaking of the people of Mexico. Their lack of pretension leaves a friendliness and welcoming attitude.
Mary related that it was the lack of anger and hostility that made it so special for her. People seem to have the goal of just relaxing and enjoying themselves.
Meridee is most fascinated by the beautiful views from her palapa. Especially when the dolphins play and cavort in the bay.
Mimi says "It's stripping away what's superficial - and reducing things to the essential." "In the Baja, the things of value are primal and simple. The beauty of nature, the peace and tranquility. The joy in finding a good tomato or ripe straberries in the mercado."
To me, it is all of the above. Plus the open and friendly social interactions that constantly take place. People constantly helping each other. We frequently comment that we know folks on the beach better than our neighbors of fifteen years at home. Also, the total immersion in the environment. You become part of it, being outdoors most of the time. The weather and light is constantly changing, stimulating the senses in ways difficult to achieve back in the "city".
Why don't more people come down here and enjoy the magic ???
Here's my answer: Mexico seems to do as much as possible to turn people off who visit.
Take our return trip. Basically a gruelling three day drive northward. The trip seems designed to be a large kick in the ass as you leave. The population gets denser, towns more congested with traffic and dust. Our average speed, which is about 60 mph in the beginning, is reduced to 20 and 30 mph as we wend our way through the towns. The border seems further and further away as your speed slows.
We were checked five times by armed military guards at their stops. The soldiers were polite, though, and gave a cursory check of the inside of the motorhome. They were fascinated by the cats, especially Armani, who was our good will ambassador.
Tijuana - the town you love to hate. Rotten streets, buildings covered with graffiti, and traffic! Mexicans hate street signs. If there are any, they have lettering that is about two inches tall - and faded. We were going to bypass TJ, and go to Tecate for the crossing. But Route 3 is being "rebuilt", meaning that some sections were removed to the dirt, causing huge ruts. So we decided to go directly to the San Ysidro crossing. Of course the signs were ambiguous going to the border, so we just missed the correct lane and wound-up lost in the middle of T.J. downtown.
By this time I was tired from driving five hours, and cursing-up a storm. Mimi was frantically scrutinizing a small map of TJ. I started drifting eastward, towards the TJ Airport, where I knew the Otay Mesa crossing was somewhere. I was yelling at her to make sure the door was locked, so someone couldn't just hop aboard and hijack us. Mimi finally recognized where we were on the map and slowly guided us back to the San Ysido entrance lane.
Almost home - we could see the border !! Just a matter of a few minutes, right? But Mexico has more fun in store. Vendors set-up stands between the car lanes, which are only separated by a few feet. Hundreds descend on you, imploring, begging, gesticulating to buy something. My favorite were two types. The large stand with umbrellas, that the motorhome is about to hit. I just keep inching forward, forcing the operators to move the stands as they curse us. The others are the legless beggars on little wheeled platforms, scooting around. They disappear from my sight in front of the motorhome, and I pray that I don't run them over! Only once did I feel like I ran over something. Didn't stop to look. I had visions of running over somebody, and the crowd outside getting violent, shaking the motorhome. No worry - I had my machete from Harbor Freight and a flare gun to fight them off.
Time to put on the headphones and listen to some calming music! It really does help. Mimi peers over at me, and I now have a large smile on my face. She thinks that I've either completely lost it, or the music is having it's effect. (the latter)
OK, were getting real near the actual border checkpoint. A large border guard has a giant German Shepherd dog on a long leash. He's supposed to be checking for drugs. I'm reminded of Cheech and Chong movie, Up In Smoke, where they drive a van made of Marijuana over the border. I asked Mimi what would happen if the dog discovered that van - it would probably have a heart attack from the excitement. The dog is constantly tugging the border guard around, actually pulling him. Doesn't seem to be very well trained. Anytime I let a space occur more than two feet in front of me, a car cuts in. Driver courtesy doesn't exist near the border either (these were mostly cars with California plates by the way). Finally, I reach the cameras and sensing devices. There is an inch clearance on each side of the mirrors. I decide that, the motorhome will go through, whether the mirrors clear the booth or not. They barely do.
I always like the look on the border guards face when I reach the booth. One female guard commented, as she rolled her eyes, "How am I supposed to inspect that thing?" I bit my tongue. This guard is a female also, but not obnoxious. She just called her supervisor over. The motorhome is so large that they can't even walk around it. I'm asked to pull into one of the exit lanes, as they stop traffic and create more friends for us. All outside bins are locked, as well as the car, for obvious reasons. The guards enter the motorhome, asking about fruit, etc. Mimi offers-up a withered tomato. "That's OK to keep", the guard says. (We always have a 'sacrificial' piece of fruit or vegetable to give them - it makes their day). I tell them that all the bins are locked, and offer-up the keys, asking them which ones they want to check. Being proactive about the secondary search seems to speed things up. They decline, and send us our way.
O boy, the feeling once you cross the border !!! 805 seems almost magical, with it's multiple wide lanes. And so smooth! I turn the steering wheel left and right, enjoying all the space in my lane as I accelerate to 65.
HOME.
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