Mexico: Tourism is Actually Up!

My Mom saved an article for me that she read in the Los Angeles Daily News December 24, reporting that although Mexico is suffering its bloodiest year of drug violence yet, vacationers are flocking more than ever to Cancun and other Mexico resorts. The article (http://www.dailynews.com/ci_16930529) states that holiday travel to Mexico from the U.S. is up from a year ago, and that revenue from tourism increased 7.1% the first 10 months of 2010 compared with the same ten months in 2009. Mexico’s president of the National Tourism Confederation assures would-be travelers to Mexico what my friends and I have known all along: that safety is a problem in only a very small percentage of the country, such as some border towns like Juarez and Tijuana. The Mexican Tourism Ministry retorted to holiday travel warnings by the Texas Department of Public Safety that anyone considering vacationing in Mexico talk with any of the millions of Americans, Canadians, and other foreign nationals who have safely and happily traveled to Mexico.

This is good news for my friends and me, who’ve watched many of our favorite San Felipe stores and restaurants close over the past few years and witnessed the increased hardship of many San Felipe families, since Mexico has no welfare system. We donate regularly to the San Felipe Food Bank to help feed the many families dependent on tourism who’ve suffered due to the poor economy and the lies by U.S. media and the U.S. State Department that Mexico is a dangerous place.

As a follow-up to my earlier blog, “Safe in San Felipe,” I would like to remind friends and blog readers who wring their hands or tell me “Watch your head!” when I tell them yes, I still live most of the year in Mexico, that most of Mexico is safe, very safe, particularly compared with most of the U.S.

Let’s put the statistics in perspective:
1) From May to November 2010, a period of only six months, there were 17,950 violent crimes reported in Los Angeles County. (http://projects.latimes.com/mapping-la/neighborhoods/violent-crime/neighborhood/list/). This works out to an average of 25.4 violent crimes per 100,000 people in L.A., compared with 17 per 100,000 people for Mexico. But if you remove the drug-related murders in Mexico, the rate decreases significantly. (http://www.bajainsider.com/baja-california-travel/mexico-travel-warning.htm).

2) Tijuana is one of the more dangerous Mexican cities but would be ranked in the lower third of large U.S. cities in terms of violent crime. Philadelphia, about the same size as Tijuana, has roughly the same crime statistics. New Orleans, the most dangerous city in the US, is about 3 times more dangerous than Tijuana. (http://www.bajainsider.com/baja-california-travel/mexico-travel-warning.htm.)

3) I occasionally hear or receive email stories from American friends and colleagues about violent crimes in Mexico. But the stories are always third-hand, such as “my niece’s boyfriend’s dad” or “my cousin’s wife’s brother.” However, I’ve heard plenty of first-hand stories of violence in the U.S., including that of my sister and nephew, who were nearly killed by crackheads that broke into their home in San Francisco. I’m not claiming the Mexican stories of violence aren’t true, but it’s more than curious that after living part-time in Baja, and travelling to and from my Home here for 8 years, I’ve NEVER heard any such stories from Baja friends, some of whom have lived here for over 30 years!

Like me, my many wonderful Baja friends are in love with San Felipe and its beautiful unspoiled beaches, its colorful mountains and deserts and the glorious sunrises over the Sea of Cortez. We spend as little time as we need to in the U.S. and immerse ourselves as much as we can in the Mexican culture, such as the San Felipe Christmas Parade, which was far more simple, but also more joyful and heartwarming, than any U.S. parade I've witnessed. We take Spanish classes, befriend the locals and support their stores and restaurants. We thumb our noses at the U.S. media’s hype about the violence, make no changes in our travel plans other than for holiday traffic, have safe drives across the border and thoroughly enjoy our lives here.

But some Americans who own houses near me are spending less time here, claiming that “all the violence” frightens them. One is so persnickety he won’t eat in any of the local restaurants. Another angrily claimed he was going to sell his house after being stopped and asked to pay for a minor traffic violation in Mexicali, despite many uneventful trips to his Baja home for years. Most of these folks make no attempt to learn Spanish or interact with the locals, and they take a derogatory view of the Mexican people. I wonder if their hearts are even open to the peace and beauty of the area and its inhabitants. Fine by my friends and me that they keep themselves and their sorry attitudes north of the border!

Summer in San Felipe!

Some of my friends think I’m crazy to be here in San Felipe in July, one of the hottest and most humid months of the year.

I’ve spent the four previous summers, May through August, since I’ve been “homeless” in the U.S., in Chatsworth, northwest of Los Angeles, living in my 85-year old Mom’s spare bedrooms. From there I’d drive to Long Beach, south of LA, once or twice a week for work. I’d stay a few nights in or near Long Beach with friends or at the local RV park in my over-the-cab camper, working during the day and socializing in the evenings, then drive the legendary 405 freeway, the worst commute in the U.S., back to Mom’s for the weekend.

I remember in particular one horrendous trek on the 405. I’d had lunch with a friend in Long Beach, and left about 2:30, later than I’d expected, for Mom’s. It’s about an hour drive when traffic is minimal, but this was Friday afternoon. Two hours later, I was only half-way to Mom’s, though there were no major accidents. Exasperated, I exited the freeway in Santa Monica and found a rare parking spot in a suburban neighborhood. There I napped in the covered back of my truck and yakked with a friend by cell phone while waiting for the traffic to clear. Optimistically, I returned to the freeway about 6:30, but it was a grueling half-hour from just the Santa Monica freeway onramp to the 405! I left the 405 once again, got some dinner, and drove the rest of the way to Mom’s, arriving about 9:00 pm. Friends who know the 405 barely blink an eye when I tell them it took nearly 6 hours to travel 70 miles, since they have similar stories.

So this year, the mere thought of another summer in LA traffic sent my heart into a tailspin, so I decided to try something different. I’d already delegated most real work to subcontractors, minimizing the need for summer driving. But I wasn’t looking forward to staying at Mom’s all summer. She’s still mentally sharp and mobile around the house but has become unnecessarily but increasingly dependent on me. Even without the driving, a few days with Mom wears me out.

So I stayed at my glorious Home on the Sea of Cortez during May and part of June, the most beautiful months of the year weather-wise: warm sunny days, a cool breeze to mellow the air when temperatures climb into the low 90’s, and cool nights. I was happy to be away from the chilly May-gray and June-gloom of coastal southern California, where the sun makes but a brief curtain-call by mid-afternoon.

But I hadn’t decided where to spend the rest of the summer. By July, temperatures at Home climb so high that they vaporize near-shore waters, resulting in humidity levels well over 60%. Since my home is about 30 miles south of where current electrical lines stop, I’m on solar power, sufficient to run my computer and lots of fans, but not an air conditioner. I could fire one up with my generator, but daily use can get expensive, and I’d have to drive the 80-mile round-trip to town (San Felipe) for gas a couple times a week.

I love the warm weather but wasn’t excited about trying to sleep when it’s impossible to cool off, and I doubted my 13-yr old dog Onyx would be happy either. I’d come Home last July for a couple days, and within a minute of stepping from my air-conditioned truck, I’d felt as if I’d just exited a shower with all my clothes, and Onyx kept looking at me with a long tongue and sad, pleading eyes.

So I saw an ad in the June issue of the San Felipe Newsletter, “Alfa Gold trailer on private residential property with covered deck and small fenced yard for your pet.” But it was north of San Felipe, and we “South Campos” folks have misgivings about the “north,” just as “northerners” imagine my neighbors and I all live in funky patched-together houses, since some of them are. The north is more densely populated since people prefer to live closer to town, so there’s a lot more off-road vehicle traffic and a lot more "Americanos feos y borachos." [you can look it up!].

But the trailer was cheap—-$300 a month plus electricity-—and was in Campo Ocotillo. I remembered Campo Ocotillo from a book club meeting two months prior—we’d sat outside and enjoyed the ocean breeze and peace and quiet, which mellowed my opinion about the “north.” So on my next trip to town, I drove six miles north to check out the rental. It was an older trailer, but I had a nice feeling when I walked in—it was cozy, comfortable and had three air conditioners, Internet access, and a covered patio. I met Shirley and Mel, the wonderful “landlords” who lived a couple hundred feet away, paid rent for a month and moved in July 1, after two weeks in the U.S. that included visits by both my sister and by some bird-nerd colleagues from Chile.

I wondered about the sensibility of my decision that first day, which was so hot I had to run all three air conditioners (AC) a couple hours before temps inside cooled to the high 80’s. But thereafter, only the AC in the living room where Onyx hangs out is on during the day at its lowest setting, and I generally turn on the bedroom AC only part of the night. Most days have been warm to hot, but often with a cool to lukewarm breeze from the south. I still walk every morning as I do at Home, but to stay cool, I first dunk my t-shirt in the sink and wet Onyx down with the hose.

And I’ve told friends I’m here not just for the AC but for several other reasons. First, I have “north” friends I’ve wanted to get to know better. Today Cathy-Lee and I swam at the El Dorado Ranch pool then had lunch together. Last week I shared a meal and went dancing at the Jolly Mon bar with Ann, who’s here for a couple weeks, savoring a new romance with a “north” guy she met last spring. Both Ann and Cathy-Lee are women I knew only a little and sensed were kindred spirits, but my summer north of town has allowed me to get to know them better and to share laughs and fun times with them. I’ve spent a little time also with Regina and Jo, two women from my book club, and realize I want to get to know them better too.

Second, I’m not at all a bar-person, but I love to sing Linda Ronstadt and Janis Joplin songs and many 60’s-70’s tunes, and have a long-time dream of singing, if even once in awhile, with a rock band. I rarely experience night-life when Home, since I’m 40 miles south of San Felipe, and it’s a long, dark drive Home afterward. Campo Ocotillo, however, is only a short drive from town. Since I’ve been here, one local band has been sufficiently generous and forgiving to allow me, on two separate occasions, to sing a couple songs with them!

And because of my singing dream, although I never dreamed I’d be a karaoke babe, I’ve joined Mac and Nan at their karaoke nights at Playa de Oro. I’ve also been to their house to practice a few numbers and help find the key I’m best at singing. Both the band and karaoke experiences have been humbling—I’ve learned I need a lot more practice! But Cathy-Lee tells me to be patient, that she knows other women who sounded great without a microphone but required several months of practice before their voices melded well with one. So although I was tempted to give up after hearing my screeches echoed back to me, I now hope to continue singing once or twice a month when I return Home this fall. Rather than make the long drive Home, I can stay overnight afterward with Cathy-Lee or at Campo Ocotillo, which, thanks to Shirley and Mel, I now feel is my second Baja home.

Third, I wanted to try some San Felipe restaurants! I’ve had dinner with Shirley and Mel at Chuy’s, and with friend Nancy, who’s toughing it out in the South Campos with no AC, at El Nido steakhouse for delicious fresh fish with garlic. I joined Cat, who with husband Ed operates the San Felipe Title Company, San Felipe’s wonderful bookstore, at the new Chinese place for chicken-with mushrooms. I hope to try other restaurants but may have to wait til I return in the fall.

I’m also chipping away at two other summer goals: practicing Spanish and trying some new tricks with my camera. I meet once or twice weekly with Laura, who speaks fluent English, at a local restaurant to practice conversational Spanish. And I’m pushing myself more than I do while at Home to work in my Complete Spanish Grammar workbook. Since I’m spending more time in town, I’m meeting more Mexicans, which allows me more opportunities to practice the language.

The seashore at Campo Ocotillo is different than at Home, so with my Nikon D-70 I’ve captured some interesting sunrises as well as close-up shots of shells brimming with remnants of the outgoing tide and reflections of the early-morning sun. Tomorrow I’ll go to Valley of the Giants and capture those monstrous but elegant cacti in a background of soft clouds, and later manipulate the images into an HDR (high-dynamic-range) image with Photoshop. I also hope to capture San Felipe fishermen setting out, or returning from, a day’s work.

Yeah, it sounds like a busy schedule, but these activities occupy only a few hours a week, and I'm only working an average of a couple hous a day running the business via laptop. So I'm spending lots of time reading, napping, walking, and sitting on the patio just enjoying the calm summer days.

I miss my view at Home of the wide bay and empty beach stretching miles to the north, but the beaches here in the summer are quiet too, and only a two-minute walk from my rental. At dawn yesterday morning, I watched as low clouds hugging the horizon turned lavender-pink and the resident osprey searched for a fish breakfast on the incoming tide. By noon, I had no Internet access so took my laptop to the local restaurant for free wireless and lunch. While waiting for my order, a guy walked by my table, the only one occupied, and said hello. “How’s it going?” I asked as he headed for the door to the outside patio. “Just another day in Paradise!” he replied with a smile. And I fervently agreed, “Yes. It is!”

My Special Place in Mexico

On my 50th birthday, in September of 2002, I decided the best gift I could give myself would be to forget, for awhile, about finding a compatible man who appreciated the person he was and who could love me for the person I am. It was nearly three years after my divorce, which was followed by several disappointments with on-line and off-line dating, including flying across the country to meet the “one who got away” 23 years before and returning home astonished and saddened at how such a warm, happy guy could have become so bitter and sarcastic.

My life was already filled with loving friends and rewarding activities, but I’d always hoped to share it with a great guy while embracing his lifestyle, friends and family too! So when I made the big decision to temporarily change my focus, I thought for a moment about what my life would be like. I’d no longer feel compelled to scan the world of men, wondering if that the attractive guy at the conference wine-and-cheese party or in the checkout line at Trader Joes could be “the one.” How would I spend the hours I’d previously squandered perusing online dating websites, later returning home to hug my dog after yet another dreadful coffee date? What would I do those weekend evenings I’d previously spent wishing yet another blind date suggested by a well-meaning friend would end?

An image of a wonderful room I didn’t recognize alighted for a moment in my mind. Against the far wall was a futon with a Mexican blanket, and a warm bright light flooded the room from windows on both sides. The image probably lasted a few seconds at most, but with it came a feeling I couldn’t easily forget, a feeling of incredible tranquility and joy. After sharing the story of that image with friends, I couldn’t help wondering if such a Place could really exist.

I knew from the dazzling light shining into the room that it was somewhere in the desert, but since the image was what I would see while sitting in the room across from the futon, I couldn’t see out the windows for any landmarks or other clues about where it could be. And none of my many desert travel destinations in Utah, Arizona, New Mexico or California seemed to click with the image. The next day, my curiosity mounting, I turned off the phone, sat quietly on my bed and closed my eyes. Amazingly, I was able to create the image once again in my mind and within it, “walk” to the window, where I saw a morning sun over the ocean. That’s when I knew, if it existed, that this Place was on the Sea of Cortez, the ocean that caresses, and sometimes crashes into, the east coast of Baja California, Mexico.

I’d fallen in love with the Sea of Cortez many years before. But the Baja peninsula extends for over 800 miles. It could take years to find this Place! That’s when logic took a front seat to whatever spiritual awakening was happening inside of me. I couldn’t afford to retire yet, and when I did would miss friends and family in the U.S. if I moved to Loreto, a gorgeous quaint tourist town crowned by rugged mountains but a grueling two-day drive or $300 round-trip flight from Los Angeles.

So I got out my maps and found San Felipe, the first town south of the border town at Mexicali. Years before, I’d been there with my now ex-husband, but it swarmed with tourists on weekends and was sprouting with several American housing developments. It was impossible that the peaceful Place I’d seen in my mind existed in San Felipe.

But I noticed the names of several small communities south of the town. I logged in to the San Felipe website, emailed a realtor, and had a phone number to call the next morning for a family selling their house 35 miles south of town. I decided to make the drive three weeks later, when I was invited, via another email, to a party in the tiny town of Puertecitos, 20 miles south of the house. I figured if the house just wasn’t my Special Place, the party would provide opportunities to ask around about other beach houses for sale nearby.

My anticipation was spilling over as I neared the house, but when I drove up and saw its funky outside, with peeling paint and rusted screen doors, my heart faltered for a moment. I'd never tried to imagine the outside, but had assumed a somewhat quaint cabin surrounded by Mexican tile. I chuckled and reassured myself that I'd seen other places for sale on the way down, that there had to be several others, and one of them would be for me! And I'd been invited to a party that evening in Puertecitos; I'd pass the word along that I was looking. I knew I'd soon find that Place I saw in my mind, or something very close to it.

I parked the truck and thought, what the heck, I may as well see what the place looks like inside! I introduced myself to Bill the owner and his son Will. I'd been given directions to the house from his wife Juanita in San Felipe. Bill escorted me through the tattered screen door into the living room, and I stopped and stared open-mouthed. There was a leather sofa, not a futon with Mexican colors on the far wall. But I saw that light! And the morning sun over Sea of Cortez was right outside the sliding-glass door, just as it had been when I'd seen the image for a second time. With tears about to spill over, I told Bill I was going to buy the house. “You haven’t seen the rest of it!” he chided. Of course, it didn’t matter, but I was happy that the front bedroom also had an ocean view—I could look watch the sunrise from my bed!

I was already in love with the Place, and met some wonderful people that night in Puertecitos, who are friends to this day. But the next morning I was head-over-heels. I'd camped at the shoreline in the back of my truck and watched a pink-and-gold sunrise splash over the wide expanse of tidepools.

I hired local reliable contractors, who fixed up and painted the house while I was in the U.S., and I made a commitment to spend a few days there each month. I’d pack the truck the night before leaving with my latest purchases in home décor and an ice chest full of healthy food. I’d often work until after midnight on invoices and emails, then arise before 5 am to miss the morning traffic through San Diego. But I never, ever cancelled a trip; getting there was essential to my peace of mind.

When I arrived during each visit at my Special Place, which I now call Home, I unpacked the truck and took a long walk down the beach, rarely seeing anyone except my 82-years-young neighbor Louie and his yellow Lab Retriever Jefe. I’d never met a dog with such a smile! And I’d spend long hours at my patio table, covered in a tablecloth of Mexico-bright colors. At first I’d sit down with a book to read or report to review while I had my morning coffee or evening glass of wine. Then, I’d notice the waves and how the quickly the colors of ocean changed. It was slate blue in the morning, turquoise at mid-day, and lavender, then silver, at dusk. And the unbelievably high and low tides, and the winds and variations in cloud cover, created other hues, ripples, swells and whitecaps.

I watched. And looked. And listened to the incredible wave sounds—sometimes it seemed the Sea of Cortez was breathing with soft sighs. And my book or report remained unopened. I felt the stress of the previous month and the eight-hour drive (despite good books-on-tape!) overpowered by that feeling of peace and joy that accompanied the image in my mind. I tell friends that my Special Place is where I learned to simply SIT, to just BE and to enjoy the beauty and tranquility of the Place.

Life was good before I bought the house, but it’s so much better now! My environmental consulting business was eight years old by then and I was blessed with its success, but I’d been working well over 60 hours a week, most of it at the computer. I was exhausted, and since I was delegating to subcontractors most of the field surveys that inspired me to start the business, it wasn’t fun anymore.

But finding my Special Place taught me to say “no” so I could reduce my workload and extend my visits to a week or longer. Now, my work is busy in the summer, when, coincidentally, it’s too hot and humid at Home. But now I only accept projects I enjoy and work about 20 hours a week.

I’ve also made several friends, both Mexican and American. And I’ve upgraded to a newer, larger home that also stole my heart when I walked in; it’s a five-minute walk from the other house. That story is for another blog! Friends love my potluck parties since I’m on a bluff with a wide patio overlooking the long unpeopled shoreline to the north. We sip margaritas and munch home-made goodies (no Costco chocolate cakes or lasagna here!) while we watch the moon rising over the sea, and the aisle of sparkling water it reaches out to us.

Each morning I walk out onto my deck and smile, thrilled and blessed to be living in such a gorgeous place. I fill the bird bath and toss out seed, and sip my coffee while watching the doves, quail and black-throated sparrows enjoy their breakfast.

I miss my friends in the U.S., but I return about once a month, and they're always welcome to come visit me here!

and the guy? I have confidence he's still out there, somewhere, and will show up when I'm ready!

EL TERREMOTO

When it happened, I wasn’t at my home in Baja, about 100 miles south of the epicenter. My Baja neighbors later reported a lot of rocking and rolling, but no damage other than minor cracks in the walls, and one of my windows slid off its runners. One Baja friend was on the toilet at the time and said it was a fun ride, until her husband, concerned when the rolling persisted, hollered at her to get the heck outside.

I’m trying to spend more and more time in Baja, but when the Mexicali quake hit, I’d been in the L.A. area a couple weeks, paying taxes, visiting friends and my 85-year old Mom, photographing wildflowers in the Carrizo Plain east of San Luis Obispo, and attempting to sleuth some strange health symptoms (stay tuned for another blog).

On Sunday, April 4, the day of the quake, I’d met my stepson Santiago at Barnes and Noble in Long Beach before taking him to lunch at California Pizza Kitchen, along with his son Miles, who’d just turned 15, and Miles’ 7-year old half-sister Miley [yes, the names are real!]. Santiago gets little sleep since he works nights for UPS. But each weekday he drives Miles and Miley to and from school, even though he doesn’t live with Mandy, their Mom and his ex-girlfriend. Santiago’s married to the truth, while Mandy inherited a gene for salesmanship. That, along with her glossy blond hair, dimpled smile and petite build would easily win her a seat in Congress if she were so inclined, though I doubt she’d survive the realities and brutalities of political office these days. Santiago and Mandy met in their early teens and were madly in love but fought like the Palestinians and Israelis. I know Santiago still loves her, but after 12 years of no détente, Mandy married Charles, and together they raised Miles then had Miley. A rift the size of one created by an earthquake had separated Santiago from Mandy a few years, but all’s smoothed over now.

I’d assumed as Miles reached his teens, the open affection between him and his Dad would abate. But my heart sang to see them warmly wrestling while in line at the bookstore. And Santiago seems to love Miley as if she were his own. In the restaurant, he tested her on spelling words and with happy exclamations, reached across the table to give her a high-five every time she got one right.

After lunch we drove to Santiago’s dad’s house. Victor and I met when I was 19, Santiago was a year old, and Santiago’s mother was no longer around. I left shortly thereafter for a six-month trip to Europe, and three years later moved away to start what would be many years of college, since I was working nearly full-time as well. So even though we were a pair for most of 17 years, Victor and I never officially married. Still, Santiago calls me his step-mom and sends me Mother’s Day cards every year thanking me for the years I was his Mom. And I feel blessed that we’re so close and that his Dad and I are friends again.

Oh, sorry! This blog was supposed to be about the earthquake, not family! As we walked into Victor’s house, an historic Craftsman he’s always improving with handcrafted French doors and unique painted wall designs, Victor shouted that we were having an earthquake, and Santiago pointed to the swinging chandelier. I ambled out to the backyard, waited until the rolling stopped, and immediately called my Mom. She’d been only about a mile from the epicenter of the Northridge quake in 1994, and when I’d arrived the next day to check on her, all the contents of her kitchen cabinets--ceramic dishes, drinking glasses, cereals, oils and honey--had avalanched onto the floor into a huge congealed mess. Mom’s a cool cookie, but to this day she stores gallon water bottles and flashlights throughout the house.

Mom had felt this one but less than we did, so I sat down at Victor’s computer. I'd already received an email from my friend Connie, who gets instant alerts about quakes over a certain magnitude. She’d received & forwarded emails of Mexicali rumblings over the past couple years, so the location of the quake was not a real surprise. I thought of the large, crowded city of Mexicali and was relieved that it was Easter Sunday and in the afternoon, when most Mexicalians would be home with families rather than on the roads or out shopping where shelves would be crumbling and canned goods tumbling. I hear later only two people were killed and 100 injured, although the quake’s magnitude was similar to the recent temblor in Haiti.

Several friends and my sister-in-law called and emailed during the afternoon to see if I was in Baja and if I was OK. And Santiago turned on the TV so we could view the damage. L.A. news stations showed the location on a map and were reporting on experiences around southern California and nothing from near or south of the border. Americans craving their proverbial 15-seconds of fame called in to the stations, distressed that they were evacuated from Disneyland, stuck in an elevator, or frightened when a hanging bird cage fell to the ground. With each account, Santiago and I exchanged glances of mock horror. One station repeatedly showed a video of water sloshing over the sides of a Long Beach swimming pool, and Santiago, his voice dripping with sarcasm, said, “Wow, that’s TERRIBLE!” I shuddered to think what these clueless folks would do when the Big One hits!

While Miley helped Victor ("Grampy") concoct fresh lemonade in the kitchen, we watched CNN’s interview with Lucy Jones, the earthquake guru from CalTech. "This is no surprise," she said. "We live in earthquake country. More surprising is how quiet it's been the last 15 years!" But we didn’t see CNN’s coverage, repeated later by a friend, reporting the quake’s location not in Baja south of Mexicali but in mainland Mexico at Guadalupe Victoria, a town with the same name of the town nearest the epicenter! And CNN also called it the “Southern California Earthquake.” Other stations said it had occurred “near the town of Baja.” I don’t want to say the big R word, but it was clear those we trust for reliable information [Fox News of course excluded!] are such isolationists they’re entirely ignorant of the geography of our nearest neighbor, just across the border from San Diego!

I thanked Miley as she handed me a tall cool glass of lemonade and asked Santiago “Why can’t they send a news helicopter to Calexico, in California just across the border from Mexicali? Why are they so focused on what Americans are feeling when there’s probably incredible damage just 200 miles south of us?” Santiago agreed and suggested we try the L.A. Mexican stations. Surely their regular progamming would be interrupted with news of such a large quake just across the border, where countless L.A. residents have friends or family?

But although nearly an hour had passed since the quake, more than sufficient time for videos and photos to flow in, one station was broadcasting Mexico’s version of American Idol, with a pudgy, cute 14-year old timidly singing into the microphone and flanked on either side by bikini dancers. On another station was Mexico’s version of Dancing with the Stars. What earthquake!?! No se preocupe! (no worries!). Is it any wonder why I adore the Mexican culture far more than the hype and tea-party-craziness of America? Ah but that's for another blog!

CNN finally reported on some damage the next day but still had only a few photos [http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/world/2010/04/04/romo.lok.mexicali.quake.cnn?iref=allsearch]. Some friends of friends emailed about the damage and their driving experience along the road to San Felipe two days after the quake, with photos (see below). Another friend forwarded a Power Point presentation in Spanish that’s the first coverage I’ve seen showing extensive road damage, and fallen homes and buildings, and extensive flooding in some areas when agricultural ditches broke. I’ll forward you the presentation if you haven’t seen it; send me an email.

SAFE IN SAN FELIPE!

The Baja 250 road race was held in San Felipe, Baja California, Mexico, the weekend of March 13-14, 2010. Thousands of Americans descended on San Felipe, a 5-hour drive from San Diego, to participate in or to watch the race, which meandered for 250 km on existing dirt and paved roads through the Sierra San Felipe west of San Felipe. (I'm not a road racing buff, but you can read more about it if you like at http://bajasafari.blogspot.com/).

And guess what?!? THEY ALL HAD A GREAT TIME!!! There were no kidnappings or murders!! There was only one serious injury, but not due to Mexican drug cartels!

This is despite recent warnings from the U.S. State Department about travelling to Mexico due to the recent shootings of three US consulate workers in Juarez, across the border from El Paso. I don't mean to belittle that very sad, very unfortunate incident whatsoever, and until the U.S. legalizes marijuana, violence at the border will continue, but that's for another of my blogs.

But I have to laugh when my U.S. friends who've spent little time in Mexico ask me incredulously why I'm even THINKING of once again visiting my part-time Mexico home, as I've been doing about eight times a year since 2002. I spend up to three weeks at my beach house about 40 miles south of San Felipe. Perched on a bluff, where the desert meets the lovely Sea of Cortez, it's a great spot for viewing both sunrises and moonrises.

I have both Mexican and American friends who live nearby, permanently or part-time, and who have been travelling to and from the U.S. and San Felipe, and other parts of Mexico, for up to 50 years. I have NEVER heard a single story of an unfortunate occurrence from any of them! Not even "incidents with the Federales," the theme of stories, of which I'm skeptical, that are often repeated in the U.S. by weekend Mexico travellers. The "Federales" I've met have always been friendly and helpful, and they often ask me for help learning English. One time they were happy to show me the warm and safe home they were providing a for a stray dog and her puppies!

The incident in Juarez was unusual, as nearly all of border violence has been associated with someone in the wrong place at the wrong time, such as at a bar in downtown Tijuana, a known hotbed of drug cartels, at 2 a.m. Would you hang out in a bar near certain rough parts of Los Angeles or San Diego at 2 am? Of course not! Several murders and/or other crimes occur in Los Angeles and San Diego each and every night that you will NEVER hear about, no matter how many newspapers you read or television shows you watch. Yet just one violent event occurs south of the border, and the media becomes frantic!! Ah, my friends, but guess who owns the U.S. Media? U.S. Corporations, that's who. And guess who would much rather you spend your hard-earned dollars in the U.S. instead of in Mexico, where your dollars would buy much more?

Yes, there are stories, lots of stories, about violence in and near border towns, and even though most are embellished each time they are told, I strongly urge travellers to Mexico to drive during the day through border towns and to continue non-stop and on the main roads.

But the stories you won't likely hear repeated ARE THOSE ABOUT THE HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE WHO LIVE NEAR, OR VISIT, SAN FELIPE AND HAVE AN ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS TIME! I wouldn't be looking forward to living here full-time when I retire if I ever felt unsafe here. I never worry about threats to my life while walking alone on the beach here, night or day, or while driving or walking in San Felipe. But nearly each day on Los Angeles freeways, I have thanked my defensive driving for avoiding a serious accident with an idiot bent on getting home or to work 2 minutes early.

Americans love to repeat stories of unfortunate events; why pay money to see the latest horror movie if you can get freaked out at the company water cooler or reading a text message on your Blackberry? Come on, which are you most likely to hear or read: "Hey, did you hear Jimmy and his wife had a great time in San Felipe last weekend and spent only $300 the whole time?" or "Hey, did you hear that Jimmy had $300 stolen from his wallet [by another American, most likely] in Mexico last weekend?"

San Felipe is only a 7-hr drive from Los Angeles, a 5-hr drive from San Diego, and a 2-hr drive from Mexicali. Despite Mexicali's location on the border, drug trafficing there is minimal with none of the violence of Tijuana, Juarez and other Mexican towns that border the U.S. And San Felipe is far easier and cheaper to get to than Puerto Vallarta, Cancun or Cabo San Lucas, which are Amercan tourist traps. If you want a REAL taste of Mexico, it's much harder to find there than in the fishing village of San Felipe, which is so quaint it's still devoid of traffic signals.

Since the lifeblood of San Felipe is tourism, it hurts to see my Mexican friends suffering because the U.S. media and State Department label ALL OF MEXICO as dangerous, while it's only a tiny percentage (less than 1%) of the country, and only SOME of the border towns, where the problem exists. It's safe in San Felipe, and most other towns of interior Mexico. The air is clean, the skies and the sea are blue, and the people are friendly and always willing to help if you're in a bind or can't speak a word of Spanish.

If you're one of those ugly Americans who comes to Mexico to flagrantly ignore its laws, look down on its beautiful people, drive your noisy, polluting vehicles and make an overall drunken fool of yourself, please stay in the U.S. But if you're a peaceful soul curious about our lovely beaches, gorgeous sunrises, cactus gardens, fishing opportunities, wonderful restaurants (a great steak house, and an Italian, Japanese, and even a Basque restaurant now, in addition to excellent Mexican cuisine), bird life, and desert wildflowers (they're starting to bloom now, after our February rains), drive safely, but not fearfully, and come for a visit. You'll be glad you did.