What do you DO there in Baja?

When not at my little mountain home in the quaint town of Idyllwild, California, I drive south about 6 hours to my spacious beach house south of San Felipe, on a bluff overlooking the Sea of Cortez. My dog Lucky and I spend many happy days there, and with our American and Mexican friends, who have homes scattered along 60 miles of coastline north and south of San Felipe. The town has grown slowly since the first fishing camps were established in 1925*, now harboring only about 16,000 residents, in addition to its 3,000 to 5,000 American and Canadian part-timers. It’s still so small that traffic signals are unnecessary, and I encounter friends each time I’m in town for errands.

San Felipe has no movie complex, not even a single theater. There are no music centers or concert venues, amusement parks, Starbucks or shopping malls. You can visit galleries and monthly shows where talented Mexican and American artists display their unique works. But you won’t find grand art museums where, at event openings, friends murmur, with glasses of wine and pinkies held pretentiously aloft, about just what that artist was attempting to portray**.

You can find delicious Chinese, Japanese and Italian food, good pizza and a couple gourmet restaurants, as well as fish tacos and lots of choices for wonderful Mexican food. But no P.F. Chang’s, Olive Garden, or California Pizza Kitchen. And the best spot for night-life is along the Malecon (waterfront walkway) on a warm evening, where families stroll, laugh, and play music.

So when the uninitiated are invited to visit friends here, the most frequent question, after “Do you feel SAFE***?!?,” is “What do you DO there?” It’s obvious from puzzled expressions that they’re wondering what they’d do for entertainment between the aerobic beach walk and a lunch of (“can I really eat the food?”) home-made chiles rellenos.

Their grimaces suggest they imagine interminable hours after their morning fishing trip or kayak until happy hour, when they can sip a margarita of tequila and fresh lime juice (none of that sugary syrup for us!). Their whiny voices indicate they’d be desperately searching trying to avoid the gentle whooshing of the surf lulling them toward an afternoon nap. After all, they’d bring all their American accoutrements, including the obsessive desire for continual entertainment, and to check off as many items on their To-Do list as possible.

San Felipe Baja part-timers enjoy American-style musical entertainment at the La Vaquita, Rumors, Los Arcos and Jolly Mon bars. And most of us have modern conveniences, including Internet, TVs and DVD players. So we have “movie theaters” in our own living rooms, courtesy of Netflix. And we can But most of the time, call us old-fashioned: instead of seeking out human-generated entertainment, we make our own.

We have desert cookouts, when we load folding tables, beach chairs, grills, and champagne into our 4WD vehicles and bump along narrow dirt roads to a remote location for delicious outdoor brunches or dinners. We set up our desert restaurant, dig a pit and start a campfire. We pour beaten eggs, along with cheese, peppers, onions and other veggies into baggies, and drop them in water boiling over the coals for yummy omelets six minutes later. At night we grill burgers and fish, or simmer chili or stew in a Dutch-oven, and on Chinese New Year we wok stir-fry over the grill while Chinese lanterns light up the night.

There are yoga classes on a gorgeous patio just off the sand,

and spring equinox celebrations with restorative yoga and labyrinth walks. There are two book clubs where vivacious and clever women review and discuss books we’d never read on our own, and occasionally we’re joined by authors whose books we’re reviewing.

There are tide-pool walks with a marine biologist who’ll exclaim at your finds with excitement, even if he’s seen that type of sun-star, octopus, or colorful sponge thousands of times before.

We host happy hour potlucks with so many contributed home-made goodies (no Costco casseroles or Wal-Mart cheese trays!), we don’t need dinner afterward.

And once weekly our “dinner club” of about 25 gather in a small funky store-restaurant for Faly’s fabulous enchiladas, carnitas, fresh fish stuffed with shrimp, or nopales stew, for about $6 a person.

Creative types can attend classes offered by local artists and learn metal sculpture, watercolor, mosaic, or felting. You can sign up for Spanish classes, or get a massage, pedicure or teeth-cleaning for far less money that in the States.

Want to learn about the local environment? I host regular bird walks along the beach or in the desert; this week we visited Valley of the Giants. Or attend evening power-point presentations on bird identification, local marine biology, or astronomy, or view the night skies via high-powered telescopes at monthly star parties. This month we saw 4 of Jupiter’s moons, Venus, Mars, and the Orion’s nebula (star cloud)(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orion_Nebula).

Finally, the South Campos Community Center has a busy schedule (http://southcamposinfo.blogspot.com/) of comfort-food dinners, dances, exercise classes, and poker-runs.

These are just some of the happenings south of town, but San Felipe also hosts a variety of events, such as the recent Blues and Arts fiesta, gatherings of tricked-out race vehicles before the Baja 250 race, paella and shrimp festivals, and parades during Christmas and other holidays. Check out the upcoming (and previous) event schedules at http://www.blueroadrunner.com/ or http://sanfelipe.com.mx/.

So, Amigos/Amigas, forward this blog link to your fear-of-boredom friends and even to those with a fear-of-Mexico. They won’t see any evidence in the photographs of ennui, or any blood, guns, or people looking over their shoulders. And you Baja newbies who’ve set aside those fears, welcome! You’ll find there’s plenty here to engage your mind, body and spirit.

After a few days, your rat-race pace will slow, and on beach walks you’ll begin to notice herons wading in the shallows, ospreys and terns diving for fish, and frigate-birds gracefully soaring above. In a week or so, you’ll begin to wonder whether the American tendency to link self-worth with accomplishments is a good thing. You’ll stop asking what’s to do and learn to appreciate yourself for the person you are, inside.

You’ll sit on the patio with your gracious friends and watch the colors on the water change as the sun sinks behind the mountains. Maybe you won’t give up that To-Do list, but an evening will arrive when all you’ve checked off is “1) Practiced Spanish and laughed with a San Felipe store-owner, 2) Floated on air-mattress on the Sea of Cortez, and 3) Watched an amazing sunset!” And you’ll know it’s been un buen dia, a good day. A very good day.
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* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Felipe,_Baja_California
** On a whim, a friend framed a section of drop-cloth from a painters’ group studio and submitted it to a juried art show. It was not only accepted but won an award.
*** See my previous blogs. Still afraid? Why allow the U.S. media & government to dictate your beliefs? Instead, talk to those who live in Mexico or frequently visit, for the facts. Learn the art of critical thinking!

The New Drug Fueling Mexico's Woes

Rather than via furtive back-alley transactions, this drug is swapped, rather unsurreptitiously, among coworkers at the office over the water cooler, community coffeepot, or cubicle walls. You’ll witness exchanges of this drug between acquaintances on the street, or among adults at the birthday party of your child’s best friend. If you unwittingly utter the password*, you may find yourself a reluctant recipient of a sample from your son-in-law, boss, or clerk at the checkout counter of your favorite grocery or hardware store.

The drug is frequently discussed in the travel section, or sometimes on the front page, of your newspaper, and on Facebook, Twitter, and among friends via email. On the daytime and evening news, bright-eyed anchormen with their phony smiles, sculptured hairdos and voices of concern are some of the drug’s biggest promoters.

And unlike other drugs grown and/or produced in Mexico, then funneled to the U.S. for distribution and sale, this one has its root origins in Mexico border towns but is refined and enhanced in the United States. Consumers and distributers of this drug are primarily Americans living in states bordering Mexico---California, Arizona, and Texas. The drug has been around for years but is more widely available now that Americans want a quick fix to forget about the worsening U.S. economy and their personal financial problems.

Consumers of traditional U.S. drugs have made a small number of Mexicans very wealthy, while the U.S. spends millions to keep those drugs out of the country. In contrast, the distribution of this new drug has resulted in fat pockets for U.S. corporations while bankrupting many areas of Mexico, forcing businesses to close and families to seek out local donation centers for food and clothing.

Finally, the new drug is not illegal. And it’s free.

The more seasoned and savvy readers of this blog have probably guessed it by now. The new drug is FEAR. Fear of Mexico. Unrelenting, unwarranted fear of travel by Americans to Mexico, despite statistics that crime rates in Mexican border towns are similar to most large U.S. cities, and very low elsewhere in the country.

“Are you crazy?!?” coworkers will ask when you tell them you’re going to visit friends south of the border. “Don’t you know about all the violence down there?” One colleague, a former frequent traveler to Mexico, warned me, "Watch your head!"

As the grocery store clerk rings up the items in your two full grocery carts, you explain you're spending two months at your home in Mexico. “Haven’t you heard about all the killings and kidnappings down there?” she shrieks. You watch the evening news and hear about the latest violence in Mexico border towns, but nothing about the family killed a couple miles from your U.S. home (you later learn about it at the local pet store), or about the number of rapes and violent muggings in even affluent areas of Los Angeles, San Diego, Houston, or New Orleans.

American corporations, owners of U.S. news stations and newspapers, are benefitting hugely from this drug, since would-be travelers to Mexico stay home and spend their vacation money in the U.S. And quaint Mexican tourist towns that depend on U.S. tourism are suffering.

Why call it a drug, you ask? Its users become frantic if you try reason with them about its use, using reliable statistics or personal experience. "If you're not a drug lord or hanging around downtown areas of border towns at night, chances are very slim you'll ever be a victim," you'll say. They'll look at you wide-eyed and reply, "What do YOU know?" or "That's not what I heard!" and trounce off, obviously fear-intoxicated once again.

Of course there’s the occasional tragedy to Mexico vacationers, since travelers to any destination take risks. As I’ve written in previous blogs, it’s curious that my Baja friends travel to and from lots of Mexico cities, and none of them, or their relatives and friends who often visit, have ever reported such stories.

The only story I’ve heard first-hand is about the corrupt cop in Mexicali who tries to extort about $150 for a bogus traffic violation, but we’re all onto him now. I took a 2-week trip down the Baja peninsula to Cabo San Lucas and back and never had a problem. On the contrary, a friend in my Baja book club was assaulted and robbed in Beverly Hills, and police sirens are a daily occurrence near my Mom’s apartment building in a relatively quiet community northwest of Los Angeles.

So when I’m in in the L.A. area, away from my Mexico home, and a friend, coworker, or retail store clerk obviously addicted to this new drug questions my travel plans to Mexico, I ask, “Do you ever go to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion? Mark Taper Forum? Walt Disney Concert Hall? L.A. Garment District? L.A. Zoo?”

As you can imagine, the response to at least one of these is “Yes!”

“Are you crazy?” I ask in alarm. “Do you realize there’s an average of 100 violent crimes PER DAY** in Los Angeles? Aren’t you afraid? How long before you’re an innocent victim?”

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* "Mexico" is the password
** see my previous blog for the reference

Is There Something Eating At You?

You wake up feeling groggy, although you’ve had your normal six to nine hours of sleep, whatever works best for you, and you didn’t have that extra glass of wine last night. The past few nights, you’ve felt chilled, although the weather’s not been cold, or if it has, you’re using that new down quilt. Your appetite seems off too; you stand in front of the fridge deciding what to make for lunch, and nothing looks good. And at dinner, you’re eating smaller portions. So you’re wondering whether you’re coming down with a cold or stomach virus, but the severe symptoms never materialize.

Sometimes at night, or after your morning constitutional, you wonder whether you had too much salsa or fruit the day before, but the next day everything’s normal, so you forget about it until it happens again a couple days later. And if you’re one to evaluate the success of your bathroom creations, you may notice some of them seem more buoyant than usual. It’s more difficult to button your jeans, and you wonder whether it was those fries or salty corn chips you had the day before. But the bloating continues no matter how little salt you eat. If you’re young, you may wonder whether that time of the month is coming early; post-menopausal women might think their hormones are acting up big-time. Your lower belly may be talking more frequently, telling you that maybe you ate something it didn’t like.

You’ve also noticed a slight ache in your belly, to the right of your belly button. Other stomach pains may materialize as well, along with occasional headaches. Sometimes you wonder whether you have gallstones. You don’t have the energy you used to and wonder if you’ve been working or playing too hard. You just don’t feel like yourself but can’t figure out why.

Several friends in the U.S. and Baja have had at least some of these symptoms over the past year, and they’re stumped and frustrated. They’ve been several times to the doctor, but lab tests, colonoscopies, ultrasound tests and barium enemas were all normal.

I also suffered for several months last year with those symptoms. I was so uncomfortable last spring, I left my favorite place in the world, my lovely Baja home, to return to the U.S. to figure out what was wrong, since the local San Felipe doctor conducted tests and told me all was well.

In the U.S., my regular doctor directed me to take stool samples to the lab and ordered an ultrasound to see whether I had gallstones, since I was having pain in that area also. All the tests were normal, but my symptoms continued.

So I did some research on my own and determined I was probably suffering from giardiasis, which is caused not by a bacteria or virus, but by a small one-celled parasite. Doctors generally order a one-day stool sample, or maybe a more intensive 3-day test. However, the U.S. Center for Disease Control’s website (http://www.cdc.gov/parasites/giardia/) states, “Because Giardia cysts can be excreted intermittently, multiple stool collections increase test sensitivity.” Doctors, however, don’t have time to keep up on the most recent recommended testing, particularly for something like parasites.

I never figured out how I got it, but I read more about the symptoms and means of transmission. I learned how prevalent giardia is and how easy it is to become infected, despite a healthy lifestyle. About 8,000 giardia cells can fit on the head of a pin. They can exist for long periods outside the body, remaining on inanimate objects such as toys and bathroom fixtures and regaining entrance to a human body through the oral route. They’re resistant to stomach acid and adhere to the upper small intestine. And I was amazed to read they sometimes attach to the bile ducts of the liver, creating symptoms that mimick gall bladder disease! No wonder I felt as if I had gallstones but the tests were negative!

Giardia cells are not all killed with chlorination, so you can get infected from U.S. water supplies. If you're camping and using lake or river water and don't have a filter specifically approved for giardia removal, be sure to boil your water for at least 10 minutes to kill all the critters.

Outbreaks of giardiasis are doubling every five years and have infected at least eighteen million people in the US alone. Because of the number of ignored or misdiagnosed cases (giardiasis often being diagnosed as irritable bowel or chronic fatigue syndrome), many researchers feel that the actual number of giardiasis cases is astronomical. http://www.innvista.com/health/microbes/protozoa/giardia.htm.

A Baja friend wonders if one means of transmission is from flies that have visited giardia-contaminated animal feces and then alight on our food.

You can read more about giardia at the two websites above. If you think after reviewing the websites that you may have giardiasis, you can do one of the following:

1) Convince your doctor to prescribe Flagyl, 250 mg, which you take orally three times daily for 5 days. Or go to a Mexico pharmacy and ask for the generic, metronidazole, western medicine’s treatment of choice. However, the side effects of this medication are highly unpleasant and include nausea (about 12% of patients), headache, low appetite, vomiting; diarrhea; epigastric distress; and abdominal cramping. Constipation has also been reported. http://www.drugs.com/pro/flagyl.html. Don’t forget you must abstain from alcohol while taking it or you can become very sick. I convinced my U.S. doctor to prescribe some, and I took it as directed. I felt great for a week thereafter, but then the symptoms returned. I can’t find it now, but a friend sent me a website that reported studies which showed a 90% probability of giardiasis relapse after a course of Flagyl. So why put yourself through five days of tortuous side effects?
2) Get some Daxon (Nitazoxanide, http://www.expert-reviews.com/doi/pdf/10.1586/14787210.2.1.43) from a Mexico pharmacy. It works differently than Flagyl –you can do your own research. But one study found it helpful for 47 out of 55 patients, compared with 44 of 55 patients taking Flagyl http://www.expert-reviews.com/doi/pdf/10.1586/14787210.2.1.43. Not much difference! I tried this as well, and the side effects were nearly intolerable. I was so bloated I felt as if I were going to fly away any minute! And again, my previous symptoms returned within a week.
3) ParaGone. You can order it from many sites via Google. You take the drops and capsules for 10 days, then take a break and begin it again. It seemed to help with my symptoms, but one or more of the herbs in that concoction made me inordinately cranky!
4) Other natural cures. http://www.diagnose-me.com/cond/C172355.html. I found that 3 fresh medium-sized garlic cloves (don’t hassle peeling them--buy the jar of peeled cloves in the produce dept of your grocery store), chopped fine and swallowed (not chewed! Your stomach will rebel!) with a glass of apple or orange juice first thing in the morning, waiting an hour to eat, helped tremendously after 5 days.
Don’t be tempted to buy that jar of chopped garlic, which has preservatives and thus isn’t as effective. I got tired of chopping garlic in the morning, along with all my other household chores, and instead bought a bottle of 2000 mg. garlic tablets (odorless) at a U.S. drug store. I won’t endorse a product on this site, but you can find it on Amazon and via google. I take one every morning with my other vitamins (garlic is great for treating high cholesterol and high blood pressure too, though I don’t have to worry about these), and if I feel the giardiasis symptoms coming on again (some people are more susceptible to the little guys—see the innvista website address above), I take another one in the evening before bed. At first, it may irritate your stomach and cause more gas, but Beano and Vitamin C help allay the symptoms, and your digestive system will adjust in a week or so.
A friend who is an expert in ayurvedic medicine says giardiasis is quite common but correctable with good diet that includes plenty of antioxidants, bioflavinoids and mitochondria building foods (another thing to google!), along with exercise and a generally healthy lifestyle.
I wash my hands more frequently and open public bathroom doors with a towel or long sleeve. I’m now symptom-free for the most part and wondering whether I’ve had a mild case of giardiasis for years, since the intestinal symptoms I’ve suffered off and on have abated. Of course, a large part of my health now (I haven’t had a cold in over a year!) is the stress-free life I live in Baja!

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.