Morning Kayak

The day had begun so beautifully. Who would have thought that just shortly thereafter I’d be standing knee deep in water, holding my head with blood running down the side of my face?

Up before dawn we had launched the tandem kayak off the beach in front of the house.  With small waves and not a breath of wind, we were looking forward to a glorious sunrise over the water and maybe even catching up to the dolphins we had just spotted off shore.  Swiftly paddling away from the beach we turned right to follow the shoreline and the dolphins. Up ahead a huge bait ball attracted hundreds of birds. Pelicans, gulls and terns were excitedly dive-bombing for breakfast and all around small fish could be seen jumping out of the water trying to escape the water predators. We glided along soaking up the experience, enjoying the rising sun and the play of light on water. Such exquisite colors!

I was amazed how easily the paddle out to the point was. There was a time, not long ago when that distance was a bit of a strain for me. And even though this was our first outing in over a year I found the workout easy. When we turned around to head back the photo ops were just too good to pass up. (Luckily I had purchased a waterproof camera last year!) ‘What a great way to start the day!’ I thought. A little bit of a workout and fun to boot. This is a definite must-do –more-often!

Now I admit that throughout my life I have never been much of a water person, but I have made a conscious effort to change that in the last few years. I mean why bring old baggage from lifetimes ago along for the ride? And after all Robert is a master in the water, having spent 8 tender years growing up in Hawaii, learning how to surf and all that that lifestyle brings with it. He can read the ocean like no one I have ever met, its tides, currents and dispositions. However sometimes he can’t read his wife as well….

Or maybe I should say that often when one is accomplished at something, one begins to forget that others may not be as attuned. As we headed for the beach I reminded him, several times, that if he put us in the waves I would be very unhappy. ‘Are we having a trust issue here, Jill?’ he questioned. No, just stating a comfort level for me and that he’d be wise to pay attention to what I was saying, unless he wanted to see me really unhappy. He reassured me that he’d never do anything to hurt me, (I know that!) and that I needed to have some faith in his knowledge of waves. (I do! But I don’t possess that!)

He skirted the breakers on the reef (a little too close for my total comfort, but ‘show some gumption here,’ I told myself) and pointed the nose towards the beach.  ‘Ok, we’re going to ride the wild surf and catch a wave in!’ He began to sing Ride the Wild Surf, by some 60’s beach group. And truthfully, the waves were maybe about knee high, so the song seemed rather silly but caught in my head as I began to paddle along to catch a ‘wild ‘ wave. But then something went wrong. Not terribly, just enough to send us broadside and tumble over.

Now according to me, sitting in the bow of the craft, the kayak dumped me in to the water – all 2 feet of it.  As I came up the kayak hit me in the head, and of course not the plastic body of it. No the little metal cleat that you clip the seats onto. Bang! I grabbed my head and glared at Robert, a death glare I am sure. He spouted,’ If you wouldn’t be so afraid of getting your head under water this wouldn’t have happened!’ My reply was swift and quite terse. Then I released my head and looked at my hand. The blood covering it said that there was a lot more on my head. I turned my palm to show him the results and instantly he was silenced. I noticed the kayak was starting to float away.

My anger subsided quickly; I knew I wasn’t hurt badly because heads always bleed a lot. He was immediately remorseful and went into overdrive to get me inside and attended to. I just hoped that no stiches were required as I did not relish the thought of a visit to the local clinic, but resigned myself to facing that possibility if necessary. After heating some water and washing my hair his verdict was that no trip was needed. He had to cut out a hunk of hair to clean the wound and I am sure that Debra, my hairdresser, will be wondering what on earth happened when I return to SD for my next haircut.

Now in the interest of equality I have to say that Robert saw the whole thing differently. He says that when kayak began to turn broadside I bailed out and in my instinct to not submerge my head I popped out of the water as the kayak bashed into me. (‘All surfers know that when you fall off your board, you don’t come right up because you could get hit in the head by the board!’ Oh….. I’m not a surfer.)

So it is highly possible that one or both of these points of view occurred, or another completely. Maybe we each co-created this to show ourselves something. I’m willing to look at that. And by now we’ve talked it through and discussed what should be done differently next time. (Lean into the wave as you get broadsided, he says.)

Robert has been the picture of attentiveness. I know he feels pretty bad. I thought I could milk it for an ice cream cone when we went to town for groceries, but then, I’ll live to kayak another day.  And it didn’t feel very truthful….

The Glow

There’s something here. I don’t know exactly how to explain it. It’s not something that has coalesced into my mind yet, but I know it. I can feel it. It’s in the Earth and it has a rhythm, a heartbeat. I guess this is what attracts those who come here so often to surf, fish, ride buggies, or just explore. They are aficionados who return again and again craving this heartbeat, though it seems to be veiled with a mask of ‘doing something’. I felt it the 1^st day here as we walked along the beach from our house. It was late afternoon and we strolled across the hard packed sand at the water’s edge delighting in the cool breeze and free movement after being car-confined for 2 days. We wandered about a mile or so down the beach and when we circled around to return I felt it. I saw it.

Right there, ahead of me, as I looked across the crescent beach back at La Beliza – the area where we’ve built. The land glowed. It pulsed; it radiated and an inner light shone through that was dazzling. I had not been here but 2 hours and I already had seen my 1^st painting. Sandwiched between ocean and sky, blues and greens like jewels, I saw this glowing orange heart in the strip of land. Fascinating…..

And this is what I have been attempting to capture on canvas. It has proved exhilarating and elusive. How to perfectly represent this beauty? It leaves me in awe. It is so much larger than life, so much deeper than what I have experienced here before and it seems that perhaps a whole new series will emerge from this – Baja Landscapes. My aim is to capture this feeling, this primal depth that revealed itself to me that day on the beach.

I walk often, sit and quietly breathe a lot, listening for any other secrets it cares to reveal. That fleeting glimpse into another dimension revealed something extraordinary, something elusive, something many return again and again to experience. Perhaps they know of what I speak? Or maybe not in words so much as desire, desire to be swallowed up whole once again by this Glow.

La Quincinera

“Ah, su vistido es muy linda,” I cooed with big eyes to the young woman in the midst of a gaggle of girls. Clearly she was quite proud of her turquoise, white and back zebra striped gown. She blushed, thanked me and then stepped aside to reveal another even more ornately decked out young lady all in white. Her gown had a sleeveless bustier, with a skirt so ruffled it floated out about her at least 3 feet in all directions. (I never did see her feet!) Her hair was beautifully coifed in an up-do with sparkly embellishments. When I made more gestures of appreciation she beamed a 24 karat smile, blushing demurely, yet clearly aware of her beauty and presence. This was a double quincinera!

When we had been invited a few days ago, we hesitated only because we know very few people in town and didn’t know if the invitation from our neighbors counted. Both Robert and I really wanted to experience some of the authentic culture, yet, we certainly did not wish to step upon any toes. Locals assured us, through Marianne and Tom, that yes, it was an open invitation to the community, and aren’t we now part of the community? So that is how we made our way to the town social building at 9:00 p.m. and joined the slow trickle of incoming guests.

The social is a large cement building that reverberates sound like no tomorrow, sports a massive dance floor (tile, of course) and a hefty stage to boot. Tables and chairs seating about 300 had been set up all around the floor. The turquoise and white color scheme was carried throughout the event from table cloths, centerpieces and column decorations, to the paper lanterns floating from the ceiling over the dance floor. The tall centerpieces were topped with sparkly turquoise sprays and could have been imagined at any wedding in the states, except for a noticeable difference. The base was cradling a bottle of tequila. And next to that was an ice bucket, a shaker of salt, some cups and a big bottle of Sprite. Do it yourself bartending. Gotta love it.

A quincinera is quite a big event for a young girl. It marks the time she leaves her childhood behind (age 15) and becomes a young woman. Ostensibly, it is a chance for her father to announce that she is now of marriage-able age. The cost of a quincinera is roughly equal to that of a wedding. The dresses certainly rivaled a wedding gown in grandeur, and feeding 300 people a sit down dinner, along with all that tequila and the 10 piece band clearly said that this was no ordinary party.

It is customary for the crowd to stay seated until the grand entrance of the quincinera. She makes her way up the center of the room on the arm of a brother, cousin or uncle to be presented to the crowd. And after many speeches attesting to her growth and loveliness, a series of dances begin. Father gets the 1^st dance, then brothers, grandfathers and uncles. It seemed to be an endless succession. More speeches, and for this one anyway, one of the quincineras  slipped away, removed her ruffles and reentered wearing hip hop clothes worthy of So You Think You Can Dance. She proceeded to do a choreographed routine that was quite impressive. I imagine she had been practicing for years for this moment.

I watched younger girls, still several years away from their coming-of-age, look longingly at the 2 princesses. They envied the attention and obviously looked forward to their own celebrations, though their just budding figures said there was still time to wait, no matter how they tried to speed it up with high heels and party dresses.

Finally, the dance floor was open to everyone. In a town of 1400 people, in what to us might seem like ‘in the middle of nowhere’, you can’t imagine how many really good dancers there were! Truthfully, I was intimidated, and believe me, I don’t intimidate easily when it comes to dancing. Admittedly, the music was ranchera, and the movements different than we’d seen, but the beat was clearly recognizable and easy to follow. We enjoyed watching the couples move gracefully across the floor with an ease that was enviable. When Robert and I joined them the lead singer ended her cancione with a “Ha!’ in our direction, catching my eye and sporting a big smile. We stayed on the floor for a number of dances, but I learned so much from just watching!

Latinas have a wonderful attitude that I admire. No matter her girth, she will don her tight dress and stilettos and walk proudly through the room, strutting her stuff, with the knowledge that she is hot. Period. And when she dances she moves in tandem with her partner allowing him to lead her, showing both her willingness to be dominated and her strength at the same time.

The men moved with equal cat-like grace. No awkward gyrating bodies, only smooth flowing couples gliding across the floor. The machismo shone through most noticeably in the younger crowd. The man would guide his partner solely with one hand placed on the small of her back, the other to dangle at his side in a show of nonchalance. And still they moved smartly and in unison.

There are 2 traditional ceremonies to a quincinera. Similar to the garter-throwing at a wedding, the celebrated now-young-woman throws a doll to a gathering of little girls. It takes place early in the festivities and marks her transition into adulthood and the giving up of toys.  The other is ‘the changing of the shoes’, quite later in the evening. (All this time the quincineras had been wearing tennis shoes, though under all those ruffles and I had never even seen them!) At one point the proud papa takes them off her feet and replaces them with high heels and they dance. There is also a cake to rival any wedding, but when we left at 1:00 a.m. the party wasn’t even close to that yet. Things had just started to heat up.

As we headed for the door I noticed that ours was the only table with an empty tequila bottle. The others had barely been touched, although there were many empty beer cans. (I guess Gloria’s, the store across the street did a bang up business last night!) Many people were gathered outside getting some fresh air and preparing for the next round of dancing. The festivities, we were told, would last until dawn.  We however, were ready to call it a night. As we walked to our car the darkness and sudden silence engulfed us. We carefully negotiated the dirt roads home, removed our party clothes and gratefully climbed into bed, happy for the experience and just a little more connected to our new home.

Morning Rituals

The sun is just moments away from cresting the horizon. Its sky is clear, blue and orange, the water a deep silvery cobalt. Turning my head I look the other direction to see the full, luscious moon descending, a bright creamy lantern in a pale purple sky. Mornings always start with a walk down the road about ½ mile, Robert, Rowdy and me. But this a.m. Robert is out fishing for halibut in the surf out in front of the house.  I can see him wading out from my vantage point up on the road. A pod of about 10 dolphins is making their way toward him, following the coastline and Rowdy is crisscrossing back and forth in front of me in happy abandon. (He sleeps on our doorstep so as not to miss this morning ritual.) He sees a coyote crossing the road and takes off in pursuit. “Go coyote, go!” I think. I don’t want Rowdy to catch him, even though he is the bigger of the two. I’d rather it be a good run with each eventually going his own way, tired and unscathed.

This is how each day usually begins here, with a walk down the dirt road on the way out, 2 bags in hand; one for picking up any trash might have been brought in with the tide or night time partyers, and one for possible treasures on the beach on the return trip. I wish the trash bag was not so full, but unfortunately it often is, especially on weekend nights. The kids park along the water’s edge, drink beer and do what kids do. Heck I did it too, but I don’t think I tossed my trash out the window. Just a different way of seeing things here, sadly. And though I do see the consciousness changing, the wheels seem to grind a little slowly, that’s all. One day….

La Beliza sits about a mile or two about out of the town proper, and we’re all off the grid. We have no electricity or running water services. You must be self-sufficient. So everyone has solar systems and water tanks (called tenacos) to fill. You drive into the town desalinization plant and fill a tenaco on a trailer, then pump it to another one once back. It may seem a bit extreme, but surprisingly, it becomes routine quite quickly. And if that is the price for this view, it’s alright by me. Hey, I have a refrigerator now, no more ice chest! I am living up town! (And an oven!) That’s more than I can say for many living in town where there is electricity and they deliver the water to you.

It’s mostly ex-pats here – ‘tourist hill’ I think they call it in town. It’s dotted with a conglomeration of houses and trailers and palapas, in all varying combinations. Most of these places are only used a small part of the year; some haven’t seen an occupant for quite some time and a few seem downright distasteful to me. At the moment our neighbor Ed and ourselves are the only permanent residents. He’s been here 6-7 years now full time. We are 2 week long-termers. I am just beginning to get a feel for the people. They come and go and it seems like I am always hearing a story about someone.  Word travels fast around here and nothing is a secret. It’ll be interesting to experience small town-ness after my whole life in San Diego.

By now the sun is up and the day is warming quickly. Time to sweep the patio, a never ending task repeated often during the day. The wind is a part of life here. (Hay much viento hoy!) And the dust - or polvo, as it is called - is another blog all unto itself. There's trash to burn and a house to tidy.

On to the chores.....

Buddies

Every afternoon like clockwork he stops by and asks me if I’d like to go tide pooling with him. ‘You wanna go doncha? Doncha? It’d be real fun!’ His big brown eyes stare up at me; his tail wags side to side and he practically smiles. How can I resist? ‘Ok Rowdy, let’s head down to the beach.’

Rowdy is my neighbor Ed’s dog. A Mexi-mutt that is smart as a whip, sweet as molasses and a terror to all the local coyotes. He just loves to have company and attention. Compared to most dogs Rowdy has the idyllic life. Pets in Mexico are treated decidedly different than in the States. Most animals do not receive the care or attention like ours. To us they are part of the family. Not so here. It isn’t unusual to see sadly forgotten animals wandering around. However this is certainly not the case with Rowdy. He is an outdoor dog, but he has a bed – 2 in fact, regular meals provided for him and lots of company. As with practically all dogs here he gets to roam wherever he pleases, and his favorite place is the tide pools. He rushes right past the birds resting on the shoreline, couldn’t care a whit for the flock surrounding the pools. He goes straight for the fish. I’ve watched him stare into a pool waiting to see if any have been caught by the receding tide. Carefully he’ll circle the water until he deems it just the right time to launch himself off the edge and land with a big splash. ‘Yep, that’s certainly the way to sneak up on them boy. Very stealthy!’ Sometimes he wades in chest deep and chases them from side to side. Oh he is so happy! This will go on for as long as I am there with him. When I return he reluctantly follows. Ed says that when the water is warm he’ll dive below the surface to catch them and another neighbor attests to his success!

The exposed reef is a conglomerate of billions of rocks and shells ‘glued’ together with what seems like hardened mud. It is very textured and rough and the waves have sculpted it into otherworldly shapes that rise out of the sand, as if oozing from some primordial mass long ago. There are gazillions of tide pools filled with an overwhelming number of sea annenomies and small snails the size of my thumbnail, but I’ve yet to see a starfish. Maybe it’s just too rocky. There are bright orange growths, sponges I think, that cling to the undersides of rocky ledges, beautiful magenta seaweed and bright green sea lettuce. When the waves are big the beach is strewn with pink and green plants. It is quite colorful.

The cooperativa de pescadores (fish co-op) in town controls the waters here and they are very serious about keeping the abalone and lobster population healthy and intact. (It is illegal for anyone to dive here, unless you belong to the co-op.) Members regularly patrol the area keeping a close eye on all happenings, meeting any campers and picking up lobster traps that may have washed ashore. Abreojos is part of a national biosphere in Baja, and because of this they are ahead of much of the country when it comes to eco-awareness. They are even beginning a recycling program, pushed forward by a local women’s group, MEAPA (Mujeres en Acion Punta Abreojos- Women in Action Punta Abreojos). The women have formed this group to insist on social change. Events like sponsoring local clean ups with the school children, or bringing down life guards from the States to educate the community in water safety are just a couple of examples of their fine work. Each member has pledged to keep a certain area clean, or has taken on some special project to assist the area in its progress forward. It’s wonderful to see a change in consciousness in regard to conserving the pristine beauty of this area.

Just across the bay, Bahia de las Ballenas (Bay of the Whales), I can see the entrance to Laguna San Ignacio, where grey whales come to calf each year. It is marked by a massive sand dune called Big Sandy. Some days the dune is surrounded by ever changing mirages that morph from huge white cliffs to multi story high rises. The Lagoon is also a part of the Biosphere and they are even more progressive in their eco-awareness. Tourists flock there to pet the whales (yes, pet the whales) and the influx of money is a wonderful incentive to keep it clean and intact. Nothing can compare to touching a full grown grey whale, looking it in the eye and then petting its baby. Whale watching boats just don’t cut it after that.

The other morning at dawn we watched a pod of at least 50 dolphins feed and play just outside our front door. The boiling water signaled a school of fish that must have been their breakfast. A few leapt out of the water delighting us with their play. Occasionally in the winter and spring a whale is spotted headed to or from the Lagoon. Sometimes I find a sea lion watching me as I wander along the shoreline. They are famously curious.

And no matter where I am along the shore Rowdy is somewhere nearby, running in wild abandon, covering 10 times as much ground as me. He is just so happy to be sharing his favorite place. Who can blame him? Abreojos is pretty extraordinary.

The Unexpected and the Collected

7-9-11

Seeing a lizard skittle across the rocks of a tide pool just seemed incongruent to me somehow. That a desert reptile should be sunning on the beach struck me as rather funny. But then, it’s like that here in Baja. So much appears that I would never have expected. Like the estero just a few miles away. It’s a salt water mangrove estuary where the fishing and clamming are great, oysters are farmed, dolphins are sited regularly and turtles abound. We went there this a.m. to turtle watch (for me) and fish a little (for Robert and Ed). I would never have expected to find mangroves here. Guess I always thought of them as a Florida kind of thing. But the cool breezes felt divine and we saw around 50-60 turtles, caught tonight’s dinner and generally just enjoyed the outing. Home by noon to lunch and then beach walk.

I admit it. I am a beachcombing junkie. I try not to look at the ground as I walk, really I do, but something irresistible draws me to inspect the earth for treasures that seem to have placed themselves there  just for my enjoyment. I have finally stopped picking up every little shell that catches my eye. I am now discerning enough (or rather I have so many that I need to be discerning) and I only save the ‘perfect’ ones. But really, what makes it a ‘perfect one’? Even the little bits of abalone that are but broken pieces call to me for attention. My constant stopping and bending over to pick something up lengthens my walk a considerable amount, but I can’t help it. They call out to be touched, and I in turn want to adorn myself with each and every one. I want to create vast wall hangings – ones that span 40  feet and weave my treasures all together. It is as if they call to me to be noticed and I desire to share their beauty with everyone else. (‘See how precious this small cone is? Notice its delicate pattern, earthy brown on creamy white. Like a seismic spreadsheet drawn on a shell.’)

Inevitably I come home laden with this and that and I add them to my ever growing arrangement on the front patio. It certainly makes the daily sweeping much more time consuming, but I am cheered each time I look out the window and see these beautiful jewels.  Ann Morrow Lindbergh wrote Gifts From the Sea and I remember reading it long ago. I must look into picking it up next trip to San Diego. I feel a kindred spirit there.

The tern colony has grown, if that is even possible! Never have I seen so many birds all in one place. For some reason I feel they are getting ready to depart. As the sun begins to set they rise from the water’s edge over and over again, alighting en mass only to hover about 25 feet off the water loudly calling their keerik keerik squawk, then descend to about 2 feet off the water’s surface and become completely silent. The sudden lack of noise is quite startling. Then they rise and begin the process all over again. What in the world are they doing? I imagine that they are training for some long migration where each must be aware of the group and how best to participate with the flock. Practice, practice, practice! 

How I enjoy each day of discovery! The unexpected, the mundane, it all fills me with a sense of wonder and I find myself continually giving thanks for each footstep forward.

Dinner is Served

Bang! Bang! Bang! That is the sound of Robert pounding the abalone for dinner. Oh my…… J

Yesterday, after a long day of unsuccessful work installing our new propane refrigerator we were blessed with the gift of fresh halibut fillets delivered to our door by our neighbor Marianne. What a god-send! Easy meal, just what we needed. (She and her husband Tom had spent the morning fishing off the beach in front of the house and caught a whopping 10!)
The day before that, Ed, our other neighbor, delivered 2 lovely lobster tails for a very tasty meal indeed! A bit of fresh limon and drawn butter. Can it get any better than that? I have my doubts.

That being said, tomorrow night I am going to see if I can whip up some lobster stuffed chile rellenos. Did I mention that we’ve been eating quite well down here?

Baja, Punta Abreojos , 7-7-11

Terns. Roughly 3000 of them, maybe more, right in front of our house on the beach. They show up at dawn and depart at sunset. Exactly where they go I have no idea, but during the day they live on ‘our’ beach, doing what terns do, I guess, stand around, fish, and make lots of noise. Somehow I find their chatter delightful though. It is Nature at her finest calling out to be experienced. They cover the sand at the water’s edge and every so often they will rise in unison, shifting right then left in a solid mass of white, then gray as they change direction. It truly is awe inspiring. I have heard that they arrive every June and stay through July only to one day be gone, sort of ‘now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t’ sort of thing. They are just one of the things that continually amaze me since moving here just one week ago.

Having left San Diego after months of preparation and multiple shows/sales we were exhausted when we arrived on the 1^st of July. And while we’ve done much to get our little ‘casita’ in a much more habitable condition, this week has been mostly about healing. Healing tired bodies and fried minds.