Baja Revisited

Maybe you CAN go home again…

I first came to San José del Cabo (“San Jose”) 36 years ago in my newly-acquired Toyota Tacoma 4X4 truck. It was a sleepy yet refined little town, dating back to 1730 when the Jesuits founded a mission there. It had a certain elegance —the buildings, the people, its history.

In Baja California Sur, “Los Cabos” is a term meaning ”The Capes,” and referring to the region consisting of Cabo San Lucas (“Cabo“) to the west, and San José, about 20 miles to the east — where the pavement ended until recently. At that time, Cabo was starting to transform from a fishing village to a party town. (In 1990, musician Sammy Hagar opened the cantina “Cabo Wabo,” with his own brand of tequila, and Cabo was on its way to becoming a get-drunk-and-dance-on-the-bar destination.)

Chilón el Chilango

I had come down to visit my friend and neighbor from Bolinas, Alan Maxey, who had built a palapa on land 12 miles east of San José on a dirt road.

After stopping off at Alan’s, I went on into San José and met a young guy who’d recently relocated from Mexico City, and had a small shop. His name was Chilón, and we seemed to have a lot in common, especially about exploring the area: beaches, the desert, canyons, cave paintings, fossils, remote ranchos. (He was the age of my son Peter.)

We cooked up an idea to have a bookstore/espresso café, since there was no coffee shop anywhere within hundreds of miles then. (We never did get it going.)

Over the years, in my many trips down there, we’ve had numerous adventures, and he’s became one of my closest friends. We’re family; his sons are like my nephews.

In fact, I have a book on Baja on my bucket list, provisionally titled Deep in the Heart of Baja, covering my 12 years of Baja exploration — a period in Baja (mostly the ‘90s) way different from today’s tourist-choked reality — and me hanging out with my three very different Mexican friends.

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Chilón is extraordinary, and I’ve been able to view Baja, and Mexico, through the eyes of a true Mexican. For 12 years, he had a radio show for kids, calling himself Perequín (the parrot), and it was immensely popular.

He would speak in a funny voice, telling the kids to obey their parents, do their homework, “…and now for the latest song from the Rolling Stones…”

Kids on remote ranchos loved the show (Sundays from noon to 2 PM). Now, 20 years later, the kids have grown up and they invariably recognize him on the streets.

In Praise of Laughter

He’s locally popular and tells jokes amd makes people laugh wherever he goes. Hanging with him is like moving around in a bubble of laughter and good cheer. Which is doubly good for me, because I’m not that confident with strangers.

Different Mode of Travel

As opposed to a 4-week trip I took in my truck this March, I flew down this time, rented a car, and spent a week in a small hotel in San José.

I went swimming every day, hung out with Chilón and wasn’t exhausted by driving 1500 miles (from San Francisco) on dangerous roads. I think this is my new M.O. for Baja,

“It is impossible to account for the charm of this country or its fascination. but for those who are familiar with the land of Baja California are either afraid of it or they love it, and if they love it, they are brought back by an irresistible fascination time and time again.”

-Earl Stanley Gardner

Local Fiesta

Serendipity was at work: two days after I arrived was La Fiesta de Dia de la Virgen de Guadalupe in the small nearby town of Miraflores. Many people (pilgrims) walk the 20 or so miles from San José, arriving at Miraflores late at night or in pre-dawn hours.

Pilgrims bring their paintings or statues of the virgin to be blessed in the church — and then party.

“The Virgin of Guadalupe is considered the patron saint of Mexico. Also known as the brown-skinned virgin, she is depicted with brown skin, an angel and moon at her feet and rays of sunlight that encircle her. The Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe has become the recognized symbol of Catholic Mexicans. Today, her image is found everywhere throughout Mexico, gracing churches, homes, restaurants, and even vehicles.”

-Medium

Miraflores residents have created their own lit-up tributes, which we passed on our way (along with the walking pilgrims), into the town center.

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Above: pilgrims streaming into town, after walking for hours (or all night)

We got there late at night and the fiesta was in full swing. There were maybe 1,000 people there and as far as I could tell, I was the only gringo. Yeah!

A dynamic 12-piece Norteño band (with a tuba — yahoo!) from San José was playing and people were dancing (“…characterized by a bouncing step and continuous turning of partners in a slotted embrace.” -Dance Life DanceMap

It was a powerful scene, maybe one of the best musical events I’ve ever witnessed. These were all local people — Choyeros and Choyeras — rancheros, cowboys and their sweethearts — people born and raised in the Los Cabos area. The dancers were amazingly together, moving in sync, as if glued together. I’ve never seen anything like it. I was in heaven — feeling privileged to witness such authenticity.

Chilón the Trickster

My good friend Chilón, always looking for laughs, tricked me big time at the Fiesta. We were having tacos, and the waitress, who had been lightly flirting, came up and said something to me which I didn’t understand.

Mi amigo Chilón jumped in with a translation: “She’s asking if you want to dance,” he said.

She was standing there, big smile, so I thought, why not? We had a minute or two of fun (isn’t that one of the goals of life?), with Chilón filming and goading me on.

It was only afterwards he told me about the trick — she’d asked if I wanted anything more.

“You m—————r!”

Later, I got a big laugh from his wife Carolina, by saying:

“Con amigos con este, quién necesita enemigos?”

It was actually a lot of fun — something I wouldn’t have done on my own — but don’t tell Chilón that.

Talk to Locals

I realized something about travel in general. Wherever you go, unless you’re in the company of a native, you ‘re not likely to get to the heart of things.

La jefa de la ranchero

And this leads me to conclude that this is true anywhere. I can have an amazing time in Florence, or Hong Kong, or Costa Rica, but unless I can hook up with a local, I’m gonna get the tourist — even if a respectful and informed (internet) tourist — take on life in these places.

Come to think of it, the principle even applies to American cities I visit. The first time I went to Portland, I pulled up next to a cool-looking guy on a bike and asked where I could get some good coffee. “Stumptown Coffee Roasters,” he said, and, sure enough — cool place. Over a strong latte, I started talking to a skateboarder and learned about Mt. Tabor, a long fairly easy downhill run right in the heart of the city. And while skating there I met and made friends with a Portland skateboard maker…

So the idea is, wherever you go — talk to locals. Where can I get good coffee, a good hamburger, or taco, or go swimming, or hear music? If you start getting into the local thread of things, it’ll make a world of difference.

AND — speak the local language, no matter how imperfectly. I once met a beefy gringo in Mulegé who called himself Pancho and was driving a honker of a Cadillac (he said it had 500 hp). (I sussed out that he was on the run from American authorities).

He was hanging out with a local fisherman and had a little Spanish/English dictionary, and said “Stick to Spanish, even if you get the words or tenses wrong. Don’t be embarrassed. Blunder your way along. People will appreciate it. It’s a sign of respect.” I’ve done that ever since, even if they’re speaking English, and it creates good vibes.

Here are some photos from the trip:

The Glass Half Full

I’ve been saddened and distressed at the huge population growth in Los Cabos of late (doubled in 10 years in San José, tripled in Cabo from 2010-2020). But as with San Francisco, where I spent 10 years being pissed off at the changes, but then realized that SF is still one of the most beautiful and culturally vibrant cities in the world.

You've got to accentuate the positive
Eliminate the negative
Latch on to the affirmative
Don't mess with Mr. In-Between…

-Song by Bing Crosby and the Andrew Sisters (also covered by Dr. John and Van Morrison)

So in Los Cabos, when I quit focussing on the negativity of uncontrolled growth, I realized I still loved the subtle beauty of the tropical desert, the beaches, the sea, the arroyos —and the people.

It’s just necessary to thread one’s way to the Real Baja.

GIMME SHELTER Newsletter in the Works

I’m working on my next newsletter, which I send out on an irregular basis to about 6500 people. The last one was 4 months ago. (If you want to get on this mailing list, send email address to lloyd@shelterpub.com.)

It’s different from anything of mine on Instagram or Substack; it’s the state of affairs of my life and work at the time— and I’ve got a lot of plates in the air these days.

BTW, after the first of the year, I plan to get more regular with Substack posts.

And yeah,I’m gonna say it for the umpteenth time, “I would have composed a shorter post, but I didn’t have enough time.”

Ain’t it the truth?