La Vida
Un vida Escondido.
Donde Los Memorias son como las Playas.
Nuevo cada Momento, La Agua
El mano del Creador,
Siempre en Movimiento.
Yo soy Libre.
El Camino estas estirando.
Para conocerte.
La vida, En Mexico, es Differente. Like I wrote before, the ambience at both sides of the wall that separate the 2 young nations, is dramatic. As I was somewhat at a loss as to why there was no American immigration at the border in Tijuana, and feeling that at the least I should get some kind of stamp or something, the Mexican border guy told me to go back into the American side, and ask there. This I did, and they weren't pleased. It only resulted in a bunch of very surprised and slightly annoyed American border guys. 'Of course there is no exit stamp', they assured me. Checked my bags again, took my mandarins which I had only minutes earlier acquired in the exact country I was again going in to, The US, pointed out that my visa was to expire the next day (You don't say! Well thanks officer, I might have missed that quintessential fact.) and walked on. So let's get this clear. The American gov'ment don't want any Mexicans in their country and are kicking tons of them out, but they do trust the Mexican border guys to prove with their stamp that visitors have left the country, just to save some what.....Ink?
We made it in a whirl through the unknown darkness, and I was dumped on a corner somewhere, in an unknown town. Am I in danger? People keep assuring me that I should be, But I don't feel that way.
Luckily I walked into a beautiful looking cafe or shop or something full of Buddhas and eastern art and indoor fountains, where friendly human being directed me to the nearest cheap hotel.
Passing a few sketchy looking grottoes of bars with neon interior lighting and a desperate looking prostitute trying to whistle down cars on a corner, I found hotel Del Mar. It turned out to be a reasonably clean, pretty affordable and actually not unfriendly place. I stayed 2 nights, just to get my bearings in this new and wild land, and to mentally prepare for the journey that lay ahead of me.
My plan was to hitchhike down the Peninsula of Baja California all the way to La Paz, Mexico, and from there cross over to the main land.
Next morning, the first guy to pick me up was actually a bus driver, who, it quickly turned out, was a Jehovah's Witness. He was real friendly, and took me all the way out of town to a good hitching spot, even providing me with some interesting reading material for on the way, mostly about what the bible really says.
Next was a couple of men in a pretty run down Ford type landcruizer, that they were driving down from the US to sell in the Peninsula. The 200 odd km. journey turned out to become a day filling affair, as we stopped a good few times at the houses of this friend or that relative, who might wanna buy his car. The last stop we actually left that car behind, changed to another, that also belonged to him but that he was trying to sell through a friend. It ran out of gas as soon as we got back of the road though, like literately, in less than half a kilometer, whence we parked it at a shop. His car-buying friend than showed up with yet another vehicle of doubtful repute, than we than used to get to my ride providers house.
This house was one like one sees in many suburbs of Mexico, one in a whole neighborhood of exactly identical single-form 2 room poured concrete blocks, without running water or any real functional furniture, the dessert creeping in through the garden upon which it was built.
He invited me to stay, but I felt the urge to go on. So I walked away, hitching sigh in hand as a strode through this forlorn outpost, dozens of startled eyes following my foreign feet, until I once again come to the road. A short hop in a pickup followed, than a longer ride in a huge RV, Like I mean HUGE! One of those massive contraptions that you see all over the States, with a jeep in tow, usually driven by some old dude livin' it up on his retirement.
To my surprise however, I was shown into this luxury palace on wheels by a young Ukrainian girl, and her two Ukrainian friends. They were all on their way south as well, hoping to get to Panama in only five weeks, with their current form of transport a bold leap indeed, considering the deteriorating roads we were facing, and they would only get worse the further south they pushed their monster truck.
I spent the night sleeping under a tree, and when the light returned, jumped in a car with a young beach loving couple on their way to Bahia de los Angeles. I was tempted to join them, since this bay was reportedly the prettiest in the Baja, but as we drove through a marvelous stretch of dessert full of large beige boulders interspersed with thousands of giant cactus, I decided to stick to the road, and keep going.
A happy Chilean Family was next, taking me across the border of north and south Baja in their classic looking camper RV, with 3 kids on board, crawling all over the place as we rode on with a cloud of yellow dust following us wherever we went.
I was dropped at a large junction, where I waited a while, a bunch of cars passed, but it seemed they were giving me the time to notice that hearts were everywhere. My Love was strong on my mind and suddenly I recognized the shapes of hearts in the broken window glass on the road, in several stones, in a piece of gnawed old wood, that bit of sand.....a heart.....yes! Even as I looked around the corner of the nearest electrical shack, sure enough, someone had been kind enough to graffiti a green heart there. Love, was in the dessert air.
 |
| Waking up in the Oasis |
My host was very friendly and I played with his tiny puppy and equally sized kitten, who immediately made themselves at home in my tent at first opportunity.
It took me a while to decide if I wanted to leave this oasis (of calm, literately) and so made a morning walk through the river bed, gorging myself on freshly fallen dates and discovering many a romantic view between the palms, and got the first scents of the tropics coming through, of some abundant pink flower, or a hidden glade with juicy tall grass featuring frail silver tassels.
I did move on in the end, but not after some 3 hours of waiting in the full sun, good thing I still had my hat, 'cause I was about to lose it.
In those 3 hours, I studied a colony of ants, that had a highway running alongside ours for at least 30 meters, probably more, over blade of grass and over sand, an amazing feat!
My only ride for the day was a long one, carrying me for some 4 hours along the east coast of the peninsula, crossing some spectacular bays and rocky coastline taking the road up and down and through many an old mining town where the french had left their traces of baguette and architecture, before pulling out in the 80'ies.
He dropped me in a beach town just as the darkness overtook us, and in the commotion, my hat was forgotten. And when you are hitchhiking, and you forget something, usually, it's really gone. I often only chat while driving, and did not exchange contacts or anything.
It was sad, but there was nothing else to it, I walked to the nearest camping accompanied by a guy with a trumpet that had only been playing for 2 days, but was trying relentlessly nonetheless, and I could hear him still long after I had found my nightly resting place that evening.
This was a pretty cute town really, and one of the oldest European settlements on the Peninsula.
In the morning, while on my way out, I ran into a large crowd of Horsemen and women gathering in front of the church for a much needed parade in the name of some saint or other. Possibly in preparation for the name day of the Virgen of Guadelupe on the 12th of December. There was a cheery vibe in the air. Many of the horses were decked out in beautifully crafted saddles and hoistery, and some of the men wore large leather leg caps, and all wore their finest cowboy hats!
I kept walking, but was soon followed by the cavalry horde of some 300, and a traditional band playing in the back of a pickup truck, all boys in fancy blue satin shirts and wearing white waistcoats with proud silver buttons.
Again, one ride did the trick, and an American man on his way to the cabos, all the while assuring me that he didn't like the cabos, even though he had never been there exactly for that reason, but still going there now, maybe just to prove to himself that he was right, dropped me at the fringes of La Paz a few hours later.
La paz is where the ferry crosses to the main landmass of Mexico, as Baja de California might as well be an island for all practical matters, being connected only by one road all the way in the north as it is, that runs right along the border with the US for a good while.
One night I dwelled here, enjoying the strange atmosphere of my hotel, with lots of decaying charm, half abandoned as it was, and brightly painted where still in use.
The complex was extensive, and its furthest quarters had the ceilings fallen in, or rooms stacked to the roof with old car tires, or toilet pots, or had now windowless cavities in their walls that looked out over the jumble of random construction that fills the bay of La Paz.
The ship was Titanic. A white mountain of steel, coughing up a pillar of exhaust fumes like a volcano, grunting like a thunder cloud.I got a chair in the cheapest compartment of the vessel, pushing off as darkness set in once more, and made my bed on the floor though in the flickering light of some weird movie about King Atrhur, a concept totally alien to most of the Mexicans watching I'm sure, and so bizarre in this time and place. Huge flat-screens blaring, and most nodding in it's radiance. Why?
The morning was fresh and much needed, and brought a new surprise.
While on deck outside, enjoying a simple breakfast of French-Mexican baguette, tahini, miso and trail mix, a crowd gathered on one side, and there, some ways away in the deep green of the sea, a group of wales could be seen, possibly humpbacks judging by their back fin. Spewing out fountain of vapor into the morning light. Not so close, but definitely present.
What a gift to be allowed to encounter these majestic creatures. The skeleton of one of which, had been consuming all my awe only the day before, in front of the maritime museum.
It's bones sooo huge, so colossal, like nothing I had ever seen before. Much larger than dinosaurs for sure, a water dragon indeed!!
Not ere long we pulled into the harbor of Mazatlan, where once again again released into the Mexicam mayhem, but now so much more vibrant ant tropical, and started on my way further south. As the roads now became more complicated, I resolved to take the bus sometimes. That night was spent camping in a sugarcane field, and than the morning gave me the gift of a sweet ride in the back of a pickup filled with furniture, all the way through the Mezcal heartlands where Tequila is won, up and over the mountains, to the town of Guadalajara. I was invited into the house of my ride provider and his friends, who lived in a mansion of sorts, but unfinished, so without water, gas or pavement, but with designer door knobs and luxury build in kitchen, and since that day lost of extra beds that we had just brought in. They were a group of middle class students of civil engineering house sitting for their boss. They invited me to the local real Italian pizza place run by a real Italian, and nibbled crunchy crusts by a campfire in the sand in his lovely decorated restaurant garden with lights dangling from the branched of a huge overhanging tree and palm and sweet music drifting through the gentile evening air.
Than, down to the coast, more rides, and than buses, dead dogs on the road and the landscape switching between lush greens and dry shrubbery hills supposedly once carpeted with thick jungle cover. It was definitely getting warmer though, and I welcomed it, whenever I managed to escape the icy claws of airconditioned travel.
From town to town I hopped. Often not making more than 250 km a day, but with the state that the roads are in, and the considdering that the whole Mexican countryside is infested with deadly 'topes' (homemade speed bumps) that was still quite a feat.
This way, at last, after journeying some 4700 km from northern California by land and sea, I reached the state of Oaxaca, which had been my destination for now.
Whilst in Guatemala last year the name of a certain beach called Mazunte had often come up in conversation. Also it is close to Zipolite, a tropical marvel of which I cradle fond memories of my firs journey to these parts back in 2004. So I decided to go and check it out.
The last bus dropped me some 7 km from the beach, and I decided to make it a nice morning walk. As the silver moon rose low, now almost fully inverted, I camped at the first possible abandoned lot, and could already hear the thunder of the fray far, far over the hills.
Once at the beach, soon a wonderful bed I found. On a rocky rise overlooking a small cove hangs my bed from the rafters, covered by a mosquito net with the large waves crashing on the rocks right below, swinging in the breeze. A bunch of thatched dwelling has been built along the shore in which free folk of many walks of life find themselves voluntarily stranded for short or longer periods.
I soon found some friends, as this place is somewhat of a sister village to San Marcos Atitlan.
We went to see the sunset that night on a cove a little ways away, it was beautiful, so imagine my surprise when next morning, I awoke to see the sun rise over the ocean as well!!
What?! How is this Possible? Have I gone crazy? Am I tripping balls? Have I slept through the whole day or has time started running backwards? All thoughts that crossed my mind in that moment.
But No, The Sunset beach is on yet another peninsula, facing west, whereas our cove faces east, and my bed even more so. Yet, it was pretty Bizarre.
For a Long weekend I dwelled on that sun laden beach, mostly hiding from the fierce cosmic rays under leaf of palm or simple hut, surrounded by the free and frolicking of the world. Did I ever say I did not much like the beach? That was a mistake. I love the beach, the gorgeous waves that crash and destroy behind you as you try to stay afloat. The might of the fountains of vapor escaping as the water caves in on itself. The ever changing sands of the shore, uncovering and hiding new rocks every day.
One day I walked the length of the strand towards Zipolite, along the wild cliffs and deserted beaches where sea turtles apparently make their nests.
I had changed, of course it had, from how I knew it 13 years ago. Or maybe, it is just my memory that is different?
Still beautiful though, if slightly faded, the water ever still pushed through that large heart shaped hole in a rock with every rise and fall of the waves.
My next stop was Oaxaca. The vibrant central city of the south. Nestled between several ranges of brown mountains on the bottom of what must once have been a large lake or sea, lies a town where the facades of the houses are as bright and colorful as it's inhabitants.
They take no shame in fierce shades of paint and so the streets are a pleasure to behold.
After a 6 hour ride through the mountains I found a sweet hostel on the edge of the old town with a lovely courtyard full of flowers and a fountain. It was so clean and well managed, but not totally like me. So I moved to a more shabby place with a real mexican feel, and met some very talkative local folk, staying in the dorm.
Than I heard about a range mountains nearby and decided to go and explore.
Getting ot of town was not easy, having to discover which shared cab exactly went where, with the abundance of them around as there was. Luckily there is always some helpful folk everywhere, and so soon enough I was buzzing up the hills, to a town that would be my starting point.
I had a Map, I spoke Spanish, I had my tent and some extra gear, this should do the trick. And so I started Hiking.
The Sierra Juarez where I now found myself is a densely forested area with a few small hill towns where real Mexican village life still takes place. Many people speak the local Mixtec language as their first tongue, woman wear skirts and aprons, and men wear hats and often carry machetes. They were all really friendly to me, and often quite surprised I felt, to see such a strange foreign being walking the common dirt roads all by himself.
Even though the area has an ecotourism agency, I, like usual, wanted to draw my own plan, and so just set out walking without a guide.
It was a really good experience. The first night in Capulalpam I got to camp at a place with an amazing view over a wide valley, and as Christmas was drawing near, I was able to witness the first night of procession that traditionally takes place before the holy evening. It consists of a rowdy fanfare band leading a crowd that carries a Christmas stall or idol through town, stopping at several houses to give blessings? I'm not sure, I coulden't really see
but it was really cute. On the fringes of the mob, kids were lighting fireworks, and there was a
general warm feeling and lots of chatter between the villagers, even during service!
For 3 days I walked, going ever higher through the pine woods, the roads often lined with giant agave plants as fencing to keep the cows out, or in, I don't know. One night I camped in the town of Yavesia, right next to a beautiful 16th century church with a double bell tower, where a man sounded the bells by hand once a day, like, he actually went up to the bells and hit them with the clapper.
The last night I reached the small village of Cuajimoloyas, way up at around 3000 mt. altitude. The air was crisp, and the night was dark and full of stars. People were so friendly and genuinely interested in where I was from anbd what life in my country was like.
Simple food of tortilla and beans, and the cooked leaf of the prickly pear (without the needles thank mercy) known as Nopales, is what is eaten here, and I love it.
I may be so thankful to be able to experience this simple life. To walk in the forest on my own. To have time and space to think about my life and dreams.
I often get carried away taking myself too serious.
and than other times I feel I am not being serious enough about life.
But these are really healing moments.
I generally feel that this is my time in life to manifest, and that whenever I'm not doing that, I feel rather lost or like I'm wasting my time.
The next day I went over the pass, and started descending back to the valley.
Views were spectacular, and the road long and dusty.
Hazy mountain after mountain, and the brown lowlands at ridiculous angles from where I stood.
The vegetation changing as I descended, and the tropical heat engulfed me once more.
With heavy limbs and slightly blistered I walked into the town of Teotitlan that afternoon, as the shadows lengthened.
The 60'ties still seemed to linger here, as there was hardly a car to be seen, streets were cobbled and woman of small stature wore their dark hair in braids.
The white church I passed has apparently been built right on top of a Aztec pyramid, but sitting on its large raised doorstep, I was overcome by the rich sweet smell of the many white lilies that lined the walls inside in rich bouquets, transporting me to some cool, ancient roman temple or other, once, long long ago....
Overwhelmed too I was, by the stunning weaving skills of the many local carpeteers.
Many bundles of natural hand dyed wool could be seen hanging in the shady courtyards of the houses that lined the central street. Patterns of incredibly beauty and intricacy, shouting at me to take them with me. So stunning these motives, and so bright the colors used. I could only barely resist.
But where to put such an artwork? In which house, and how to take it? Oh, but marvel at the skill and creativity I did with glee!
Than I caught a ride back to the city, that funnily gave me a detour past the world's larges tree by girth, El Tule.
I had been here before, but it was no less impressive, and now supposedly slightly larger than last time. The difference would hardly be noticed however, 2000 plus years old as it is.
A building of wood, a cavernous canopy of millions of leaves. Such a great, great, great, great grandmother tree. Oh what a miracle indeed!
Now I'm back in my chilled out shabby Mexican crib, sitting on the high wooden bunk bed as I write this to you.
It's been a beautiful journey, and it still is.
Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.
For more photos of the Mexican chapter, you may check out:
https://photos.app.goo.gl/7xNenIHW4WbRqjGj2
One day I walked the length of the strand towards Zipolite, along the wild cliffs and deserted beaches where sea turtles apparently make their nests.
I had changed, of course it had, from how I knew it 13 years ago. Or maybe, it is just my memory that is different?
Still beautiful though, if slightly faded, the water ever still pushed through that large heart shaped hole in a rock with every rise and fall of the waves.
My next stop was Oaxaca. The vibrant central city of the south. Nestled between several ranges of brown mountains on the bottom of what must once have been a large lake or sea, lies a town where the facades of the houses are as bright and colorful as it's inhabitants.
They take no shame in fierce shades of paint and so the streets are a pleasure to behold.
After a 6 hour ride through the mountains I found a sweet hostel on the edge of the old town with a lovely courtyard full of flowers and a fountain. It was so clean and well managed, but not totally like me. So I moved to a more shabby place with a real mexican feel, and met some very talkative local folk, staying in the dorm.
 |
| The Colors of Oaxaca |
Getting ot of town was not easy, having to discover which shared cab exactly went where, with the abundance of them around as there was. Luckily there is always some helpful folk everywhere, and so soon enough I was buzzing up the hills, to a town that would be my starting point.
I had a Map, I spoke Spanish, I had my tent and some extra gear, this should do the trick. And so I started Hiking.
The Sierra Juarez where I now found myself is a densely forested area with a few small hill towns where real Mexican village life still takes place. Many people speak the local Mixtec language as their first tongue, woman wear skirts and aprons, and men wear hats and often carry machetes. They were all really friendly to me, and often quite surprised I felt, to see such a strange foreign being walking the common dirt roads all by himself.Even though the area has an ecotourism agency, I, like usual, wanted to draw my own plan, and so just set out walking without a guide.
It was a really good experience. The first night in Capulalpam I got to camp at a place with an amazing view over a wide valley, and as Christmas was drawing near, I was able to witness the first night of procession that traditionally takes place before the holy evening. It consists of a rowdy fanfare band leading a crowd that carries a Christmas stall or idol through town, stopping at several houses to give blessings? I'm not sure, I coulden't really see
but it was really cute. On the fringes of the mob, kids were lighting fireworks, and there was a
general warm feeling and lots of chatter between the villagers, even during service!
For 3 days I walked, going ever higher through the pine woods, the roads often lined with giant agave plants as fencing to keep the cows out, or in, I don't know. One night I camped in the town of Yavesia, right next to a beautiful 16th century church with a double bell tower, where a man sounded the bells by hand once a day, like, he actually went up to the bells and hit them with the clapper.
The last night I reached the small village of Cuajimoloyas, way up at around 3000 mt. altitude. The air was crisp, and the night was dark and full of stars. People were so friendly and genuinely interested in where I was from anbd what life in my country was like.Simple food of tortilla and beans, and the cooked leaf of the prickly pear (without the needles thank mercy) known as Nopales, is what is eaten here, and I love it.
I may be so thankful to be able to experience this simple life. To walk in the forest on my own. To have time and space to think about my life and dreams.
I often get carried away taking myself too serious.
and than other times I feel I am not being serious enough about life.
But these are really healing moments.
I generally feel that this is my time in life to manifest, and that whenever I'm not doing that, I feel rather lost or like I'm wasting my time.
The next day I went over the pass, and started descending back to the valley.
Views were spectacular, and the road long and dusty.
Hazy mountain after mountain, and the brown lowlands at ridiculous angles from where I stood.
The vegetation changing as I descended, and the tropical heat engulfed me once more.With heavy limbs and slightly blistered I walked into the town of Teotitlan that afternoon, as the shadows lengthened.
The 60'ties still seemed to linger here, as there was hardly a car to be seen, streets were cobbled and woman of small stature wore their dark hair in braids.
The white church I passed has apparently been built right on top of a Aztec pyramid, but sitting on its large raised doorstep, I was overcome by the rich sweet smell of the many white lilies that lined the walls inside in rich bouquets, transporting me to some cool, ancient roman temple or other, once, long long ago....
Overwhelmed too I was, by the stunning weaving skills of the many local carpeteers.
Many bundles of natural hand dyed wool could be seen hanging in the shady courtyards of the houses that lined the central street. Patterns of incredibly beauty and intricacy, shouting at me to take them with me. So stunning these motives, and so bright the colors used. I could only barely resist.But where to put such an artwork? In which house, and how to take it? Oh, but marvel at the skill and creativity I did with glee!
Than I caught a ride back to the city, that funnily gave me a detour past the world's larges tree by girth, El Tule.
I had been here before, but it was no less impressive, and now supposedly slightly larger than last time. The difference would hardly be noticed however, 2000 plus years old as it is.
A building of wood, a cavernous canopy of millions of leaves. Such a great, great, great, great grandmother tree. Oh what a miracle indeed!
Now I'm back in my chilled out shabby Mexican crib, sitting on the high wooden bunk bed as I write this to you.
It's been a beautiful journey, and it still is.
Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.
For more photos of the Mexican chapter, you may check out:
https://photos.app.goo.gl/7xNenIHW4WbRqjGj2
