(about 10 days ago)
Things have spun in a new direction. A hundred miles after i last wrote i had a day feeling a bit fed up, lonely i think, and with my mind only on getting to la paz as fast as possible, past a stretch of coast notorious for its paradise-like beaches and scallops lining the ocean floor for the chasing. And past two offers of floor space- an ageing couple from santa cruz, she a yoga teacher, he a musician, and a couple of english guys with kayaks on the back of their truck- who i could have stayed with and had a lovely time. I decided i needed some company before i went to sleep and decided to cycle the 89 miles to the santa cruz couple. I missioned hard but the sun was setting and it would have been hard to find their place in the dark. then an old, scruffily hand painted VW lovewagon (the original type) drove past waving at me and beeping their horn. i waved and shouted like a mad man and they stopped. an intense italian ex-sports teacher running from the madness of europe (i have met a few europeans doing the same) and his punky mexican chica, an artist and a jewellrey maker, heading to cabo san lucas to make some dollars.
two days and an increasing friendship later and they are building the fire as i watch the afternoon shadow slowly climb up the cactus-clad islands across an azure-blue bay, sitting in a hammock writing this.
I am fortunate to have been travelling a while now and am able to have an instant easiness with people who are doing the same. they instantly offered to drive me to la paz, and thought god had sent me when i produced a bottle of strong cane-sugar liqour and the makings of a single spliff out of my bag by the firelight yesterday. it looks likely that i will swap my bike for their digital camera (it will be my 4th of the trip; they are so fragile)... money is only important if you haven't got any.
I am about 300 miles short of my fairly arbitrary goal of la paz, but i think i have cycled around 750 miles pretty much solidly from LA, and over 1200 from santa cruz. so i am happy. one thing i have learnt on this trip is, where possible, to just figure out what i WANT to do and do it, rather than thinking too much about pride or what people will think. and of course what i want, like 99% of people in the world, is to have a happy community around me, so it fits the whole revolution thing perfectly.
and so for the next few days i am going wherever these cats in the VW go until we reach la paz, which is pretty beach orientated and is fine by me. i am remembering all the projects i am doing that got sidelined by 8 hours of cycling a day- relearning all my mbira tunes with the correct timings, being proactive with the espanyol, doing somersaults underwater and startling little fishies.
Wish you were here
-----------------------
Two days later
At the end of a 30 mile dirt road at the bottom of the Bahia Conception (bay of conception) we were expecting our paradise. Instead we found someone else's paradis-' big american houses around a beach with powerboats and a feeling like we weren't welcome. Nico, the italian who had just performed a series of miracles driving the 25 year old VW van over terrain a Hummer would have had trouble with, was visibly furious. Fortunately the man in the single fishermans hut set back from the beach pointed to the next bay north, and here we found what we were looking for- a beach deserted enough to be teeming with wildlife. Dozens, if not hundreds, of pelicans screaming and diving like spitfires, making the most of the itinerant squid, who are in turn feeding on the shrimp that are, apparently, in season. Shells of lobsters, sea urchins, spiked puffer fish and all manner of beautiful crustaceans litter the beach. And it is HOT.
Nico and Erica have swept me up into their own trip around Mexico, at least as far as la paz, and I ask no questions as we drive from beach to beach.
---------------------
A few days (is it a week?) later, La Paz
We reached la paz after a few more white beaches and complete, full spectrum sunrises and a big drama about 70 miles away between the couple that involved Erica storming out of the VW and walking along for a while claiming she was leaving. Gandhi said not to judge people's bad points, just to learn from them, and i learnt that listening is a very important part of communication. We also spent a night in the VW outside an amazing little restaurant made entirely of stone (very unusual here) and i gave an impromptu mbira concert to the family that ran the place, which was really really nice. They had a big collection of National Geographic special books from the 80s and 90s- a special on the american railroads, one on gypsies around the world. filled with pictures representing other worlds. a fascinating insight into the fascinating insights people have in the more remote folds of the world.
I was expecting la paz to be a port/administrative town, but what i found was a really amazing, bustling town about the size of scarborough -which straight away made me feel at home- with a great mash of mexican and western influences ( it was colonised 3 times by various spaniards who couldn't handle the heat); a cool arts-music scene running through things (last night i went to a concert at the music institute' a mozart piano concerto, lizst and all sorts of original pieces), super friendly people and, at the south end of the bay, a big old marina filled with americans and new zealanders who could potentially give me a ride across to the mainland.
I am attempting the next level of hitchiking' that of hitching on boats. The last few days i have been opened up to a whole new world- groups of people my age learning how to work with boats, getting some cash together to get a boat, and then living basically for free (except food) as the boat is both ones house and transport, and the wind is the fuel. Life becomes one big conversation about boats and projects, followed by a party. The first day, whilst hanging out at the marina vaguely asking people if they knew anyone going to the mainland i met a few of these guys who have a big black sailboat anchored out of the harbour. They are 6, aged 25'30ish, a french captain, his beautiful australian girlfriend, a santa cruzian (they get everywhere...), a tree climber from arcadia and a guy build like a brick shithouse from oklahoma. we bonded over woodie guthrie and that night, under an almost full moon, i took a kayak from the beach and paddled out, clarinet and calabash on my back, to their boat for a big old jam session, greased with both white and brown rum... my first night in la paz and i could not have asked for anything more.
i woke up the next morning to find that the boat's radio, which i was going to use during the morning 'net', to radio all the boats telling them what a hard worker i was and could they please take me to mazatlan, was not working, and had to kayak hard to someone else's boat to use their radio, which i managed. i was dead funny having to do a cold'sale of myself on the radio to around 50 boats full of people, but i think i did ok.
The rest of the day, and the day after i just sat in the kind of communal spot, literally just sat, and read and kicked it with the sailing people passing through. The most chilled hitchiking i have ever, ever, done. There are some stereotypical rich republicans with loud voices, but by and large everyone on the marina is really cool. one guy with a Slayer cap told me that he had been backpacking for years and then realised that sailing was actually just glorified backpacking, just as cheap (if you know how to maintain boats), with a guarenteed soft bed and cooker, and almost always in beautiful places. My mind swirls like a ferrero rocher advert with the possibilities.
No ride has been forthcoming though, having said all that. Apprently it is the wrong time of year and people are coming TO la paz, not leaving it. I will give it a few more days and, if nothing is forthcoming, try and get onto a big lorry with my bike and hitchike onto the ferry that way. I think i am going to try and keep my bike for a while-it makes so much difference in a built up area having a bike- i have seen so much of la paz so quickly on the bike, and an afternoon of cycling and looking around allows you to figure out where the necessary stuff is and also get further away from the tourist areas and into the 'real' town.
and it is fiesta time here also. jesus (pronounced 'hey zeus' en espanyol) did something important this week a long time ago (i was going to say it is Ascencion but thinking about it it can't be) and there is free live music, church bells and families in their finest walking along the seafront at dusk. at one such concert i think i was re'baptised' or at least somethign similar' by some very passionate people who had english mastered only slightly better than my spanish, but when they put their hands on my head and almost wept i got the message. one of them said 'welcome to the family' and i said 'thank you very much'. Then i went busking and made 60 pesos in half an hour, and felt blessed :)
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Not too much to say in the desert
I know it has been a while since i last wrote. I hadn´t seen a shower, never mind an internet connection, in over 10 days. I have tried a couple of times to write down what has been going on, my cycle through the baja, but my mind has been empty. here is what i tried to write the other day:
It is just after dawn at a roadside cafe about 1-3rd of the way down the Baja California in Mexico. Trees are few and far between and the birds are clinging in choughs to one of them, their varied and excited singing the only thing breaking the silence of the sun´s movement up over the horizon. The 4ft dry sticks of cactus that make up the perimeter fence have 20ft long shadows. I have come to the conclusion this morning that i smell really bad. My groove lately just hasn´t been one that has involved washing, but i think perhaps now is the time. I have been cycling. Each day i wake like this at dawn, pack my shit up, eat a little and then just go. This part of the day is by far the best for cycling as it is not too hot and my body is rested form 10 or 12 hours of sleep and ready to eat up some miles. I cycle most of the day and think about nice things and watch the countryside change around me and try to explain to myself what i am seeing. First the road to San Diego, filled up with lycra-clad weekend cyclists, surf shops, fast food chains. Beautiful beaches. Then across the Mexican border to Tijuana, which i stayed in for all of an hour as I wanted to get as far away from the border, and at the same time higher and more varied chances of trouble, as possible before i slept. Then the cosmopolitan, americantouristcentric lands along the coast, the smell of barbequing beef and cruise ships docked in the harbour. Then seeing the density of people thin along with the vegetation, until finally 3 days ago a big ass hill took me up into the High Desert. I watched an entire ecosystem change in a few miles. Trees became shrubs, shrubs became cacti and huge boulders, lumped on the hard sand like beached whales. Towns became pueblos and pueblos became single ranches and cafes clinging to the desert. Every 30 miles or so there will be one of these squat little buildings, perhaps with a few trailers behind. Here a family will be basically chilling, kids running around, hot food, beer and random odditiees on sale -sun glasses here, cds there, elephants carved out of marble somewhere else, waiting for one of the few cars that drive by to stop and for slightly disorientated, desertified locals, truckers or tourists to eat and drink.
It is at these places that i find myself in the afternoons and where i eat a big meal and then ask if i can camp on their land. they always say yes and never charge me, but for a few days now none of them have offered to show me where the washroom is, and i don´t like to ask because i am not paying for my spot, so, well, i haven´t washed so much. And now i know that i need to do that in the next day or two.
But in this rhythm, smelly or otherwise, i have covered around 400 miles from LA down to where i am now, a place with a name almost totally irrelavent, at the junction of the only highway that crosses the baja with ha dirt road down to a beach.
Perhaps you can see from how i am writing that i hven´t spoken to anyone in a meaningful way a few days. My spanish is good enough to eat and sleep but not to describe, let alone explain. A week ago I went off the highway down a dirt road to another beach and spent 2 days with a friend of mark´s named Allen, a man who used to raise horses, koi and a monkey in san diego but for the last 18 years has lived alone in a backwater in mexico. He grows things, reads all day, has beauty in every direction and a big pool table in the middle of his large, one roomed cabin. He described it as paradise. I could see myself doing this in 40 years and it scared me. I couldn´t resist his book collection though, and am now travelling with a total of 8 books, which is totally ridiculous despite the fact that some of them are small. But when am i going to get my hands on a copy of woody guthrie´s autobiography, or an amazing compilation of parables from various chinese and japanese people (if i told you they were zen monks what judgements would you make?)... and who can refuse a william blake compilation when someone gives it to you saying that ´he had the most insight on the world out of any writer´. So as the evenings draw in and when my tent is up and ready i slip a few of these pages under my skull and the day rounds itself off nicely.
Yesterday was different though- when i pulled into my afternoon cafe i saw another bike sat outside and my heart smiled. Here was Juan, cycling from argentina to alaska. Cycling north, against the prevailing winds, with a donated bike and trailer after the one he started with got washed away in the tsunami that followed the earthquake in chile. Spanish. Top man. The cafe itself was the front end of a ranch that streched back into the desert, with maybe 2 dozen completed jigsaws on the wall, the most intricate and faded of which was what can only have been an ivy clad countryhouse from somewhere in Somerset.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/47339411@N04/5513388929/in/pool-1359126@N23/,
The uncle was playing the accordian, and i got out my clarinet and we played a while. he wanted to teach me two songs, the second of which was super simple but i just couldn´t get the timing of it right, at least to his ear, and much repetition and frustrated laughter ensued.
And now, with the shadows of the poles down to 5ft and the uncle and his shy cattle'herding son with coffee come to say buenos dias, i will go. I wanted to write a blog post but i guess communicating, like any skills, gets a bit rusty if it isn´t used for a while... the desert has sucked away my words.
____
now it is a few days later, and i am in an oasis village named san ignazio with tortillas in my belly and the sweatsalt out of my hair. here i have been sitting in boats watching whales- it is extraordinary- they come up to the boat and poke their heads out and allow you to pet them like a horse. their skin is like the arm of an expensive leather sofa. their eyes are as deep as the eyes of horses. the barnacles on them are gross and beautiful at the same time. i met a yoga teacher from santa cruz with a street musician husband who invited me to stay with them in their place two towns along. i will be there the day after tomorrow. after that, and another 300 miles of road, things are still a bit up in the air; maybe to max's friends' spot 300 miles south on the mainland, maybe directly to belize to do some scuba diving. or maybe somwhere to learn to surf properly. or maybe follow the whispers of ayawaska ceremonies in costa rica but, as i keep saying but totally failing to do, today is the most important day to think about and the stand next door sells tacos and margharitas, so i will be off.
It is just after dawn at a roadside cafe about 1-3rd of the way down the Baja California in Mexico. Trees are few and far between and the birds are clinging in choughs to one of them, their varied and excited singing the only thing breaking the silence of the sun´s movement up over the horizon. The 4ft dry sticks of cactus that make up the perimeter fence have 20ft long shadows. I have come to the conclusion this morning that i smell really bad. My groove lately just hasn´t been one that has involved washing, but i think perhaps now is the time. I have been cycling. Each day i wake like this at dawn, pack my shit up, eat a little and then just go. This part of the day is by far the best for cycling as it is not too hot and my body is rested form 10 or 12 hours of sleep and ready to eat up some miles. I cycle most of the day and think about nice things and watch the countryside change around me and try to explain to myself what i am seeing. First the road to San Diego, filled up with lycra-clad weekend cyclists, surf shops, fast food chains. Beautiful beaches. Then across the Mexican border to Tijuana, which i stayed in for all of an hour as I wanted to get as far away from the border, and at the same time higher and more varied chances of trouble, as possible before i slept. Then the cosmopolitan, americantouristcentric lands along the coast, the smell of barbequing beef and cruise ships docked in the harbour. Then seeing the density of people thin along with the vegetation, until finally 3 days ago a big ass hill took me up into the High Desert. I watched an entire ecosystem change in a few miles. Trees became shrubs, shrubs became cacti and huge boulders, lumped on the hard sand like beached whales. Towns became pueblos and pueblos became single ranches and cafes clinging to the desert. Every 30 miles or so there will be one of these squat little buildings, perhaps with a few trailers behind. Here a family will be basically chilling, kids running around, hot food, beer and random odditiees on sale -sun glasses here, cds there, elephants carved out of marble somewhere else, waiting for one of the few cars that drive by to stop and for slightly disorientated, desertified locals, truckers or tourists to eat and drink.
It is at these places that i find myself in the afternoons and where i eat a big meal and then ask if i can camp on their land. they always say yes and never charge me, but for a few days now none of them have offered to show me where the washroom is, and i don´t like to ask because i am not paying for my spot, so, well, i haven´t washed so much. And now i know that i need to do that in the next day or two.
But in this rhythm, smelly or otherwise, i have covered around 400 miles from LA down to where i am now, a place with a name almost totally irrelavent, at the junction of the only highway that crosses the baja with ha dirt road down to a beach.
Perhaps you can see from how i am writing that i hven´t spoken to anyone in a meaningful way a few days. My spanish is good enough to eat and sleep but not to describe, let alone explain. A week ago I went off the highway down a dirt road to another beach and spent 2 days with a friend of mark´s named Allen, a man who used to raise horses, koi and a monkey in san diego but for the last 18 years has lived alone in a backwater in mexico. He grows things, reads all day, has beauty in every direction and a big pool table in the middle of his large, one roomed cabin. He described it as paradise. I could see myself doing this in 40 years and it scared me. I couldn´t resist his book collection though, and am now travelling with a total of 8 books, which is totally ridiculous despite the fact that some of them are small. But when am i going to get my hands on a copy of woody guthrie´s autobiography, or an amazing compilation of parables from various chinese and japanese people (if i told you they were zen monks what judgements would you make?)... and who can refuse a william blake compilation when someone gives it to you saying that ´he had the most insight on the world out of any writer´. So as the evenings draw in and when my tent is up and ready i slip a few of these pages under my skull and the day rounds itself off nicely.
Yesterday was different though- when i pulled into my afternoon cafe i saw another bike sat outside and my heart smiled. Here was Juan, cycling from argentina to alaska. Cycling north, against the prevailing winds, with a donated bike and trailer after the one he started with got washed away in the tsunami that followed the earthquake in chile. Spanish. Top man. The cafe itself was the front end of a ranch that streched back into the desert, with maybe 2 dozen completed jigsaws on the wall, the most intricate and faded of which was what can only have been an ivy clad countryhouse from somewhere in Somerset.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/47339411@N04/5513388929/in/pool-1359126@N23/,
The uncle was playing the accordian, and i got out my clarinet and we played a while. he wanted to teach me two songs, the second of which was super simple but i just couldn´t get the timing of it right, at least to his ear, and much repetition and frustrated laughter ensued.
And now, with the shadows of the poles down to 5ft and the uncle and his shy cattle'herding son with coffee come to say buenos dias, i will go. I wanted to write a blog post but i guess communicating, like any skills, gets a bit rusty if it isn´t used for a while... the desert has sucked away my words.
____
now it is a few days later, and i am in an oasis village named san ignazio with tortillas in my belly and the sweatsalt out of my hair. here i have been sitting in boats watching whales- it is extraordinary- they come up to the boat and poke their heads out and allow you to pet them like a horse. their skin is like the arm of an expensive leather sofa. their eyes are as deep as the eyes of horses. the barnacles on them are gross and beautiful at the same time. i met a yoga teacher from santa cruz with a street musician husband who invited me to stay with them in their place two towns along. i will be there the day after tomorrow. after that, and another 300 miles of road, things are still a bit up in the air; maybe to max's friends' spot 300 miles south on the mainland, maybe directly to belize to do some scuba diving. or maybe somwhere to learn to surf properly. or maybe follow the whispers of ayawaska ceremonies in costa rica but, as i keep saying but totally failing to do, today is the most important day to think about and the stand next door sells tacos and margharitas, so i will be off.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)