Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Five

Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Note: This is a recap of Day Five of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico.  You can catch up on day four here. 

The first thing we did on Day Five, was get out the toolbox and give the bug some attention.  Well, the very first thing we did was get coffee.  I ordered from the hotel restaurant, and used my weak but growing Spanish to say “Cafe con leche. Dos. And….(I mimed walking fingers) vamose!”  It’s rough, but people seem to appreciate the attempt.  The waitress returned with two coffees to go and asked me for 35 pesos.  I handed her 40, and she handed them back to me and shook her head.  I looked down and noticed I had given her $40 Canadian.  Travelers’ problems

We spent about an hour in the hotel parking lot checking oil, reattaching fenders and getting the LED bar to work.  Then it was time to set our sights on Scorpion Bay.  We drove for a while before deciding to stop for lunch at a roadside restaurant.  Tacos, a torta and two coca lites really hit the spot.  The bill was a whopping 131 pesos, or $7.

At a gas station stop, Edgar filled up the tank and I went inside the little store for snacks.  I spotted a little bag of something called Choco Retas and decided we needed to try them.  They tasted like tiny little peppermint patties.  Addicting!

On the way out of the store I spotted a small dog, and of course stopped to pet it.  “You like dogs, amiga?” the man sitting in front of the store asked.  I admitted I did.  “I have puppies for adoption.  You want one?” I said no thank you and held firm, but I had to speed walk it out of there.

We’d spent some time researching the drive to Scorpion Bay, so we knew we would be a while on a dirt road, then take a left at a fish camp, and then we’d have the option to take the salt flats, or the north road.  There were warnings included with both.  Don’t stray from the path.  Don’t go alone.  Take a short wave radio…. and so forth.

Super salty.

We decided to go alone and take candy and a good attitude.  The north road needed a grader and it needed one badly.  It was washboard the whole way.  We tried to weave to a “better” part of the road, but better never really came.  A few times we would run into really soft sand, and we’d have to get a run at it to stay unstuck.  Other times we had to slowly rock crawl and rattle our way across stretches with no sand at all.  It was pretty exciting and we always made it up and out.

A few hours in we spotted a van coming the other direction, and the driver slowed to talk to us.  It was a couple from California and they were coming back from Scorpion Bay.  The driver offered us directions that included go straight, pass a goat farm, keep going, drive through the creek bed…. “How much farther is it?” we asked.  “Oh at least two more hours,” came the reply.  We waved our thanks and put the bug in gear.

All told, we were about seven hours on the north road.  We passed lots of cows, and a group of wild horses.  Of course I wanted to get close, but they were skittish and had foals with them, so they stuck around long enough for a couple long-distance clicks and then took off.   The scenery changed from the salt pools to sand to brush and then tall cacti.  We got a good long look at all of it, since the road conditions only allowed us to go about ten miles per hour.  (by ear)

One of the wild, wild horses.

Finally, we saw lights, and Scorpion Bay was just a right turn away.  The town is lovely… small, and developed just enough to have a few places to stay and one selling gasolina.  The Scorpion Bay Hotel still had rooms and the upstairs restaurant was open.  One note about the temperature – because Mexico is typically hot, the places we stayed had air conditioning but not heat.  If you travel during cooler weather, you might want to bring along an extra blanket.

After dinner, we took a walk and craned our necks to see a sky lit up with stars.

Miles traveled on Day Five: 194, including a decent section of the Baja 500

Coming up on Day Six:  Scorpion Bay delivers on its dependable reputation, and we meet a group of VW enthusiasts with an enormous amount of stoke.  Stay tuned (bro).

Everyday Adventures

Edgar, Travel

Traveling and adventure are defined by our perspective.

Indiana Jones had some of the most marvelous adventures that an on-looking thrill-seeking adolescent could ever imagine. When he wasn’t teaching class, he kept us captivated by roaring through the jungles in paramilitary vehicles, rescuing people in peril, and claiming booby-trapped riches for himself; what a wonderful existence.  It makes us wonder what his average day was like. Was it hum drum monotony around the university?  I don’t think so.  I believe he found wonder in it.  Professor Jones did not get bored because of his perspective, not his profession.

Most of us live fairly routine lives, and certainly all of our lives are common to ourselves.  We are used to our own activities, and this can be misunderstood, by us, as boredom.  This can lend to looking for greener pastures, and distract us from appreciating the beauty and adventure we are surrounded by daily.

A lot of us take on a different persona on vacation.  We appreciate a meal, are more outgoing, linger at a sunset.  Why not do that daily?  It’s free. It’s fun, and it’s simple.

Just a slight redirection of light, and the form is changed.

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Four

Surfing, Travel

Note: This is a recap of Day Four of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico.  You can catch up on day three here. 

Do you ever eat a dinner so delicious, you wake up thinking about having it for breakfast?  We greeted the two ladies in the kitchen on Day Four and used our poquito Spanish to explain where we’d stashed our leftovers, and to request they crack an egg on each one for breakfast.  Smiles and nods confirmed they understood, and they threw in some tortillas for extra measure.  We drove away munching happily on lobster tortillas, and knowing we needed to get some surf time in pretty quickly before our travel pants wouldn’t button.

It was time to fill up when we reached San Quintin, and since we were told there was no gas station for a couple hundred miles after that, we filled up our gas can too.  We ran into a few other Americans and Canadians at the gas station, and fielded some questions about the bug.  We did some rough math, and figured we could make it to Guerrero Negro if we took it easy.  The gas station employee advised Edgar to keep his foot out of it.  (Even if he had suggested a max speed limit, we couldn’t have adhered to it.  The Green Meanie doesn’t have a speedometer.  You gotta drive by ear and feel.)

Before the trip, we’d scoped out a few surf spots we really wanted to see on the way down.  One of them is called The Wall.   The internet will tell you that this beach is remote.  That doesn’t really do it justice.  We drove and drove and asked around everywhere we stopped, and at a couple friendly-looking security military checkpoints.  (We were never searched, or even paused more than a few seconds just to ask where we came from and where we were going.  Eye contact, smiles and polite greetings go a long way, and are always recommended when speaking to men with tactical rifles.)   Some of the roads south are great, and you can clip along at a speed that sounds to be around 60 miles an hour.  At other times, a swarm of potholes come at you out of no where, and at other points, that swarm contains bees.  Real ones.  Lots.  We smacked into them and left an interesting group of smudges on the windshield, and a group of live ones buzzed right into our open windows.  Luckily, they did not appear out for revenge.  For some reason they were drawn to the gear shift, and one after the other crawled up the shifter and onto Edgar’s hand.  We devised a release method. When the bee got on Edgar’s skin, I would hold us into fourth gear, as the car was still slipping out, and he’d keep one hand on the wheel and use the other to set the bee free.  We repeated these steps a few times until the remaining bees had been sent on their merry way.  We thank them for their non-stinging cooperation.

Our bee kill-and-rescue mission and our search for The Wall nearly had us forget our need for a gas station, but signs for Santa Rosalillita brought us back into reality.  It was a neat little fishing town with a couple of stores and homes.  The first shop lady we spoke to didn’t know about The Wall, but she did know her neighbors sold gasolina just down the road.  Sure enough they did, out of jugs stored in their shed.  While Edgar got that handled, I made sure all the dogs in the neighborhood didn’t miss out on a good scratching.  

Gas station, Baja style

An American pescadora who happened to be doing her shopping was familiar with The Wall, and explained the possible routes to get there.  “Is that your bug out front?” she asked.   We nodded.  “Oh, take the coastal road.  You can go anywhere in that.”

This was a refrain we heard a lot, but knew to take lightly.  The bug has some great tires, and a lot of heart, but she is a ’68.  We gave the coastal road a good once over and decided it was indeed the way to go.  It was sandy, bumpy and seemingly forgotten.  It traveled along the beach, through some ravines and a little inland.  We saw some tire tracks, and got a chance to get up on three wheels, but we didn’t see any other vehicles in the action.  We did see what was later confirmed as The Wall, but it wasn’t working because of two much onshore wind.  What we didn’t see, was an exit.

After bumping along for an amount of time that was just beginning to be concerning, we spotted a camper in the distance.  We cruised up to it and were greeted by a man with a beard, hat, open bottle of red wine and purple teeth.  He put out his hand and introduced himself as Fibber McGee.  He said it like it meant something, but he could tell by our faces that it didn’t click.  “Fibber!  From Fibber McGee and Molly in the morning!”  Nope.  Doesn’t ring a bell.  Fibber told us he was part of a very popular radio show in LA, and that he’d been on the air for years before they let him go over “something stupid”.  He offered us wine from his bottle, and a plate of the chicken and potatoes he was cooking.  “I’ve been here six months,” he informed us.  “I pay a local $100 a month and I live in paradise.”  We declined his kind offer, and he was visibly disappointed, but agreed to point us toward the way out.  Literally.  “You see that feather ridge, over there?” Fibber pointed at a spot about two miles away. “Take a left.”

It was thinking seriously about dark when we finally saw telephone poles, and then a paved road.  It was at this point we realized Fibber’s nickname wasn’t entirely accurate.  We turned south once again and set our sights on Guerrero Negro.  The bug was really hitting its stride when we hit a stretch of mean potholes – swerving away from one just meant smacking into another, and we heard a dreadful noise that sounded an awful lot like a flat tire, less than an ideal situation for 9pm on a Mexican highway.   We found a turnout and grabbed our flashlight for a look.  The tires held up, but the fenders took a hit on both sides.  Thanks to our stash of zip ties, we were able to zip them back on temporarily, and roll into town.  The Halfway Inn had rooms and a restaurant that was open for 15 more minutes.  The waiter explained this when he met us in the parking lot.  He also recommended the surf and turf, which was pretty good, and we turned in with a plan to get up at a decent hour and spend an hour or so “mechanicing” our little hearts out.

Miles traveled on day four: 285 road miles + 30 on sand dunes and dirt + 40 yards on three wheels

On day five, we survived the north road (but didn’t get a sticker) and were introduced to a tiny green Mexican candy.

 

 

 

 

Bee the Positivity

Travel

Change

New beginnings

All beautiful things

The change of season is a wonderful thing and a reminder that when things change there is always going to be beauty.

It all depends on your perspective.

Choose to see the hope.

Bee the positivity.

….

…

.

-Marie

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Three

Travel, Yoga

Note: This is a recap of Day Three of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico.  You can catch up on day two here. 

We had a nice breakfast with our Philippino friend and innkeeper, and headed to the bank to get some cash.  We were surprised to find a bank south of San Diego didn’t offer withdrawals in pesos, which we normally would have ordered in advance.  No matter, we got USD knowing we’d find an exchange place closer to the border.

There are a few tricky things about taking a car into Mexico from the US.  You need Mexican insurance and a temporary vehicle permit if you plan to go to the mainland.  It’s not required for Baja, so some travelers might be in for a surprise after driving around Mexico for a while, then deciding to cross on the ferry or drive around.  Permits are required, and you’ll need to be near a border crossing to get one.  To save yourself some hassle, look up the nearest temporary vehicle permit office to your border crossing city.  Check their hours too, as you don’t want to get stuck arriving just after closing.

Once you find the office, you’ll need to turn in your paperwork. You’ll need originals of your title and registration, and then copies of your driver’s license, passport, and tourist visa, all in the same name as the person responsible for the vehicle. You’ll pay a fee and a deposit to have your car in the country.  This deposit is refundable when you take the car back out of Mexico within 180 days.  The office will give you paperwork on this, so it’s best to read and make sure you understand the agreement.

We found out that this vehicle office used to give the individual temporary visas too, but stopped doing that at an undetermined time, which apparently took place prior to our arrival.  We were directed to go to the Tijuana airport to receive those.  I’m referencing those little sheets you fill out on international flights, and that are checked at customs.  Just because we didn’t fly in didn’t mean we didn’t need them, and the airline would need to see this when we flew out.

We headed to the airport without really knowing where we would go when we arrived.  We asked a couple of folks and got pointed in the right direction.  The paperwork required a small fee, of course, but we paid it, showed our passports and were on our way.

Edgar had received a recommendation for lunch at Hotel Rosa in Ensenada.  It was another gorgeous setting, with a breeze off the water, an infinity pool, and a bountiful supply of chips and guacamole.  With a locale this pretty, I couldn’t help getting into a few poses, and even got Edgar in on the action.

Our bellies full, we headed to the car… which again would not start.  We checked the wire that had given us trouble the day before, and it was holding solid.  Edgar did a little more investigating, and then I noted that it was making a clicking noise when he tried to start it. Once he heard that, he grabbed a hammer and had me try to turn it over while he hit the starter — boom.  Success.

We were headed to San Quintin, but stopped short when dusk fell and followed a sign toward a beach hotel in Camalu.  The road was bumpy and littered with stray dogs and a few horses.  No hotel in sight.  Just when we thought we should turn around, we spotted a large 2.5 story building (the third was in progress) with one lone dog out front.  Tell me, does this place look open for business?

Well, we were wrong and it was warm and inviting, with lights on and music playing when we opened the door.  Emmanuel recommended the lobster with vegetables.  He even allowed us through a back hall and into Room 12 so we could select our own.  Check out my plate — this was just my half!

I stuffed myself silly but couldn’t finish it.  We asked Manny to put our leftovers in the fridge.  We found a “parking spot” under the balcony and settled in for the night.

Miles traveled on day three: 195 (with a few hours paused at the border)

On day four, we drove through a swarm of bees and met an old radio DJ named Fibber McGee, who just happened to tell us the truth….

 

You’re Doing it Right

Yoga

No matter what business, hobby or fitness regime you’re into, you will always find someone on social media who looks like they’re doing it “better”.  Maybe they have the toys you only have in your dreams, or maybe they’re nailing the pose you’ve been attempting for years.  One of the things I appreciate about my yoga training is that our instructors emphasized every pose looks different in every body.  The length of your limbs and the way your hips are set are not the same as the yogi next to you, or the one looking so perfect on your feed.

So do it your way.  Find a quiet spot away from a mirror and practice the way you want to, for as long as you want to.  Skip a ridiculous amount of chaturangas.  Stay in child’s pose for a length of time you might have previously considered too long.  Breathe.  Feel how you feel instead of how you look.

My friend Sarah (above) encourages you with this thought:

 

Accept where you are right now.  Never compare today’s version of you with yesterday’s version of you or anyone else.

 

What is Yoga?

Edgar, Yoga

In Sanskirt (a Hindu language) the word “yoga” loosely translates as “unite” or “attach”, but its etymology centers around concentration.  Yoga’s origin can be traced back to 5th and 6th century India. It was also originally tied directly to Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism. The original practice was somewhere between a form of physical worship, sacrifice, and prayer. It was a manifestation of commitment and faithfulness. A true yogi, in this sense, w/ this level of commitment, could do miraculous things w/their body. In the 19th and 20th century yoga found its way to the west, and like all things, it was changed by its trip.

The timing of yoga’s arrival to the West had a significant impact on yoga, as well as the West. Imagine the year of our Lord 1801 U.S.A., and in strolls this very visual Eastern-based, focused, controlled practice. In the face of a Protestant or Catholic, at that time, it would have been a rough sell, and it picked up a stigma. Let’s skip ahead…

It’s 1960 baby, and yoga found a niche w/the fringe. This association, through the 60’s and 70’s, did not help bring help bring yoga into mainstream. It remained an outlier, changed and maturing, but not accepted. It was a misunderstood adolescent struggling to find itself in the West, much like the West of the time.

Today yoga is still not consistently defined due to these residual connotations and its own growth. We can accurately say yoga is a physical activity that requires an elevated level of concentration ,intentionally prompting a unique level of consciousness. We can also say that these things are good for you. It requires discipline and focus to practice yoga. We can say, focus and discipline, are needed for success and yoga can help you practice these things.

I think there is still some confusion to what level yoga is linked to spirituality or religion, and just like spirituality or religion, that level is dependent on the practitioner.

Yoga’s diversity lends to all levels of physical aptitude and subsequent health benefits. The different practices will also require various levels of concentration. Like all things, the benefit from yoga is a direct result of energy imputed, and if the yogi chooses to praise the Lord in this fashion, I say Glory be.

 

Edgar~

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Two

Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Note: This is day two of our adventures driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, California to Sayulita, Mexico.  If you missed day one, you can read that recap here. 

We woke up to find a thief had been at the bug and gone again, and the only thing he or she wanted was the “travelsurfyoga.com” tape on our window.  Sometimes even a cheap marketing ploy gets recognized for its value.  With a shake of our heads we piled back into the bug and set our sights on Sunset Cliffs, the birthplace of the fish surfboard.

Sunset Cliffs is beautiful.  Pictures don’t do it justice, but I’ll give it my best attempt.  Something about the clear blue water juxtaposed with the rocks and sky… I couldn’t stop saying how lovely it all was.

 

As we drove through town, we spotted two gentlemen and a golden retriever lounging outside a surf shop.  The guys smiled at our rig, and we swung into a parking spot.  Mark and his friend shook our hands and we checked out their boards for sale.  They told us about the nearby surf spot, not working that day unfortunately, and we chatted about a couple of places we planned to see on our way down the coast.  Mark told us about Richard, a local surfer and VW enthusiast, who was selling coffee out of a bus down by the water.  “It’s a blue VW bus, and he’s a surfer guy with long blonde hair.  Stop by and see him,” they encouraged us several times.  We promised we would and took our leave.

Sure enough, we stumbled upon Richard and his buses down by the shore.  He gave us a nod and his permission to park the bug next to his green VW bus for sale.  (It’s priced at 30k, in case you have the interest and a little pocket change.)  We ordered coffees and stretched our legs, and after a little chat decided to get back on the road.

Except, the bug wasn’t ready to move.  We pressed the button, and it wouldn’t start.  Hmmm.  Tried again.  Richard had ideas and so did his buddy, and we all got out to talk them through.  The buddy grabbed a can of starting fluid and gave it a go.  Still nothing.  After a little more tinkering, we discovered a loose wire in the ignition system.  Richard’s friend grabbed a crimping tool and viola!  It worked.  While it was running, we threw out one more question.  The first day the bug stayed in gear just fine, but on day two it was wanting to jump out of fourth, especially when pulling uphill.  Richard said it sounded like we needed to check the transmission fluid, and we drove off with that mission in mind, and directions to the nearest Auto Zone.

We pulled into a side lot to add the fluid, check the oil and tighten whatever we could access and turn, even just a smidge. When we went to fill the bug with transmission fluid, the fill port was only hand tight, so the fluid suggestion turned out to be a good one.  It didn’t cure the popping out of gear part, but the bug drank a bottle of the stuff and we certainly wouldn’t want to run it dry.

 

Back on the road, we decided we should adjust our original plan, and cross the border the next morning.  Our mechanic stop was well worth it, but it did cost us some daylight, and night time is not the best time to get into Mexico and get paperwork sorted.  We pinpointed the best place to stay just this side of the border, in a town called Chula Vista.  The El Primo Hotel had a confident name and a friendly manager/owner, who professed to be 79 years old “plus tax”.

I didn’t catch his name, but he was willing to share about his journey from the Philippines to the states when he was just 19 years old.  He joined the navy right away, and volunteered for submarine duty.  He told us he could see the sides of the hallways down below, begin to curve under the pressure at 3200 feet.  We could have swapped stories with him all evening, but we were hungry and not the only guests, so we said good night and walked down the street to an Italian restaurant, with 200 more miles under our belts.

On Day Three we required the services of Smack it with a Hammer Mechanics, and found out beach hotels that appear abandoned sometimes offer the best accommodations.  Stay tuned…

Taste Travels

Travel

Note:  One doesn’t have to travel to enjoy the sensation of it. That concept is brought to life in this guest post from author Kate Riley. 

Every time one of the family goes to Mex I crave jicama. I peel and slice a nice specimen, place in a freezer bag, add fresh-squeezed lime, red pepper powder or flakes, cumin, a dash of salt, shake and I’m on the road from Puerto Vallarta to Sayulita.

My precious friend, Clara, introduced me to this Mexican cuisine years ago.

She is originally from another small coastal Mexican town and is one of the hardest working, bravest women I have known.  She’s a warrior for freedom and a spectacular cook of traditional Mexican fare.

Travel is a wonderful event. Someone goes and it ignites the mind of one staying home eating jicama.

~Kate Riley

First Trip

Edgar, Travel

Since I can remember I have looked for the truth.  In this, I have not readily accepted what people tell me as fact.  I like proof.  I want fact, but I prefer it w/ data.  This has led me to “challenge authority”.
This has put me in an interesting group, slightly outside the herd.  I have lived on societies’ fringe, at the edge of firelight’s glow.  This has made me a seeker, a traveler, and made me search for the truth.  Like other travelers, what I seek is an understanding, but unlike many, I understand this has a price and accept the ride, and its lesson, is worth the cost of admission.

I remember running away from home for the first time.  I was about 5.  I had a disagreement w/ some level of authority at my house. I acted on the emotion provoked by this circumstance, threw on my spider man costume (it was just after Halloween), packed a bag, and hit the road.

We lived on five acres, and out on a rural route.  I headed down the drive and then North.  I went for what seemed like forever, and finally came to rest in the neighbor’s lawn.  I remember the grass was cool, as I sat in it, w/ the sun setting.  I opened my bag, and took out some candy to eat.  My first meal on the road was fabulous.

As I sat in the cool grass, eating sweets, in that solitude I felt a grand independence and peace. I was alone, and apprehensively excited about what lie before me.  I was at the edge of the firelight, excited about exploring the dark.  In this, I found peace, and an appreciation for my soft warm bed.

I packed it in, and returned home from my first journey.

I returned w/ a new understanding of life and self.  Since this, my wanderings have grown, but they are still filled w/those deep and colorful thoughts and feelings.

Travel thrills me and continues to enrich my mind, spirit, and soul.

Edgar~