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Published: July 24th 2012
Wicked Baja
They have created an art installation walk in the new Puerto. Love it!Unfortunately, a severe lack of vitamin D does strange things to your sensibilities. Why else would I leave the safety of my beloved homeland twice a year to voluntarily fly into a country plagued with corruption and horrific violence...all in the name of getting some sunshine?
Hello, my name is Andrea and I am a climate refugee.
Climate refugee: one who has been forced to leave his/her native place due to climate change, a phenomenon known as forced migration... Well okay, I'm not exactly forced....but I am also not alone. In 2011, 600,000+ Canadians just like me flocked to Mexico to get relief from our ridiculous winter weather. I guess the risk of being randomly assassinated at the local frutas y venturas is minuscule compared to the perils of going absolutely bonkers from lack of sunlight.
Besides, the Mexican government love us pale, fat peoples from the North. We brought over $528 million to their economy in 2010 alone. That's a lot of pesos. However, I highly suspect our money is used to bribe the drug cartels for a guarantee of no violent conflicts transpiring in their profit rich hotspots like Cancun & Los Cabos. Great plan,
Nacho Libre
Can wrestling be any more fun! unfortunately criminals don't always keep their word...I discovered this first hand when I recently witnessed a shoot out in the parking lot at the Cabo Wal-Mart between the good police and corrupt ones. Surreal.
But I LOVE this place. I know for me, being born and raised in British Columbia...rain is just a part of life. And like the Matrix, we all just go about our business until someone gives us the red pill. My red pill was the Baja. I woke up one day and realized I had developed a severe case of SADs....no, not syphilis...SADs - seasonal affective disorder - also known as winter depression.
Apparently the measly flickering fluorescent bulb hanging over my head all winter wasn't sufficient enough to ward off this particular syndrome. It creeps in innocently enough with symptoms such as difficulty waking up, insomnia, morning nausea, tendency to oversleep, anxiety, craving carbohydrates, irritability, lack of energy, difficulty concentrating on tasks, withdrawal from social activities and yikes, decreased sex drive...which also explains Canada's declining population stats...but I digress.
It has been argued that SADs is just an evolved adaptation in humans to the hibernation response. Presumably, food was scarce during most
of human prehistory, and a tendency toward low mood during the winter months would have been adaptive by reducing the need for calorie intake...plus, there wasn't a convenient Tim Horton’s or McDonalds on every street corner.
In many animal species, hibernation is the direct response to surviving a cold winter…which is all well and fine, but us humans have to go to freaking work! This theory also explains why most Canadian men feel the need to construct a man cave within their home. I just want to flee. My overwhelming urge to run away from my country becomes unbearable right around the same time as the darkness descends. I need sunshine, stat. Could there be a place in this world where I am guaranteed sunshine every single day? A place that is popcorn-fart dry? Enter the Baja. So I pilgrimage to my version of Mecca....and like that song
I've got my pumped-up kicks and I can outrun bullets. Cabo San Lucas and San Jose del Cabo = Los Cabos. If you've read any of my previous blogs, you'll know I love the peculiarity of this place. Over the years I have tried to put my thumb on
The local dudes
talented locals posing while they wait for their competition set what is so appealing, what keeps me coming back. There is no logical answer.
My normal activities are based around volunteering and various eco-projects, but I also go looking for stimulating distractions, and don't need go far. Case in point, I know some locals who know locals that are willing to expose me to oddball quirky Mexican culture on a regular basis.
You have not truly enjoyed Mexico unless you witness a ‘nacho libre’ wrestling match. Whether it the vibrantly tight costumes that leave little to the imagination, or the showboating antics that ooze that Latino machismo, or the rap music played at an inhuman decibel, I am hooked. On this particular occasion, I find myself on the outskirts of San Jose del Cabo in the dead of night. An old ranch on a dusty back road is tonight's host for this event. I am stone sober and I wish I weren't. As the only large towering blonde amongst a slew of little men...all of whom have been drinking since Friday night, I am stared at severely. I eye two dishevelled Tios propped up at by the fence having siestas...hopefully, one has peed himself. Around a crudely erected
Baja Blue
glorious days along the playa wrestling ring, fans are whipped into a frenzy cheering for their favourite hometown boy. At first I sit quietly…mouth agape in astonished position, midway I am up off my chair hurling curses at the opposition in my crude Spanglish. Not clear if they were at all effective, however I may have insulted someone's female dog very satisfactorily.
My entrance fee is earned back tenfold...I haven't laughed that hard in a long while. The ever present smell of refried meat lingers in the air...there is always the opportunity to find a taco at a moment's notice here. Before I realize it, the event concludes and one of the winners rips off his colourful mask jubilantly as the crowd goes wild. They carry him off on their shoulders and everyone suddenly filters out...after all, it's a serious workday mañana. I'm left standing there with the crickets, wondering what just happened.
Most of my adventures on the Baja come by fluke really. I like it that way. The unpredictability of events that make up one's life is truly a joy lost in the general hustle and bustle of life.
One morning, as I was driving the Mexican 500* (*a forced
The Ring Bearer Awaits
Cow has eaten all the church grass and now just waits for it to grow back...I'm guessing. participation should you attempt to drive any highway in Mexico) from La Paz back to Los Cabos when I noticed there was quite a gathering at the long stretch of beach along the coast. The local surf competition at La Curva was underway. When I wandered down, I ran into a couple people and next thing I knew I was being asked to help with the judging. Two problemos with this. I don't know how to judge a surf competition, and I don't speak Spanish fluently. What could go wrong? I am handed an official looking clipboard, and a beer. I deduct that perhaps this might be a little on the informal side, and relax. My fellow judges and I have a fantastic day as we watch from the comforts of our beach chairs, each local surfer choreographs a mesmerizing dance on top of every perfect wave. It is a skill I can truly envy having attempted to do the same my earlier years in Oahu. Downside, I think I may have sunburnt my eyeballs.
Even the day to day chores and errands become so much more enjoyable in the sunshine. Every Saturday I walk down to the arroyo
The sunset of a million
Yes, the sun sets every evening like clockwork but for some reason this one is so spectacular it feels like it will never happen again. on the edge of SJD to get my weekly vegetables and fruit from the local organic farmers. But honestly, I'm also there to watch all the hoopla unfold. This Mercado publica has become somewhat of a tourist attraction with live music and bouncy castles, cheap rock jewellery and masseuse tables. The patchouli hippies with their flowing dreadlocks dance around the fat cruise ship patrons like twinkle-dust fairies as they hock their wares made of twigs and berries.
Today I get in I get out. Besides, a text from my friend J says he is waiting on me. An expat living here in San Jose del Cabo he is easily amused by anything sport related. Here on the Baja there are endless places to go on an all terrain vehicle and he attempts to entice me into a little off-roading. Considered the lazy man's sport back in Canada, on the desert sands it is a blast. The only problem with this recreational sport is you will never, ever see a critter of any sort. They seem to have this uncanny ability to hear you hours before you come upon them. Weird. Burros on the other hand, believe they have internal
Surfing girls
Surfsupedes rocks! cloaking devices, so the dingdongs stand really really still and think no one can see them. Even in the middle of the road. Silly asses.
J and I head out late after my scheduled español lesson. I'm not one for the debilitating afternoon heat, but I'm also not going to get left behind. We opt for the hills at Sierra la Laguna with the plan of tracking back along the empty beaches while the sun sets. It's quite nice. J is a photographing genius and he's always looking for that perfect shot…spending inordinate amounts of time setting up to get it. This drives my good friend Carmela, his wife, crazy and she won’t go anywhere with him if he brings a camera. I take full advantage of this spousal discrepancy to sneakily learn all the photography tricks of the trade. Most of the time I come away with slightly improved focused blurry streaks I call photos.
This time, as we turn west and meander our way back along the playa, we come across a crowd of people standing near the shoreline in front of the Fiesta Inn releasing turtles to the ocean. The kids are having a blast,
Cervasa Time!
You will run out of gas before you run outta beach on the Baja. holding on to the squirming babies for as long as they can before being prompted to place them on the sand. They scurry to the ebbing tide in that primordial panic. I look into the enthusiastic eyes of each child and know that this particular second in time will be carried unto their adulthood. My hope is for an appreciation of conservation and a love for all ocean creatures. A place as beautiful as this needs future generations to secure its flora and fauna before it's too late. I myself, have heartbrokenly come across many upside-down turtles on the beach with soda rings wrapped tightly around their necks, plastic bags protruding from their mouths with fishing line gouged deep into their flippers. As usual, I curse out humanity under my breath.
My days fly by like a fart through a colander. As a displaced person whose refugee status is quickly drawing to a close, I reflect back and try to find ways to bottle up my immeasurable Bajan joy to take away with me. I'd smuggle the fresh fruit but I'm pretty sure the interactions with the border guards may cause unnecessary alarm. I leave behind everything except the
Dude
shred pacifica style clothes on my back. Tomorrow, I will reluctantly return to my home up North. I’ve been told it’s been wet and gloomy for the past month and a half...not one single day of sunshine.
In my last moments of freedom, I Kubler-Ross the 5 stages of grief. I start with
denial and check my air ticket three times to be sure I don't have the dates wrong. Then I phone work to confirm its still there. You never know.
Anger burbles up after my fourth margarita. Luckily I don't have a significant other to take it out on. I seethe. Hung over, I feel the urge to
bargain...surely I could just quit my job and stay, right?
Depressed, I pack up my things and rage out on my patio, the doves coo and the hummingbirds that dip and dart around my head, now just an annoying liability.
During my last phase,
acceptance, I dig my toes deep into the warm sands and let the last rays bathe me, the saltiness of the sea breezes by my nose. Climate refugee I am. But I am the luckiest refugee in the world.
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bvchef
Brendan Vermillion
It is great to see a new blog from you. I always enjoy your stories and how you paint such a vivid picture with your words. And honestly, Aside from a chef I worked with in the 80's, I have never heard anyone else use the phrase popcorn-fart. I use it to describe overcooked, dry food. Seeing it in your story made me laugh.