BajaNomad

A Mexican Moment

Mike Humfreville - 9-16-2003 at 06:05 PM

A Mexican Moment
Mary Ann and I pull our Isuzu Trooper to the crest of the final range of hills that divide the southernmost valley in the U.S. from Mexico. South loom many other ranges and the town of Tecate.
"Mexico". I say aloud and unintentionally.
"Mexico". Mary Ann repeats.
I reflect on the collage of feelings and images that single word conjures up inside me.
Living in Cuernavaca as a young boy in the '50's, climbing the slopes of Popo, hiking the desert, riding wild burros, playing with friends at the Instituto Americano school, strong summer rains every afternoon for an hour, only, then clear blue sky again, holding hands with Sandy McPherson, my first girlfriend, a Scot. I remember Palobolero and the John Brille Institute, my first job. I remember the tiny Indian village adjacent to our home, with crudely fashioned huts and children and chickens running everywhere, poor but content.
In the '60's we were hitting Rosarito in groups and with a force, staying in rooms at the Rosarito Beach hotel, camping in the dunes to the south and tearing over the sands in our dune buggies and Land Cruisers. Late in that decade we traveled the entire peninsula, wondering at the central desert and the established tranquility of the towns from San Ignacio southward. We developed a love for the more remote places along the way and grew friendships based on need and reliance. We spent quiet time along shorelines and absorbed nature.
In the '70's and '80's we brought friends down the peninsula. We got to know her from head to toe. When we are first married we build a hut on the Sea of Cortez and spend the summer getting to know each other outside the fuss of L.A. suburbs. We bring our children, when each are 6 weeks old, to La Gringa, building huts and staying for the summer in sometimes-hostile environments, that's where they learn to read. We have friends come by for visits, meet and get to know the villagers at Bahia de Los Angeles. Our children make friends with the local children and bring them to stay with us. We learn to fish, trolling around the islands of Bahia, and bounce down the road to the village where the boys idle their time in the hammocks on the second floor at La Enramada restaurant and we eat Pescado Empanizado and drink a cold cerveza at Las Hamacas in the searing heat, watching the villagers build and then play soccer on the dusty field across the road from the restaurant, the deep blue sea dotted with islands, behind. In these days most every establishment has a box or jar for donations to help build the coming museum. Antero Diaz dies. The museum is built and operational.
The '90's are filled with motorhomes and less time for Baja, trips, racing, down and back, times at La Gringa with groups of friends, fishing, broken-down boat motors and too many technical problems, children b-tching about extreme heat and severe sunburns, shortages of water in the village and leaks in the blue tube that carried that substance from the spring in the desert, inland. A complete solar eclipse occurs early in the decade. Mama Diaz is now gone. The social and political fabrics of the village at Bahia are changing.
As the centuries flipped we are making new Baja friends via an emerging medium: the Internet. We are directed to Freds and the Amigos de Baja web pages and experience the concept of our first "post". We meet with friends, new and old and in varying-sized groups at places in the outback to the south to make deeper explorations. Mary Ann and I begin taking trips without our children as they have other plans. There are still many places we want to go in Baja, GPS technology will help us get there, to pinpoint the "reef" where for years we could only approximate by triangulating three distant peaks. We had learned enough to fall back to a 14-foot aluminum boat that I could manage on-shore solo during violent weather. We wanted a smaller motorhome. We made bullet trips over 2-day weekends, chartering boats and filling ice chest for the race back on Sunday afternoons. We learn about government plans to develop the Sea of Cortes and west coast of Baja with new ports and other tourist facilities. Fox is elected and Baja has great expectations. Two tragic accidents take many lives in and just outside Bahia.
And so it continues. I don't have a clue where it's going. What I do know, with absolute certainty, is that my life would not be half as rich without Mexico, without Baja California.

We summit the final ridge between us and Mexico. The small town of Tecate lies at the bottom of the next valley; parts of the village ascend the north-facing hill beyond the town center. The brewery is spewing steam high into the atmosphere. As we approach the border-crossing with no one in front of us we turn off the air conditioning and roll the windows down. The heat and smells that are Mexico fill the cab and we know we're home.


[Edited on 9-17-2003 by Mike Humfreville]

good job, Mike

BajaVida - 9-16-2003 at 09:18 PM

Folks who have never been do not understand the magic of Baja.

Baja Vida!

[Edited on 9-17-2003 by BajaVida]

sorry, meant to say "magic"

BajaVida - 9-16-2003 at 09:19 PM

BajaVida

Mike Humfreville - 9-16-2003 at 09:37 PM

Thanks for your comments. The Nomads board allows you to edit an existing post (only your own). At the top of a post you have made, just click the "Edit Post" widget and you can change anything you want or delete your post entirely.

Take care,

Mike

thanks, Mike

BajaVida - 9-16-2003 at 09:42 PM

I edited my post--very easy.

You know how it is--you never notice the mistake until you have posted or printed

BajaVida

Mike Humfreville - 9-16-2003 at 09:54 PM

NOBODY does it (edits posts) more than I do!

Packoderm - 9-16-2003 at 10:15 PM

I had to read Mike's post another time. But on the second reading, I popped in a Barbara Streisand CD and played ?The Way We Were.? It really enhances the reading experience. It would be cool if we could elect to include an audio soundtrack attachment to our posts to parlay the mood like Doc does on his site.

Mike, despite the low volume and the briefness of my posts, I think I just might have you beat on the editing. I am a student, and I could not live with myself with any kind of grammatical error anywhere. That is the reason I started corresponding on these chat sites in the first place; I need to practice writing in a real-world application. But of course, Baja comes first.

Packoderm

Mike Humfreville - 9-16-2003 at 10:20 PM

It's funny you should mention music with regards to reading or writing. Whenever I read or write an extended piece I select music that is fitting. For over a year I got hung up writing material that was biased by the music I selected. I was listening to Andrea Bocelli, Russell Watson, Josh Groban and Pavarotti. Damn near killed me, writing myself off some lovers cliff somewhere. It's really true how the music we listen to influences our behavior. My kid's in the other room watching the MNM movie for the 20th time. Is there hope? Thanks for your comments. As an add-on, check out Family Guys post about our past. It's a great post.

[Edited on 9-17-2003 by Mike Humfreville]

Packoderm

Mike Humfreville - 9-17-2003 at 12:47 AM

Quote:
Originally posted by Packoderm
I had to read Mike's post another time. But on the second reading, I popped in a Barbara Streisand CD and played ?The Way We Were.? It really enhances the reading experience. It would be cool if we could elect to include an audio soundtrack attachment to our posts to parlay the mood like Doc does on his site.

Mike, despite the low volume and the briefness of my posts, I think I just might have you beat on the editing. I am a student, and I could not live with myself with any kind of grammatical error anywhere. That is the reason I started corresponding on these chat sites in the first place; I need to practice writing in a real-world application. But of course, Baja comes first.



I'm not sure how this works, but I'll try it with the quote stuff.

It's very interesting that you are a student (I'm sounding like BS but it's honest - I work with academics but am not one - different mind sets but absolutely nothing but respect here).

In academialandia you need to have it all correct. On these Baja pages we have tolerance (notice how I'm not, tonight, using SPELLCHECKER).

All my life all I wanted to do was write meaningfully.

But, Packoderm, if you truly need to write, to attempt to move others toward some empathetic concept, just do it from the heart! Here's an example: I write a book on something no one cares about; it's filled with gramatical errors and I get great criticism. My pal, grosso, writes a book that is filled with contemporary information that everyone wants, is waiting for, and the errors are ignored.

My suggestion to you is to write what moves you. Don't be driven by the masses. I assume your field requires the art of writing

We are a vast, varied and wisened collection of souls that appreciate what you have to offer. POST YOUR HEART!

My friend, you can't concern your self with what your audience wants, you have to discover what's inside of you and massage that and, like a poet, spew it out, like a furball that's been hanging in your throat for months, years... What you have to say, what I have to say, has been brewing inside for years; for generations. Go write something with typo's. Then I'll believe in its integrity.

Bob and Susan - 9-17-2003 at 05:46 AM

Ahh...the smells...I think that's it...

Bob

create a sound file and attach it?

capt. mike - 9-17-2003 at 01:30 PM

but puleeze...... not Baabwra streisand!

just kidding, to each their own. Seriously, i have been mating PC to audio for a while - easy software. compress and send music as a file attachment, even record yourself and send an audio email, they open it and "play" it as an mp3 or wma file using windows media.

so- maybe the BB can do that too? like a picture attach?

but puleeze.....not Ba....oh, sorry!
think i'll go put on some Zappa now!!!!

What Mike says is true!

Ski Baja - 9-17-2003 at 01:38 PM


Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in
waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht
frist and lsat ltteer is at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl
mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do
not raed ervey lteter by it slef but the wrod as a wlohe. cheerio

Jim - 9-17-2003 at 04:37 PM

JR,
Tihs rscheearch msut be crorcet, baseuce my wfie, who is a trirelbe sellerp had no tourbel radenig taht pecie. I'm a bit mroe sepcitacl heoweevr and tinhk taht the rscheearch was paobralby fendud by a geomevernnt garnt. Awynay, tihs dirves the slelp-kechecr ntus.

Ken Bondy - 9-17-2003 at 07:28 PM

Thaw eth lleh rae ouy klatngi touba?
++nek++

ZZZZZZZZZZactly

Ski Baja - 9-18-2003 at 09:34 AM

hahahahahahahahahaha Foo tunny!

Cuernavaca

Big Al - 9-18-2003 at 12:38 PM

Mike:

I have spent some time in Cuernavaca as well, I met my wife there. Love the place. Have you ever been back?

Big Al

Mike Humfreville - 9-18-2003 at 06:09 PM

I returned to Cuernavaca with Mary Ann and our 6 month old Miguelito in 1978 for a few days, en route to Veracruz. It was not the same town.

Cuernavaca in the 1950?s, from my vantage point as a pre-teenager, was wonderful and open and filled with fun. The central plaza was covered with small cafes and we?d sit in cool afternoons, mom with a beer and me with a soda. The dogs would work the rows of tables, one after another, pawing each individual with food on his plate until the dog got a morsel and then would move on to the next person. They were mongrels, many covered with huge external tumors and obnoxious growths. I?d leave the table and run down into the small nearby stores. The exchange rate was roughly 8.6 pesos to the dollar then and somewhere around 1952 jumped to 12.5. Either way, what did I care? I could buy hundreds of firecrackers for a few pesos and M&M?s were sold by the gram from open jars at the candy store. Vendors and their paleta carts roamed everywhere, ringing small bells to attract attention. I was in the 5th and 6th grade. Fifth was at the Instituto Americano, most of my classes were small, 6 or 7 boys or girls each. Many of the children were European and American. We were all great friends, learning to spin tops and playing marbles. During lunchtime we would lie back on a great field of mown lawn and idle, listening to a plane crawling across the otherwise empty sky. My special gal, even though I was too young to date, didn?t know the meaning of the word, was a Scottish lass who spoke with an accent. She lived with her family in an old castle just south of the center. We?d romp on the steep hillsides of the grounds there and I began to realize that there really was something unique about girls.

Our school was in the center and most of the streets were cobblestone then. My pals and I would ride our bikes to school in the mornings; it was down hill for some of us. In the afternoons it was usually hot and we?d grab our bikes and latch onto the back of the many busses that were headed closer to home across the jittery cobbles. The town had two focal points for us kids: a roller-skating rink where we?d play crack-the-whip, and a movie theater. I was ecstatic when I first discovered the movies were only in English, with Spanish sub-titles. A movie, ?The Robe? was in three-dimension and played there, the first show I?d seen in Mexico.


I lived on what was then the outskirts of town with my mother and step-father. Calle Taxco, numero cinco. I remember it as five houses, mostly leased or owned by Europeans and Americans. Each house was separated from the others by several acres and we all shared a common swimming pool and recreation space. There was an Indian village near our homes. In my mind they were living in something like teepees but I?m sure that wasn?t true. They were very poor but I found myself drawn to them and would spend time there. Once, having no sense, I stole a chicken from the Indian village and took it home for Rosa to prepare. She asked where I got the chicken and made me take it back.

Rosa was our housekeeper and cook. On the day we hired her she started a pot of beans on the old stove. That pot stayed there as long as we did, constantly refilled with fresh beans. I remember my mother telling me Rosa charged $45 a month, which was roughly one tenth of our income as no one was working ? my step father had epilepsy. Our icebox was 30 inches square and about 5 feet tall. Block Ice was delivered every other day or so and kept in the top of two compartments, alongside the milk and eggs. A lower compartment was for items that did not need to be kept as cold.

Rosa lived in a tiny house on our property. Soon she had her brother move in with her and within a month 7 other relatives. Her brother did our gardening. It was open range around our house and we had a broken-glass topped wall about 4 feet high that surrounded the house. If we forgot to close the driveway gates at night, the cattle would level the bushes and flowers to the ground. On the back of the property were 15 or 20 banana trees. Before the fruit ever ripened someone would come in the middle of the night and take them away.

My mother and step-dad were heavy into partying with many of the other bons vivants and spent most of their days in the village pubs. I was usually on my own and with my pals. We three had started on an around-the-world tour, but mom got pregnant in Mexico. She gave birth to my half brother in Mexico City. After my brother was born my mom and her new husband broke up. He drank heavily and was potentially abusive. On occasion I would be dispatched to grab the rifle and sit inside the front door for the night in case he broke it down. He never did and I never sensed that he was a violent man. He was somehow connected to someone in power. My mother and brother, 6 months old by that time, were forced to leave the country. I remained in Cuernavaca and cared for by a close family friend, a titled Lady from England who I called Lady Elisabeth. A few weeks later someone pulled some strings and I got out of Mexico on a terrifying flight to Tijuana through what seemed like the storm of the century. Those times were so Tumultuous I never had a moment to say goodbye to my friends.

My step father continued to live in Cuernavaca for many years. We would see him on occasion in California, visiting while in town from the south, and he?d update us on the happenings in Cuernavaca.

It is sad for me to review all this. It was such a free time, with no responsibilities and a bunch of rowdy pals to have fun with. When Mary Ann and Miguelito and I returned, in 1978, it was difficult to find anything I remembered except the major landmarks of the town. The home I had thought of as huge, where I had BB-gunned scorpions and knocked centipedes out of my sandals, was tiny. The town was now a city and still filled with wealthy Mexicans from the north and Europeans from the east. A well-healed and crusty bunch.

Adios Cuernavaca. Thanks for the times of my life.


[Edited on 9-19-2003 by Mike Humfreville]

Frida the movie WRT my previous comments

Mike Humfreville - 9-21-2003 at 01:22 AM

Mary Ann and I watched this movie tonight and it reminded me of the Mexico City and general environment I had experienced with respect to the European influence that continued into my time in Cuernavaca in the 1950's. The movie appropriately portrays an influence of the Europeans that the upper classes in Mexico were struggling to achieve. While the movie is set in the 1920's it was very similar to my experience (although totally out of my family's league) in the 1950's and I believe it is similar to today. Contemporary Mexico sprang from the loins of the merger between Europe and the indigens of that land. It's no wonder Europe is so influential in Mexico, they have a vested interest and set standards for Mexicos leadership. While I know we offer jobs and an intentionally weak frontera for our mutual benefit, I would certainly like for our U.S. to play a meaningful part in helping Mexicos progress. Who more can you learn from than your next door neighbor: Us from them, and them from us. Andale pues!