Osprey
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3694
Registered: 5-23-2004
Location: Baja Ca. Sur
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BOLA
Beautiful Bahia de Los Angeles
Every time was different. This trip I took a big cooler, some canned goods I had at the house. Mi Chi had given me a list and Sam had given me a
hand-done map of a little store in Tijuana where I was to get as many things as I could. The list was in Vietnamese and I had no idea what the things
were, how many or how much it was gonna cost. I watched the little old man in the store gather the stuff up and when it was on the counter I made two
piles – the stuff he took from the cold case would go on the ice, the other stuff would just be thrown in the back of the truck.
That’s the way it worked sometimes when people who knew Sam Shoudy and his wife in Bahia De Los Angeles were headed that way. Over time a lot of us in
the area who had little shacks there or left campers there had worked out a way to get the best Vietnamese food anywhere, way down here in Baja
California. You found things she needed, dropped them off, then came back for a few meals until you, or somebody else would make another run up north
to restock. Their old truck would maybe make it to Cataviña but not all the way up to the border.
Sam was a crusty old bastard and she was tiny, wise, mostly silent. They found harmony by treating each other like they were somebody else’s rotten
grandkids. She had a little garden in the back and that was part of the stocking up runs too; packets of seeds which would sometimes yield the veggies
with the mouthwatering taste and names only she could pronounce. She traded meals for fresh seafood with the fishermen and the divers, had her own
chickens and only God knows what else. I loved her food but I truly did not really want to know what was in each steaming hot bowl or plate or skewer.
Sam acted like she was trying to poison him – only his food held the poison. None of us were at risk.
“La Gi MaMau den khong? Ma Mau den khong? What’s this black thing? This black thing?” Then he would hold up a crooked little piece of maybe meat and
throw it at her. It wasn’t poison but I think she did add some strange little things to his bowl just to get him going.
Their relationship was such that most of us had to play some friendly games to get along. Somebody would pick up Sam’s Navy pension check money from
an old shipmate in El Cajon, turn it into pesos and bring it on down. Whoever took on that little chore would have to find the cheapest Cutty Sark
Scotch whiskey, buy a couple half gallons, hide it in the truck, jeep, car, deliver it by parking the car just so for Sam to get at it without being
seen. He suffered from the gout like a man who had been a serial killer in another life and Mi Chi would know the when, who and how much of every
delivery by Sam’s two step process; first the pleasure, then the pain.
They had two daughters, both living in California. Sam’s place was small and there was really not enough room for visitors and the two of them so when
the girls would come down it was impossible. One year we watched as Mi Chi bartered a whole bedroom into existence behind the small house. I remember
pulling in now and then to witness two or three rag tag laborers digging footings in the early morning, sitting in the shade at ten with a bowl of
greenish/brownish taste-teasers from Mi Chi’s stove. On the next trip down perhaps I would see a little rebar, some castillos, a dala here and there.
Lan, the oldest daughter, was a dental assistant in San Diego and Debra was a restaurant manager for several food courts in the San Diego area. Debra
lived with a boyfriend who studied marine biology while Lan, Orchid in Vietnamese, was unattached. Their mother was a Taoist of the Tam Giao and kept
a small shrine in a tiny niche in what served as a sleeping, cooking, storage, bathroom in the tiny house on the beach.
Sam was respectful of the all the religious things in his life with Mi Chi. She did not try to teach him The Way but only urged him to show
understanding about her religion. There were never any cross words about religion in Sam’s house. Her part of the bargain was that she never railed
against his drinking, his reckless, wanton ways when drunk. She was sure he would reach an early death because of the alcohol and, when she could, she
found ways to interrupt his deliveries, water down his stock or break the bottles by some accident of nature – the dog was the culprit most of the
time.
They both came a long way to find this lonely little bay; Mi Chi from Vietnam, Sam from Nantucket. It is said “You get what you settle for.” What they
settled for down here was three or four thousand sunrises they shared holding hands on the old couch on the roof – Sam with his grog coffee, Mi Chi
with her steaming green tea. Each day a new beginning without fear or foreboding.
They are gone now. Sam died in 1998 and Mi Chi lives in San Diego with her daughter Debra.
The little house at Bahia de Los Angeles is still there but you wouldn’t recognize it now. It’s our bodega. Lan and I built a new house closer to the
beach and now the old house/restaurant/shrine has been completely remodeled and expanded to hold our treasures and toys. California is moving south
at an alarming rate but Lan still has to make some lists for our friends; the lists get shorter every year.
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Ken Bondy
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3326
Registered: 12-13-2002
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Mood: Mellow
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Once again, I am blown away by your talent Jorge. Fabulous. The depth of your writing, and how you reveal, little by little, more about yourself and
your life, is a real treasure here.
Buen dicho amigo,
++Ken++
carpe diem!
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Udo
Elite Nomad
Posts: 6364
Registered: 4-26-2008
Location: Black Hills, SD/Ensenada/San Felipe
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Mood: TEQUILA!
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This is one of Jorge's real life stories. I read down and tried to find the fiction. But this is the real thing!
Well done, compadre!
Udo
Youth is wasted on the young!
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Von
Senior Nomad
Posts: 961
Registered: 10-1-2006
Location: Poway-Rosarito
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Mood: getting ready!
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Boy do i miss my Bahia de los Angeles and my friends there Ruben and Amanda and Heidi Alfonso and the 20 minutes before sunset i wish would last
forever u know what i mean.
One day ill retire, my daughters will be in college and ill be walking with my lovely wife on the beach thinking abouth what bug is going to visit us
that night, boy do i love BOLA........like u do..
READY SET.....................
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Diver
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 4729
Registered: 11-15-2004
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Amazing how easily I can "see" your words in my mind.
Wonderful writing; thank you !!
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GeoRock
Nomad
Posts: 329
Registered: 3-7-2003
Location: Mammoth Lakes, CA
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Mood: Always have one
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Fabulous story; thanks for sharing!
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Bajahowodd
Elite Nomad
Posts: 9274
Registered: 12-15-2008
Location: Disneyland Adjacent and anywhere in Baja
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So absolutely sweet!
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Iflyfish
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3747
Registered: 10-17-2006
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I can almost hear the sing song, polyphonic high pitched battles between these two. This is a great story, one that leaves me wanting to read more,
and thinking.
I have a friend, one of my oldest, an atheist Italian, from Brooklyn. Me, I’m a German Lutheran from North Dakota where no one said crap, even with a
mouth full of it.
My friend and his wife always banter in this loud, obnoxious, aggressive way. They have always done so. He is my old fishing buddy, days and weeks
over the years casting lines at the elusive trout.
Every time I entered their house she would yell at me in this high pitched tone..."Take your shoes off, where do you think you are?"...."Why did you
bring him home late?""..."Now I expect you want me to get out all the pots and pans and cook you dinner?"....like that. Every time it was like that.
My stomach would knot and I couldn't wait to leave.
Finally, after ten years, I said to my friend that my feelings were hurt, that I had tried everything I knew to become friends with his wife. His
response was shock, utter shock. He says to me "Fish, she is treating you like family, don't you get it? She loves you!
Well, you could have knocked me over with a #14 Royal Coachman at that point. I tried to hide my tears as I took in what he was saying.
From then on when I entered their home the first thing I would do is give her a big, hard, prolonged bear of a hug. She melted……and still continued to
rail at me. It never felt good, the yelling, but I learned to appreciate and take in the love.
Over the years I learned that couples who yell at each other are not necessarily unhappy, if they both yell at each other, than its ok. I also found
that some couples are perfectly content with never saying a cross word to each other and that they too can be very content with each other. Turns out
it’s the compatibility of styles that makes the difference. If the style of dealing with differences is compatible, so generally is the relationship.
Thanks again for this great read. I too found myself going over it in my mind after reading it. Well done.
Iflyfish
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