Monthly Archives: August 2014

#11-Expatriated

We are a different bunch of folks, those of us who have expatriated to Baja Sur, Southern Baja. It takes a certain kind of person to live here after living and working in the US. In my opinion, one must commit to embracing a new reality, and not being too idealistic. As Dorothy told her dog, Toto, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

This sure isn’t Kansas!

Some are here for reasons they don’t care to discuss; they may be evading the law, taxes, or who knows what? The majority of us gringos are retirees, but there are younger people who don’t have an obvious income; they make their money trimming marijuana buds up norte—north of the border, in the US. They leave every year for the harvest, make a pile of money over the course of a few months, and return to a simple life of hanging out on the beach and surfing. But most of us are here because we are retirees who are sun and beach lovers, ready to slow our pace down.

Curious visitors

Other lucky part-timers are the retirees or middle-aged sunbirds who own houses in more than one country. They work hard for the privilege to come and go as much as their jobs allow, usually missing the hot time of the year when the water, humidity and temperature numbers are lo mismo—the same. That is when it’s too damn hot and sweaty and you can’t get yourself into the kitchen to make a real meal because you can’t bear to be near a burner or an oven. After all, you are living in one! One woman I know confesses to only being able to make and eat ice cream in August. Are you thinking of moving here? If you can slow down, overlook lots of litter, do without paved roads, a legitimate police force, and other things that high taxes would pay for, you might be a candidate for residence here.

A Wide Variety of Cactus

There are many wonderful things about living here, but make no mistake—challenges abound. Life here in Baja Sur can be so enigmatic. To get mail here, you must be willing to pay for what you used to get for free. Get out your wallet. Mailbox, Etc. in Todos Santos is what we use. We share our little box with three other people, and the annual fee for our portion is $175.00. Our delivery mailbox address is in California. After it is processed in the USA, the Mailbox, Etc. company loads their truck with mail and drives it to Cabo San Lucas. After it is processed in Cabo, it makes its way to Todos Santos, taking generally about two weeks from the time it is mailed to our box in California. Maybe it isn’t a truck they load our mail in; maybe it’s a donkey!

Is he bringing my mail?

We can receive letters, bills, books (if they aren’t in too big a box) and magazines. No internet shopping for us anymore. Would you like to buy something as mundane as stainless steel screws? Have fun procuring them here in anything but a small package for a high price, if you can find them at all. Yes, there is a Costco in Cabo San Lucas; there is a Home Depot too. These establishments retain similarities to their counterparts in the States, but forget your expectations of true sameness.

If you are accustomed to buying anything and everything your little heart desires, don’t move here. Or be willing to have it shipped. Again, get out your wallet. The duty and shipping charges add another 30% to your purchase. My budget does not easily tolerate these expenditures. It is a lot like living on an island, because all the goods are trucked or shipped here, adding to the cost. Many items you may want are not in existence here.

This has been an eye-opener for us. We were naive when we dreamed of finding a cheaper cost of living by moving here. I recently spent six days in San Diego and had many experiences with friendly and helpful customer service—in Von’s grocery store, the US Bank, the CVS drug store, the Apple Store, Starbucks, Macy’s and Target. It was such a marked difference from what I have become accustomed to in The Baja in only four years, I felt shocked. When I lived in the US, I took all of this for granted.

For the most part, I cannot attest that customer service is part of the culture here. One exception: some restaurants here have satisfactory service. We frequent a small, outdoor restaurant in El Pescadero called Los Poblanos. They have the true spirit of extraordinary customer service. Their food is good, the prices are right, and the wait staff is friendly. Plus, they actually anticipate our needs. Another favorite of ours is in Todos Santos: La Casita, Tapas and Wine. The food is as good as anything we’ve ever had. You can expect good service too, but the prices equal the fabulous dishes they prepare, so it’s more of a special occasion restaurant for us.

The Hotel California in Todos Santos, BCS

In my short list of worthy places, it is only fair to include The Hotel California in Todos Santos. While the Eagles may not claim to have ever been there, and they say they didn’t write their song about it, it remains a big tourist attraction. I have to admit I did not expect the restaurant to be so wonderful. Their pear pizza (yes! pear!) is to die for. The hotel, restaurant and gift shop are worth the trip. I’m sad to report that excellent customer service is not the norm for most businesses here. Muchas gracias, Los Poblanos, La Casita and Hotel California!

The Baja teaches you to watch your step!

One friend of mine says, “Sometimes Baja bites!” And that is definitely true. We have been robbed twice. Once we were only away from our house for an hour to have dinner at a friend’s house. One of the first people we met here told us, “Living here teaches you to let go—of your preconceived notions, prejudices, your possessions, and your money.” As for us, we are learning to navigate life here. Sometimes it is annoying. The arduous process to get a contract for an internet modem from Telcel is an example. I had to fill out two legal sized pages and get three letters of recommendations from other Telcel customers. All of this and they still require you to pay for the service ahead of time. It was news to me that there was never any intention of giving me service without prepay. That is fine, but why did we have to go to all that effort and time if you have to prepay for their service? The process took six grueling weeks.

From time to time we are saddened and disappointed. For instance, it is depressing to come home and find your house torn apart and everything of value gone. It is commonplace to find beer cans, plastic bottles, dirty diapers, and used condoms (seriously!) littering the beach. How discouraging!

Other occasions feel like happy escapades. There is nothing like catching your first marlin in the waters so close to home, or coming across the tracks of a mother tortuga–turtle who has made a nest for her eggs and many weeks later coming back to find 70 newly hatched turtles and witnessing their arduous journey from nest to ocean.

Tortuga eggs have hatched!

Newly hatched…their tracks to the ocean!

On the way to the ocean–an arduous journey for a little one!

This tortuga made it to the shallow water

I can sit on my deck and watch ballenas–whales– during their migration. The thrill of seeing a whale spouting, slapping its tail, or lifting completely out of the ocean and landing with a huge splash cannot be equaled. Continually during their time here in our local waters we are joyful spectators to their antics.

Ballena

A Thrilling Sight during Whale Migration in Baja

Taking it all into account, I believe that being here full-time takes stamina. Of course it helps to speak Spanish, or to be willing to learn the language.

In the States you may be accustomed to seeing signs in businesses that proudly announce, “Se habla español—We speak Spanish.” The converse is not true in Baja. There are no signs that say, “We speak English,” though many of the locals do speak English and they are always willing to help us. In fact, it has been hard to learn Spanish because there are so many people here who speak English. We have been a bit lazy as a result, though we did take classes for six months and know enough to muddle along. I promised myself to learn more and now I need to follow through.

You may feel like I’ve been doing a bit of whining. After all, nobody forced me to move here. How can I complain? While you may still be participating in the nine-to-five thing, I am retired. I live by the ocean, and get out of bed and go to sleep listening to the sound of waves crashing on the beach.

Moon on the Water Early Morning

I am greeted most mornings with gorgeous sunrises.

Sunrise at Los Cerritos

Evenings reward me with some of the prettiest sunsets I’ve ever experienced. And I’ve seen the green flash numerous times!

Sunset over San Pedrito

I walk on the beach everyday and fritter my time away doing mostly what I want to do. I write, read, listen to music on my iPod, paint, take photos, swim, have dinner parties, and I do love my life. I am blessed, and I am grateful for the good (and the not-so-good). Mi vecino— my neighbor—puts it this way, “We all have good Mexico days, and bad Mexico days.”

My refrain is, “Let’s hope the good days outnumber the bad ones.” And they do!

We all make choices. Sometimes we don’t know enough about what we are getting ourselves into.This post is in response to the many who have asked me about living here. I figure most people already understand the paradise aspect. If I enlightened anyone about some of the challenges of existence here, I’ve fulfilled my commitment to be honest as I share my experiences.

What I’m after in my life is a balance. With an appreciation for reality—sweet and sour—I am keeping my dream alive.

Todo bien—it’s all good.

Bird_on_a_cactus_at_Los_Cerr

#10–Surfers–Getting to Know Them

2 Replies

LET US PAUSE FOR A MOMENT TO DISCUSS SURFERS

The thing surfers like best, after the thrill of surfing itself, is thinking about surfing, talking about surfing, planning which break to visit next, and buying surfboards and gear. Surfers will visit a large number of websites to learn when the tides are high or when the tides are low, the water temperature and conditions—warm and glassy being the most preferable, of course. Surfers will tell you about the peak of the breaking wave, the height of the wave face, time between waves (interval), swell direction, on or off shore winds (I still get those two confused), the need for full length wet suits or wearing a shorty, or best yet, when there is no wet suit necessary at all, sometimes referred to as “trunkin’ it.”

Hang with a surfer long enough and you’ll hear them talk about pumping the wave, shredding the wave, or gliding with it. They will tell you about the closeouts, the mushy waves, and the speed and power of the waves. Oh, and there is the rush they experience on the wave they did get, conversely the wave they missed because they should have made two more paddles, the perfect wave they should have gotten, but someone dropped in on them; the rocks they avoided (or unfortunately didn’t avoid), what specific board is right for the waves at a particular moment or break, and other diatribes about this amazingly difficult, but super fun and addictive sport.

PaperArtist_2013-04-21_12-13-04

Surfers come in all shapes and sizes, genders, ages, classes, professions, species, and they hail from all over the globe. All the surfers I have met care deeply about the sport. Most of them care deeply about the ocean and beaches where they surf as well. Good on ya, people.

He’s making it look so easy!

I can tell you with absolute certainty and personal experience, that surfers get grumpy when they have been out of the water too long. What is too long? In my husband Greg’s case it’s three days; a week is really pushing the envelope for most of them. If they are anywhere near a surf break there is a magnetic draw pulling them in. We’ve been known to put on the brakes in the middle of the road in order to look at the water. “Look at that! There’s surf down there. That looks like a good wave, doesn’t it to you, Susie?” While for me, I’m worrying about the cars coming from behind us around the bend. This annoys Greg and he condescendingly reassures me that before slamming on the brakes and halting (abruptly) to gaze at the surf, he has looked behind to make sure nobody is coming. But geez, sometimes it is so dangerous, and I am rather annoyed with him for stopping. Then again, it is sometimes safer to stop than it is to continue driving in one direction while completely staring in an entirely different direction, especially on a winding, coastal highway on a narrow curve, where the cliffs are steep.

When a surfer has had what s/he believes to be a perfect ride, anyone within ear shot is in for it. “Did you see that killer ride I got?” The telling of the ride goes on for a considerable length of time, most often lasting much longer than the ride itself.

“How nice for you,” I might interject, or maybe I’ll just tune out altogether and begin mentally planning our next meal or shopping trip, making note of what ingredients I may need to buy. I’m in my own little world while the surfer is blissfully recounting each turn, acceleration, power of the wave, the height of it, how long it lasted, and the feeling of pure joy in the riding of it. It’s not that I’m not interested. I am. Really I am. But there are occasions when I just want to scream. There are other topics worthy of consideration aren’t there? Well no, apparently there are not. Not for a dedicated surfer. Like I said, surfers like to surf, to think about surf, to talk about it and to plan their next surf trip.

Oh, and by the way, surfboards break. At some point the surfer will be in need of a new surfboard—one longer, or shorter, or somewhere in between. There are many types of boards. There is a definite science to picking a board shape and size. Basically, you have your longboard, shortboard, gun, fish, fun board, (they aren’t all fun?) or hybrid.

WE BOTH GOT NEW BOARDS!

Among many other decisions, how to glass the board, plus what design and color(s) to chose will undoubtedly come into play. Whether you are having a custom board made just for you or buying one off the rack, be forewarned: this decision takes time. Lots of time. After all the choices have been made, you are ready to make your purchase. Wait! Not so fast! You must also buy a new bag for the new board, a new leash, new fins and some more wax.

Oh well. At least it isn’t golf.

A Typical Surf Shop… This one is in OB in San Diego, CA

A John Kies Custom

Oops! Big surf today!

FOR RENT

Can you find what you want?

ENCINITAS SURF SHOP

Here’s a STAND-UP PADDLE Boarder! These boards are called SUPs.

Nobody caught this one!

A beautiful morning in Baja

The Pacific Northwest is a glorious place, but we’re ready to go where the sun will warm our souls. It is bitter sweet leaving our friends and saying good-by to our home onWhidbey Island, and all the places we’ve loved in the Northwest!

Sunset from our Deck on Whidbey Island

Skagit Head with The Olympic Mountains in the Background

Shipping Lane in Puget Sound: from Whidbey Island, Looking Toward The Kitsap Peninsula

Blanca Lake is a Turquoise Glacial Lake in The Cascade Mountain Range

Coupeville, WA…Ebby’s Prairie with Mt. Baker in the Background

I tell myself that we are doing the right thing. It feels right.

Freeland, Washington…a Typical Whidbey Island Barn

Downtown Seattle with Mt. Rainier in the Background

Typical Gloom in Seattle as seen from The Space Needle

…………….

We know we will miss our friends and pieces of our hearts will always be here, but we are thrilled to be creating a new adventure after 33 years in Washington. The time is right and we couldn’t be more excited about whatever is to come.

wherever you go

Remember, wherever you go, there you are!

At least ten different times, I give up on the whole job of dealing with all the sentimental items. I can’t do this! It is such a burden that I have nightmares about them. They grow arms and legs and chase me down long, dark corridors into the bowels of the earth. The nightmares prove to be a pivotal event. I do not want to be haunted by my past, no matter how good (or bad) it was.

In the end, I am able to pare things down to one large manila envelope that I fill with a few physical mementos: cards the kids have made just for me, (only a few) cards with mushy hand-written notes from my husband; things like that.
Eventually, when I am so weary I can’t stand it anymore, I just throw the rest of the treasures away, along with five assorted sized jars of partially used Vicks Vapor Rub, ten tubes of Clinique lipstick samples, three dozen bottles of dried up fingernail polish, all seven of my frayed crocheted dish rags, two stained Christmas table cloths, a wild assortment of previously burned candles, and thousands of other objects. What I don’t outright throw away, I put up for sale or give away, but that’s a long story in its own right.

We birds are almost ready to fly!

Initially I put our collections into four categories:

The “Odd Thingy” category;
The “Could be Useful and Necessary” category;
The “My Emotional Well Being Depends on This!” aka “The Sentimental” category, and
The “Why the Hell Did I Keep This?” category.

Categorizing is a step in the right direction, making it easier to decide what to do with all this stuff. My goal: Begin work on paring down the “Could be Useful and Necessary” stuff after tackling the hardest one of all—The “Emotional- Well Being-Sentimental” category. I’ll worry about the other two categories later. Tucked into assorted bags and boxes and drawers are my old report cards from junior high, tons of cute projects our three sons have crafted (they were such little geniuses), cards, notes, letters, a baptism certificate, pins, badges, trophies, certificates, my college essays, the kids’ drawings and literally pounds of photos. Holy smokes! The pictures we have taken over the past 30 years number into the thousands. The hours I spend picking through the photos alone add up to a couple of weeks. I must study each photo individually to decide what its fate will be. It requires careful scrutiny to sort them into piles. Sorting things into piles and categories is my life for the time being, and oh my! It is grueling. As I see it, there are seven piles of photos to make:

Three separate piles to give to each of the three adult sons
A pile to definitely keep for Greg and me
A pile to possibly keep for the kids or for us
A pile to (almost) definitely throw out
A pile to definitely throw out—especially the ones of me that make me look fat— positively throw away—no questions asked—burn those suckers!

Some days while sitting amongst and between mounds of photos, reliving the past, I get depressed for various reasons. For one thing, how can one have ever looked so young and beautiful and be the person I see in the mirror today? But mostly, I picture myself (no pun intended) sitting in this heap for the rest of my life, unable to move—to make any decisions at all. Sometimes the memories are just too precious. Baby pictures are the hardest of all to throw away. If you have ever had a baby you know what I’m talking about. All the “firsts”…first steps, tooth, smiles, birthday parties, Halloween, Christmas, first poop on the toilet (seriously), the first day of school, first sleepover, and first fish caught, to name a few. What about all those other important moments in a child’s life carefully caught on film to be cherished F-O-R-E-V- E- R? The problem is that these children of ours, whom we hardly see, and don’t hear from often enough, were the sweetest, cutest, most fascinating and brilliant and most-loved kids ever born. How can I just throw their childhood away?

First Son’s First Steps!

Middle Son

The Youngest Son at Nine Months

Peanut Butter and Jelly! Yum!

My Middle Cutie!

“It’s way over there!”

First born!

“Why did you make me do this?”

Mom and her little kids

I solve the problem somewhat by picking the 100 or so I cannot live without, and next I scan them into my computer. This is a process that requires lots of time. Ugh. Suddenly, after scanning half of them, I realize that computers are known to crash, so eventually I will either have to say good-by to them forever, or put them on disks, or better yet reprint them. In the meantime, as any recycler can tell you, photos are evil. My children’s pictures are now littering a landfill on Whidbey Island, as are all the snap shots of Greg’s and my own childhood, including my high school yearbooks. I tried burning them, but that didn’t work out very well. (Recalling the smoke pollution alone gives me shudders to this day). I carefully bundle the three separate piles for each of our three sons into packages for mailing. I place a few of their school mementos into each package too. I tell myself that I don’t want to know what they do with them. It’s their business. As far as photos go, I have what I want in my computer now, and they occasionally appear on my desktop, bringing me back to a precious, long-ago time. Sigh.

#6–Dreaming of a Beach Life in Baja

4 Replies

We spend a lot of time talking about our dream to live on a beach in Baja where we imagine the cost of living to be cheap and there will be good surf. I don’t surf, but Greg does. It is part of who he is, and I love that about him. Well, most of the time, anyway. His obsession with it somewhat dictates how we live our lives—what we do on the weekends, where we travel, how we spend some of our money, and even which magazines we buy. But that doesn’t mean it is bad or wrong. The ocean has great lure for me too. While I am not a surfer, number one on my wish list is to live by the water. We ask ourselves over and over, “Can we do this? Can we sell everything and move to Mexico?”

We decide we can afford an initial visit to Todos Santos for 15 days to feel it out—try it on. I know that isn’t much time, but part of the dream has been in place for a long time. Many years prior to our short trip to Todos Santos, we envisioned spending our last years in a warm, coastal environment. It has always been our plan to retire in Costa Rica or Baja Sur. In my gut I know the time is right to create the reality. Sometimes you just have to stop talking.

We celebrate our 31^st anniversary in May of 2010 enjoying our stay in Marita’s Casitas, a sweet spot in Las Tunas, Todos Santos.

Happy Anniversary!

31 Years Together!

Maritas Casitas in Las Tunas

We put our Whidbey Island home on the market in July and in August, during the worst real estate market in memory, it sells. We tell our friends it is a sure sign that our dream is meant to be. Greg’s last day of work is in October that year. We boldly drive away from our former Washington State life on November 1^st, pulling a 4’ X 4’ X 8’ U-Haul trailer containing all of what is left of our worldly possessions, the things we deem impossible to go without.

Packed and ready for the road!

We’re on our Way!

It had to fit in this little bitty trailer.

Everything we Own is in this 4′ X 4 ‘ X 8’ U-Haul Trailer

I cannot say it was easy to purge what had taken 33 years to accumulate. And what an accumulation! I’m sure we had, at one time, excellent reasons for keeping all that stuff. Okay, I confess. It is mostly my fault. I am the worst offender; I am often unable to part with things. But somehow I did it and off we go to our new life. We didn’t know what to expect, but we believed in ourselves.

#5–Todos Santos, Baja California Sur

#4–From So. Cal. to Washington State to Baja Sur

#3–Camping on the East Cape Part II

2 Replies

I broke my arm in the ocean one summer while boogie boarding. Not to mention, I’m a chicken by nature, but Greg is always encouraging me get into the water without fear. Now, with his encouragement, I feel more relaxed than ever before. Living so close to the ocean has been healing for me. I’m letting go poco a poco— little by little. In all areas of my life, I am releasing the things that are no longer useful; I’m learning to dismiss dark thoughts and feelings that have previously interrupted my happiness from time to time. The “inner uglies” is how I put it. Why allow myself to be plagued with guilt, regret, jealousy and other negative feelings that have never served me well? I want to let those inner uglies flow up and away to be replaced with peaceful, easy feelings.

In my head an Eric Clapton song repeats, “Let it flow. Let it flow. Let it blossom, let it grow.” These days I will silently ask myself, “Is this how you want it to be?” And if it is not, I’ll just let it go. Breathe slowly and deeply, in and out. With a purposeful breath, I am inhaling life and exhaling whatever is needless.

I used to work with a great woman who, when obstacles got in her way, would just shrug her shoulders and say, “Oh well. That’s life!” Her habit was to accept whatever life threw at her and deal as best she could. And bless her heart; she handled every challenge with a cheerful countenance. She refused to allow anything to dampen her world view. She taught me, “Life happens. Solve the problems, find the fun, and just get on with it.”

For some reason, the fact that she was a science teacher, made her “bring-it-on” attitude seem all the more a miracle to me. I didn’t expect her to appreciate metaphysics.

What is life if not a series of patterns? We find them in science, mathematics, nature, and art. In fact, patterns are the blueprint of the essence of our lives.

Pattern in Stone

Passion Fruit Flower

My mentor modeled the behavior I knew I wanted too. The only thing not allowing me to have satisfaction is me. It’s as simple as that. Now the rubric by which I measure becomes the question, “Is this how you want it to be?” And like I said before, if it is not, then I let it go until it becomes exactly how I want it to be. It really is that simple.

Feeling hungry, I decide to make a cheese and avocado sandwich, with cottage cheese, and a big pile of salty potato chips on the side. I will wash this down with a big glass of red rooibos vanilla tea from our cooler.

A Cactus Bloom

While eating a delicious lunch and listening to the waves crash on the beach,

I know without a doubt, my life in this moment is exactly how I want it to be.

April 22, 2012

Pelicans Gliding

The sun comes up over the ocean on the East Cape. Pelicans glide and dive for their desayuna del mar—breakfast from the sea. Gulp. Gulp. Greg put both umbrellas up before he attached himself to his surfboard for his first session. La playa is wide awake and its inhabitants are engaged in morning activities. One guy is fishing (not catching yet) and there are already nine surfers in the water at 7:00AM. I haven’t been using my exercise bands for a few days, so this morning’s work out has me glistening right away. Back in the saddle again. I’ve spent a good hour taking pictures: rocks, water, surfers, SUPs, burros, and pelicans (or as my friend, Stacee, accidently called them once, penguins). Where the desert meets the sea, the blues and greens of the water juxtapose nicely with the hillocks of sand and desert grasses. This sweet camping spot is dotted with colorful beach umbrellas, and vehicles from Mexico, Canada, France, and many states of the USA.

Our breakfast of corn flakes, bananas and almonds, provide nourishment and satisfaction. We give our dishes a scrub in the ocean, so inevitably we must rinse them in fresh water, which is a precious commodity when you are camping on an undeveloped beach in Baja. Carefully, Greg times his ocean dish-scrubbing, watching the waves constantly roll in and pitch the sand and water. This shore break is a beautiful baptism requiring no further choreographing than in and out, up and down. At this moment a wind turbine in the distance turns ever-so-slowly, coming to a short stop before continuing its rotation. It’s like a “California stop” during a long pause in traffic. Sitting in the shade of my red umbrella as the tide continues to advance, this slight breeze offers refreshment. There is a normal halting of wave sets and all I see are little specks of surfers waiting in the sparkling water for a set. The water is warm, but many of them wear wet suits. Some, like Greg, are merely “trunkin’ it.” Surfers go in; others come out; reminiscent of a bus dropping riders off, all the while welcoming new ones. They share the waves as best they can—these surfers at 9 Palms on the East Cape of Baja Sur. But there are occasional mistakes made, as one drops in on another.

“Sorry buddy.”

“It’s cool, no worries.”

It’s all mellow today; the surfers are not wave hogs here. However, it is not all that unusual to have the opposite experience at a break where the mood is tense and competitive, but for today the egos, turf and wave ownership issues are in check. The surfers remember their kindergarten lesson #1: “Share and be nice!” The sun continues its slow arc in the late morning sky as the wind picks up. It’s a south wind, not as radical as the north winds are. The East Cape is notorious for strong, sustaining north wind. It’s a well-known and beloved wind surfers’ paradise. But not today, thank you very much. At least not yet anyway.

Our camping neighbors to the south of us are friends of ours. It wasn’t a plan to camp together, but it’s a grand happenstance and I am excited now to have someone to play Scrabble with.

Mary and I are both crazy for the game and our husbands hate it. We make plans to have our first challenge this afternoon after Mary and her husband, Jeff, get back from their motorcycle ride into town for internet and cell service. In this world pervasive with communication technology, it is actually a blessing for me to be out of range for a change. No one can call me and vice versa, and no 3G or wireless. One must travel for at least a half an hour, all for the privilege of contacting others by phone or computer. It is a distance I feel no need to cover. After all, I’m retired. Nobody is depending on me for anything. What a joyous freedom! In my former life I dreamed of days and places like this. Greg and I talked often of the possibilities of embracing life in Baja— fishing, surfing, and swimming in warm water with a climate to match, and allowing each day to happen to us. Following the natural rhythms of the sun and the moon. Lots of people have dreams like this, but sadly, too few create the reality. For others, the slowness—the slowing way down—is lethal. They simply suffer without a whirlwind of activity. Perhaps their worth is tied to a job that makes demands on them, and that’s just fine by me. Been there. Done that. No more! I choose, instead, to slow down enough to notice life around me, to feel the wind on my face, to hear the birds singing and the waves crashing on the shore. The in-coming tide brings with it schools of bait fish—sardines are plentiful now, and the pelicans gorge on them. Eat or be eaten. There is one cormorant out there among the pelicans. These birds mimic the surfers. Or maybe it is the other way around? Share and be nice. Ride the waves, dive under them, or simply bob up and down. Now that the tide has pushed in, the rocks are no longer visible; they are only splotches of darkness beneath the water. Some wispy clouds have joined the local scene. A father scoops a handful of sardines from the surf and puts them into his young son’s hands, sharing the wonder of this place with him. Life is so incredibly sweet. Back from his first session, Greg says, “Let’s go for a swim.” There is a big slathering of happiness in the way he says this. “Why not? I’m game.” We walk to a less rocky spot and quickly advance into the water to a small drop off. We float and I do my dog paddle, splashing in the refreshing (not cold) water at the edge of the drop. “Stay in the deep part,” Greg instructs me. I appreciate his directions in this setting. The ocean is his second home.

Balance

Life itself is a lot like an ocean. You have one minute, hour, day, week, or month of happiness, like you are at the crest of the wave, loving the ride. And then bam! Next you find yourself being held down at the bottom, coughing, choking, and starving for a breath of air, as the wave of life overtakes you. It is an ebb and flow; stormy or calm, and with other days that fall somewhere in-between. Just as the ocean offers us possibilities and challenges, so does life, when it invites us to ride its waves.

And like a surfer, we need to learn how to balance.

Moving on down the road

For all of us, life’s road is a series of turns, ups and downs, and many places in between. Life provides us with stories; some we read and some we tell. In this moment, with a passion for writing about life, I begin my blog.

The first eleven posts are meant to be read in order.

Baja California Sur and more!

WELCOME TO MY BAJA WORLD