2008-09-29-0810
Breakdown, breakthrough
Yesterday I hit a point of disbelief in this path I don't recall reaching ever before.
All that appeared left to do, as I considered the bleakest possibility--which now seem not so bad (, but only because. . .) --to subsume identity either to [1] that of the family (head to Tennessee, be part of farm, and it is very cool to be able to say my family has a sort of group identity--as do the Bushes, Kennedys) or [2] that of the monastery.
The whole day I'd been walking in thick thick fog, visibility not more than 100m. I was mostly along shore until Puerto Salina. There I begged some water (still not at peace paying to drink water, and being fairly certain the boats have drinkable water piped to their tanks--but maybe not), probably the last time I do that. A guard made me walk along the cuota (toll hwy) instead of the housing development road, but only because that's his job and I happened to walk near him.
I tried to get back to the beach, but it was like walking moors--low visibility, and worry about trespass (which, btw, seems to be a realestate term here used by noncitizens(?). In _Baja Times_ classifieds, two uses: trespassing [a cafe, a house] offered for sale), and from what I could see, shore was rocky. Returned to cuota, but the off-shoulder path--which had been my reassuring companion ever since downtown Tijuana, my welcome mat and constant reminder that I had entered a land where people walked--petered out. Stopped finally to eat, rest. Contemplated a long foggy walk along cuota shoulder through unpopulated country, decided to head back to find the free road, thinking there would be more along it, including a better walking trail.
I ended up going way way back (I had gone further than I thought) and the free road looked not any better and probably more dangerous to walk along. So, I was stuck at Puente Misión. A very popular family beach (soccer photo is from there). Road is under construcción, no place for the little buses to stop, and I'd seen none in my long (>6km?) walk back, though someone told me 'cada media hora'--every half hour.
Went out to lay on beach. Mist had cleared by now. An ultralight was flying around. At some point saw little bus go by slowly. Ran after. Did not make it but did see surfer hitch ride for him, three buddies, two boards at least, movie camera, tripod, high fives all around in celebration, in the back of a new white pickup truck. He'd been standing on or leaning over the concrete barrier with a larger than life smile and thumb, exuding an aura of "you will pick me up," so much so that all traffic on the cuota (one lane at this point) had to slow to pass. In fact, from the side he was on, all traffic in that lane would have to stop as his party got in. It did.
I felt totally incapable of that kind of performance and was.--The odd, misfit american escapee, uncharismatic, losing faith in any mission he may have once had, nearly worth laughing at if you weren't so polite, not at all like any of the others around, mexican families, pants-wearing males, me odd enough as I was where I came from.
Well, this is learning occurring. What do I do now? I was going nowhere before, why should I try to leave? I tried hitching for a while. Then went back beachside and watched the food-sellers and makers of cocos y camarones (green coconuts cut to form bowl, filled with shrimp + ?, ~$2). One chopper had all his fingers, whole, a marvel, as I watched him whack-carve nuts into bowls, providing samples of white coconut meat to discriminating buyers, with machete. An adolescent with wheelbarrow showed a palate of snacks and candies worth photographing, but I'll not take the time here to show you why.
I eventually gave up and went to take a nap on the beach. Cool it was, and I got out my quilt and lay under it, and was out.
Rousing, sun setting, families leaving, second to last of big dome tents being struck. A guy said no buses stop here. Walked out by laguna in darkness--what would sleeping here be like? But road noise too much. Went back to beach and found a spot. Many of the little busses seemed to be passing now. This was Sunday.
I'd not bought more water or food, somewhat resolved to fast of both (feeling this experience was approaching spiritual), but was bottling urine. A bit annoyed at how much water'd been running through me, considering drinking no more till urine yellow. And I do use urine sometimes for soaking legumes & fire safety if water is low. Plus the practice had let me piss earlier among the crowds under my quilt without getting up.
Well at some point in there had the identity-subsuming thoughts. Humbling. [The arrogance of not subsuming self to culture and "time" apparent. . . in believing, hoping, one might carve out another worthwhile path, differing from those known, upon which new cultural dynasties--or at least one successfully idiosyncratic one--can be built.]
Things are different in the morning. Got up--briefly had a literal personal rain cloud, but otherwise clear & no mist. Walked back toward south to get to a place to catch a bus. Quickly got a short hitch to Puerto Salina. Walked up hill (there is a photo) to where I caught a free bus (driver drives workers from Ensenada north in AM and south in PM) all the way to Ensenada. Looking at the route, I was generally glad not to be walking--deserted land around the cuota, rocky coast for miles. Got to learn some things and attempt Spanish with Javier, the driver (and a pastor), but he'd use English when things got too bad. Told me about his schizophrenic brother who just set out walking 29(?) years ago, no trabajo, no esposa, no familia, no casa, no carro, no dinero. I got to repeat a bit of that litany, but he assured me that one look at his hermano was enough to tell you he was not well. BTW, I passed a guy(?) earlier sitting in a doorway with the oddest clothing and headgear made of twisted scraps of different colored plastic bags(?).
In Ensenada I bought water (5L, $1.72), found a way to call my credit union without using the cell phone. I have a calling card--but to even dial a toll-free number from a public phone here, it seems you need a Ladatel/Telnor(?) card. Robin at the credit union got my debit card unblocked in Mexico (said fraud occurs here). Got pesos. Bought some sardines, tortillas. Found internet cafe--got directed to one with faster connection.
And so on (among times of wondering, "now what should I do?"). Practiced racial profiling: if white, ask in English if has suggestion where to find people looking for boat crew. Found the Vendimia Restaurant this way--mariners meet there Thursdays beginning ~5. And they had copies of the free _Baja Times_ http://Bajatimes.net , which was good to read.
--
The main news though is that I went from despair about the possibility for me of this rather undefined path to a level of validation. _Baja Times_ is, naturally, pro-baja, anti-anti-baja hysteria, and, as it turns out, in one article (about dreading having to cross the border to return to the states), anti SoCal. We who live there cannot afford to complain too much about what is inhuman about that region--we or our friends have enough of a challenge trying to be content there.
[It has been] Less reading _Baja Times_ though, [than] it has been the experience of being here [that. . .]. I want to say (but won't entirely) that for my purposes, this is a mostly treeless, warmer Monterey with a bigger port, and the added benefit of being foreign (oddness and difference when not isolating and overwhelming can make activities that would be dull and routine in the home culture much more challenging and inspiring of contemplation) as well as home to people who walk and who camp out--the reading material left in the bushes on the undeveloped hill overlooking all of town is in Spanish. No white (or brown)-girl porn, so far,--but pieces of one well-written and photo'd mexican travel mag, as well as old daily papers.
Other benefits: good coastal access, great coastal public spaces (sleeping, loitering, lazing about in public is done, is ok, is encouraged), town residents (kids stand out) who know and love each other and wander around (in their sexy school uniforms), no helicopters, no airport, no smog--though MX cars smell worse than [new, non-diesel] CA cars, MX trucks (noisewise) are out of control, and indoor air pollution in several of the places I've been in, for diverse reasons, was notable or intense. [Proximity to coast and low population may be main reason for better air than inland SD. TJ reeked.]
Other things: no pedestrian barriers, but crosswalks on even a main street with two lanes each way, and no lights, but stop signs. None of this bullshit where cars get to roll up, trigger the signal, and pedestrians, chained and corralled into crossing only one side of the intersection have to walk over and press a tough little cold metal healthily germ-ridden recessed nubbin. Fuck you SoCal! Fuck you CalTrans! Fuck you San Diego Airport and Port Authority! Fuck all you car drivers everywhere and you who build roads for them and make their lives easier. Sociopathic city-, society-, life-destroyers. [Thanks go to Kunstler. Is this mindful? I really think it is the personal car {cf. "Christ as savior"}--if you accept it into your life (as driver or as cohabitant), the modern US works for you. If you cannot, for whatever reason, you are. . . given the privilege of helping realize different lifeways, different rural & urban forms. All car-drivers evil? All slave-owners evil? Is this reasonable? Retrospectively, when all/most new cities are built car-free, perhaps the languaging, attitude, and emotion here are skilfull means. Retrospectively, as long as there is no movement for change, it is unreasonable, unhelpful. 0113--time to quit.]
Having found this, the only other main mission I may still have (beyond wandering on, should I feel like it) is to visit Parque Nacional Sierra San Pedro Martír.
Since I may have found a place I can stay in and be somewhat at peace, at ease, I may take the time to mend my pack, wash my clothes & pack (never washed them since last trip), and who knows what else.
Peace (hehe!),
2008-09-30-0047
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