Nearly a year passed, and then my 40th birthday, and the subsequent realization that my real life was carrying on without me, and it wasn't particularly pleased with what I was doing with or about it.
When my roommate decided to buy a condo, giving up the lease on our apartment, I took it as evidence that the universe, no, The Universe, was pointing me in a direction. A further sign came when I was told that once again I would not be advancing in my job, ever. My quasi-relationship was still circling, though whether it was circling commitment or the toilet remained to be seen. While we both insisted we loved the other Truly, Madly and Deeply, after nearly two years of uncertainty we definitely needed a break, some distance, some perspective. So there it was. Short of speaking out loud in a Thunderous Voice, The Universe was now telling me in no uncertain terms that now was my chance, my opportunity, my time. It was my destiny unfolding before me, almost without my control or consent. Call it Fate; call it serendipity, coincidence, or just an interesting confluence of events, things were changing, just as I had hoped. (What's that saying, be careful what you wish for…?)
I called my mother and made arrangements to visit her for an extended period of time, say 8-10 weeks. She told me in her gravely smoker voice, a Midwestern Tahllulah Bankhead, that she was thrilled and that she loved me and couldn't wait until I arrived, but not to hurry too much, to be careful and arrive in one piece. I quit my job, moved my meager belongings into storage, tuned up my 1993 VW Fox, visited a few friends, and said my goodbyes to them and to Dean, the man in my life. I knew this would be good for me and for my future and for my relationship, but it was difficult, nonetheless. I drove from Los Angeles to Long Beach, where I met up with 2 retirees I had found on a Baja travel website and had arranged to caravan with the 1200 miles or so down to La Paz.
The retirees, Larry and Larry (Larry 1 and Larry 2 for clarity's sake) were on their way to deliver household items to a house in Cabo San Lucas owned by Larry 1, who had made the drive at least a dozen times before, and was a constant source of encouragement and support from the minute we first spoke and arranged our trip together. The Larrys were a godsend, to be certain.
I had no idea what I was in for, the trip in and of itself was a bit scary; simply driving in a 10 year old car 1000 miles into a third-world country was frightening enough. I was leaving any form of security I had ever had, the man I loved, my friends, my home and life as I knew it, and I didn't even know if my car would survive the journey. I knew, however, that all I had was the future and answers to the questions that had plagued me in my present and in my past. I also knew that come hell or high water, I could and would, finally, make my little mark on the world, even if that mark was a faint and tiny scratch--much like carving your initials on the underside of your desk with an unbent paper clip in the 4th grade--only the one who carved it knows it exists.
We set off at 2:00AM on a Saturday and drove 900 miles before stopping in Loreto for the night. Now, if you've ever driven the length of Baja California, you will know that there exists some of the most beautiful coastline you will see in your lifetime. The drive crosses back and forth over the peninsula from the Sea of Cortez to the Pacific Ocean. There are parts of the drive that will take your breath away; picturesque little towns and seaside fishing villages, miles of beaches, coves and bays. The available lodging runs the gamut from downright scary to 3 and 4-star and restaurants serve fresh fish caught that day in waters so blue and so clear you can see the sandy bottom.
Unfortunately, in addition, there is mile after mile after mile after unrelenting mile of the most barren, desolate and hot desert, interrupted only by mile after mile after tedious mile of winding, monotonous mountain ranges that twist and turn so often your neck and shoulders begin to cramp with the effort of turning the steering wheel so often. (Ok, I have no power steering, but still…) It seems endless and endlessly miserable at times.
The kilometers are marked one by one on the road, counting down the mileage from one town to the next, and after a while I found myself adding and subtracting to see how much further this could go on before the next town and a chance to stop and stretch my legs. Frequently the mileage would be incorrect, and I began to feel as though they were taunting me--teasing me that Mulege would be only 20 kilometers away, but I would count backwards with the numbers on the road, 19, 18, 17, 16, etc. only to reach 1 and have there be no town in sight. The mountain ranges go on for hours it seems, climbing and descending, leaving you always hoping that next turn will reveal another stretch of the coast and some relief from the monotony of turning and the sight of hundreds upon thousands of giant cactus as far as the eye can see. (Believe me, their novelty wears off quickly.) I couldn't help but think of the old Spaghetti westerns, and what a miserable way to die this would be--in the desert on horseback or on foot, no water, and Clint Eastwood squinting at you from behind the barrel of a gun.
We drove 900 miles without stopping for anything but inspections by the Federales and bathroom breaks. We passed through the inspection points without any hassles, and Larry1 would give the bored young men a six-pack of Coke or some American candy as we left, promoting good-will or something. No food worries, I had a cooler full of sugar-free Red Bull and chocolate peanut-butter Zone bars, they had cheese puffs and meal replacement drinks. We were golden. After 12 hours following behind their Toyota 4Runner Larry2 drove my car and let me take a short nap. The car for which I had expended considerable anxious energy was actually a cheetah I had kept in a cage, ignorant of its true nature. Beyond having no problems at all, the Larrys teased me that it generated gas. I said if my car were a person I would buy it a beer, and that got a pretty good laugh.
We stopped in Loreto, a small town that primarily attracts sport fishermen and campers, and checked into a great little hotel right on the beach. We came to the end of very long day after a couple of margaritas and a good meal. We slept in a bit the next morning, climbed in the cars and finished the last few hours of the drive the next afternoon. I felt the Larrys and I had bonded quite a bit--I felt like I had two wonderful and protective father figures looking out for me--they urged me to call soon, and come visit them in Cabo. They continued south and I drove into La Paz toward my mother and finally, some context, some answers, some sense of identity--or so I hoped.
I arrived at my mother's house at 4:30 Sunday afternoon. She was very happy to see me--she hadn't been well, and didn't look it, either. She had been an enthusiastic hippy in San Francisco in the 60's, and still looked, dressed, spoke and did enough drugs to fit the part. Once she told me "God is far out." She had found a place that would accept her and embrace her and wouldn't question her lifestyle, her past or her appearance.
During my first two visits she quite literally alternated between marijuana, cocaine and cigarettes. All the years of drug abuse and poor eating habits had taken their toll on her. In addition she had contracted hepatitis C along the way. Before she moved to Mexico nearly thirty years earlier, the doctors had given her six months to live. When she told them she was moving to Mexico they said, ok, you have three months. Still alive 30 years later, she credits her survival to God, daily injections of vitamin B and Yoga. She once told me "God is far out."
When I arrived this time, however, she wasn't fairing well at all. She had to have an oxygen tank and was down to one or two cigarettes a day and no marijuana or cocaine--that was cold-turkey for her. Her organs were systematically failing and vitamin B or no, she was not going to last much longer.
This reinforced my firm belief that the universe, er, The Universe (won't happen again) had directed me to this place at this time because it really was not only my last chance but hers to forge a relationship. I felt vindicated in my decision to come here, and any misgivings I'd had seemed inconsequential, given the course of events and circumstance. I was where I should be, where it was intended.
Hers was an alternate reality, of course, a reality where dirt, lizard and bugs were plentiful but running water and any real cleanliness was not. I am not prissy, but I have over the years, developed a fondness for consistently functional plumbing, among other things. I accepted this alternate reality--I had been here before, and knew it was only a matter of hours or a day or two at most for the culture shock to subside.
Next: The Mother of All Culture Shocks
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