Famous Faces, Famous Places and Famous Foods
Bad Day in Baja
They say it is inevitable that gringo tourists get sick in Mexico. Not me. I had survived three weeks of Baja food and water with little more than a stomach cramp. But as I drove north from Cabo San Lucas toward the border, I had the strange premonition my luck was running out.
Accompanied on my journey by an old high school buddy, I was driving my jeep through the boulder plains of Catavina when we ran out of food. Grocery stores, let alone restaurants, were far and few between on this desolate expanse of desert highway. My stomach gnawed with hunger as the road stretched on and on.
A little hut, shimmering in the heat like a mirage, came into view at the side of the road. For the second time that day I needed a reality check. The first had been early that morning when I saw a giraffe wandering beside the highway. Giraffes in Baja? I later learned it had escaped from a traveling circus.
The hut was real too. Not only that, but it was also a restaurant. I stopped in a cloud of dust, peeled myself off the driver's seat and stepped down into the oppressive heat. Selecting the simplest thing on the menu, a dish of local cheese and tortilla, I ordered from a woman who sat in the shade with her little dark-eyed son. A skinny dog cowered in the cool shadows of an open umbrella above a lone table. The flies seemed to be the restaurant's only customers.
It was the best quesadilla I had ever had. I was so ravenous I ordered three more before continuing on.
We drove 40 kilometers on unimproved road, passable only in four-wheel drive, to reach Constitución de 1857 National Park, where we stopped for the night far off the beaten path.
Pine trees and wooden cabins surrounded a still lake. The cabins had long been deserted and cows stood on the lakeshore muddying the water with their hooves. Not a soul could be seen. I felt like we were alone in the world and privileged to witness such isolation.
That night it struck. Not an outhouse in sight let alone a doctor's office. Shovel in hand, I tried to dig a hole while my body tried to expel the quesadillas by any means possible. Morning arrived. Weakened, I crawled out of the tent to lie exhausted on the ground. The night had left me dehydrated and my body was unwilling to accept even something as simple as water. I lay down aware of nothing, too exhausted to crawl back to the tent. My traveling companion sat on a stump a little ways away. He too was motionless and in pain. He had eaten less than I but was still suffering.
My eyes shot open. Something had penetrated my feverish dream and made me uneasy. A forest of thin white and black legs had sprung up around me. I looked up to see a big black wet nose and a pair of beady eyes examining me in astonishment. We were surrounded by a herd of cows. Determined to show them I wasn't going to let a herd of softly mooing cows graze around me as if I were already buried beneath the grass, I stood up… and created a stampede. My vision went fuzzy. My body went limp. I slumped into a black abyss.
Sometime later my traveling companion woke me. He had broken camp so we could move the hundred or so kilometers to the nearest town. I begged him to take a photo of this place of strange beauty we must leave behind.
I drove the jeep in a subconscious haze, letting my automatic reflexes take over, but driving took my mind off the pain and the feeling of hopelessness that clouded my spirit. I concentrated on the road, aware of the possibility that I might black out. Fearing for our safety, my companion took over the driving as we continued back down to the heat of the desert. With nothing to occupy my mind, my spirits slumped deeper.
On a deserted stretch of highway by the ocean, the jeep began to complain. It whirred, grumbled and slowed to a stop. In despair I got out, and almost too weak to stand, looked at the engine. I'm not mechanically inclined. Just raising the hood to look at the engine was the extent of my ability on a good day. To sit and wait for help to stumble upon us did not seem to be a rational option.
The heat and illness left large gaps in my memory of what happened after that. Perhaps a kind stranger stopped and made the necessary repairs. Perhaps a miracle occurred. Somehow the jeep was fixed and we moved on. Once again, I drove until I could drive no farther. I still couldn't stomach water and I was severely dehydrated. The situation was becoming a nightmare.
Unable to continue, we stopped at a beachfront campground. I drove down on to the beach to a little palapa on the shore. My traveling companion set up camp under the palapa. The owner had little sympathy for our plight. As if revealing a secret, he warned us that the night wind had the strength to blow away one's pains and troubles. My buddy tied the tent down securely in anticipation of gale-force winds. I managed to drink some Gatorade, which seemed to be absorbed by my dehydrated body before it reached my stomach. Sleep came quickly, but it was fitful and restless.
Images of a hurricane filled my head. Sand blasted the side of the tent and lifted my sleeping companion a foot into the air with every gust. He was always deposited safely back in the sand and somehow our old, well-worn tent managed to hold. Waves crashed onto the shore.
The sun rose and the wind died, but it had done its magic and I felt remarkably better. Some slight strength had returned and I was able to eat a light breakfast. After a quick meal of dehydrated gruel, we made a run for the American border.
Entering Mexico was much easier than leaving it. On the way in, the customs official was irritated when we stopped at the inspection booth and forced the traffic behind us to slow down. Instead of asking questions or checking for illegal contraband, he and the other officers acted as if they were hired to keep traffic moving across the border as fast as possible. That seemed their only concern.
The line of vehicles and foot traffic leaving Mexico was tremendously long and slow-moving. Vendors tried to sell us last-minute souvenirs and attempted to wash the dust from our windshields. As we finally crossed the border and headed toward Las Vegas, the lawns grew lush and the display of wealth more ostentatious. We were reminded once again that the harsh barbed wire-topped chain link fence between Mexico and the United States separates two very different worlds, each with its own attractions and excesses.
When you go:
For information on Baja, visit www.bajacaliforniasur.com.
To find out more about Mexico, visit Mexico’s official home page at www.mexico-travel.com or call them at 800-44-MEXICO (639426).
To find information about hotels in Mexico, visit www.hotelstravel.com/mexico.html.
Sometime later my traveling companion woke me. He had broken camp so we could move the hundred or so kilometers to the nearest town. I begged him to take a photo of this place of strange beauty we must leave behind.
I drove the jeep in a subconscious haze, letting my
automatic reflexes take over, but driving took my mind off the pain and the feeling of
hopelessness that clouded my spirit. I concentrated on the road, aware of the possibility
that I might black out. Fearing for our safety, my companion took over the driving as we
continued back down to the heat of the desert. With nothing to occupy my mind, my spirits
slumped deeper.
On a deserted stretch of highway by the ocean, the jeep began to complain. It whirred, grumbled and slowed to a stop. In despair I got out, and almost too weak to stand, looked at the engine. I'm not mechanically inclined. Just raising the hood to look at the engine was the extent of my ability on a good day. To sit and wait for help to stumble upon us did not seem to be a rational option.
The heat and illness left large gaps in my memory of what happened after that. Perhaps a kind stranger stopped and made the necessary repairs. Perhaps a miracle occurred. Somehow the jeep was fixed and we moved on. Once again, I drove until I could drive no farther. I still couldn't stomach water and I was severely dehydrated. The situation was becoming a nightmare.
Unable to continue, we stopped at a beachfront campground. I drove down on to the beach to a little palapa on the shore. My traveling companion set up camp under the palapa. The owner had little sympathy for our plight. As if revealing a secret, he warned us that the night wind had the strength to blow away one's pains and troubles. My buddy tied the tent down securely in anticipation of gale-force winds. I managed to drink some Gatorade, which seemed to be absorbed by my dehydrated body before it reached my stomach. Sleep came quickly, but it was fitful and restless.
Images of a hurricane filled my head. Sand blasted the side of the tent and lifted my sleeping companion a foot into the air with every gust. He was always deposited safely back in the sand and somehow our old, well-worn tent managed to hold. Waves crashed onto the shore.
The sun rose and the wind died, but it had done its
magic and I felt remarkably better. Some slight strength had returned and I was able to
eat a light breakfast. After a quick meal of dehydrated gruel, we made a run for the
American border.
Entering Mexico was much easier than leaving it. On the way in, the customs official was irritated when we stopped at the inspection booth and forced the traffic behind us to slow down. Instead of asking questions or checking for illegal contraband, he and the other officers acted as if they were hired to keep traffic moving across the border as fast as possible. That seemed their only concern.
The line of vehicles and foot traffic leaving Mexico was tremendously long and slow-moving. Vendors tried to sell us last-minute souvenirs and attempted to wash the dust from our windshields. As we finally crossed the border and headed toward Las Vegas, the lawns grew lush and the display of wealth more ostentatious. We were reminded once again that the harsh barbed wire-topped chain link fence between Mexico and the United States separates two very different worlds, each with its own attractions and excesses.
When you go:
For information on Baja, visit www.bajacaliforniasur.com.
To find out more about Mexico, visit Mexico’s official home page at www.mexico-travel.com or call them at 800-44-MEXICO (639426).
To find information about hotels in Mexico, visit www.hotelstravel.com/mexico.html.