TUBES, TOWERS AND TOURS

If I were to give you any advice today, it would be to NOT lose your debit card while traveling. That is, if you are like me and use your debit card for cash while you travel so you don't have to carry cash, definitely don't lose your debit card. If you do, make sure you are traveling with someone who hasn't lost her debit card and has made sure she has not only enough money to her trip stuff but also money for emergencies. That way, you can BE her emergency.

Thank god for my friend Athena. She is paying for everything with the absolute faith I will pay her back.  Honestly, is this what it feels like a kept woman?

Being a kept woman for ME means I really pay attention, even more than usual, to every penny Robin is paying on my behalf.  Like the fare on the Tube from the nearest tube station to the Tower of London. Like lunch, dinner and even the water we bought to help us with all the walking we were doing. You really need a lot of water to flush those tired muscles when you walk all over London.

London is such a walkable city. Robin added up the kilometers on the map and figured we probably walked about 6 miles yesterday.  My legs and feet attest to the fact that we walked on hard concrete (not that scrumptious, forgiving dirt we usually are walking on) for at least that many kilometers. I am actually relieved because I have had no had time to train for the backpack in Morocco's High Atlas Mountains that comes next. Now I feel just a little bit ready.

Today, we learned a bit about the London tube. It operates much like other underground subway routes whether in Paris, DC or possibly New York. London's tube stations were quite tidy and well organized and the blend of diversity on individual cars was absolutely astounding. All of Europe and much of the Commonwealth lives in or around London. The wonderful cacophony of accents and languages from all over the Globe is a symphony. Mostly, everyone looks like they are happy to be there and if they are helping you or serving you,they seem genuinely happy that you are too.

Yesterday, we spent a good portion of the day at Kensington Park, not unusual since we are both tomboys even at our ages. Today I spent the early morning retrieving my passports (one of which was already replaced), my canceled credit cards (not replaced but alternative arrangements made) and most importantly, my business card holder that I use to carry my driver's license (still there!), my health card, my insurance cards and that I would truly miss because I bought it at Coach and I love its expensive, leathery smell.

Anyway, the rest of the afternoon we spent touring the Tower of London. I think both of us thought the Tower might be toured in an hour or so but the 'Tower' is not really one tower where Bolyen was incarcerated and in the shadow of which she lost her head, but an enormous castle complex basically built between 1078 (no, that is not a typo) and 1399.  The Tower has served England's succeeding kings and queens well (sometimes because they used the Tower with the phrase &Off with Her/His head&). The monarchy has lost some of its bloodthirstiness these days. I hear Charlie is even an organic vegetable farmer these days.

A couple interesting side notes. If you look at Henry VIII's armor displayed with other monarchs' armor, the codpiece juts out like there would have been something rather spectacular to protect there. Personally, I always wondered how five successive young women could be infertile while Henry obviously was not (because he was King you see). I will attempt to post my picture of said armor if it fits into the frame of this blog entry.

If you have a chance to visit the Tower, it is worth sufering the crowds for the Beefeater Tour. The Beefeaters, properly named the Yeomen Warders, are the oldest bodyguards of the British Monarchy, established in 1485 by Henry VII. They have to have retired from the British Army, Royal Marine or Air Force to serve at the Tower. I'm not sure whether they are picked for their senses of humor (oh yes, they are funny) or whether the chance to ham it up with impugnity is such a draw that they become humorous. Nevertheless, it is well worth joining the throng.

We had intended on visiting the Tate Modern this afternoon but realized we would have so little time, it might be better to wait for this treat until we swing back through London on our way home from Morocco. As we were walking back to the tube, I saw what looked like an extremely old church, pictures of which my son Dan might like being as he is studying to be a Minister. Robin is interested in old buildings, too, having renovated several herself (not old like, you know, London old but more old like the Colonies old.)

All Hallows by the Tower was originally founded by a bunch of nuns in 675 CE. Yes, that makes it nearly 1350 years old. That is REALLY REALLY REALLY old. It was first built by Catholic Saxons only to be turned into an Anglican church about 200 years later (possibly because of the Catholic Church's inflexibility on divorcing - or beheading - a supposed infertile quieen? ).

After using my mother of a minister-to-be superpower, a wonderfully informative docent showed Robin all the goodies the church had yet to deliver to us, including an exceedingly interesting history of the church's constant rebuilding after a succession of things like an ancient ammo magazine exploding and causing a massive fire and severe damage from things like World Wars. Parts of the walls date all the way back to its Saxon foundation while the 'newer' parts of the building were built with as much as the original structure left intact as possible. One thing the docent failed to tell us and that I found out in researching this blog entry was that John Quincy Adams, yes the US President Adams, was the only US President to marry on foreign soil and it was right there at All Hallows Church in 1797. It's all in the Marriage Register right on display in the Museum attached to the church.

By the time we got out of the church, Robin and I both had just enough energy to figure out how to get back in our neighborhood on the tube, get some delicious dinner at one of the numerous Lebanese restaurants on Edgware Road near the Marble Arch and walk back to our hotel.

It is clear to me that we do not have enough time to sample even 10% of what London has to offer. I really do need to remember to take more time in these short-stay cities, cities I pick because of cheap airplane tickets at the time I want to go somewhere like Morocco that you can't get to direct from the US. I'm such a sucker for lure of staying several nights in some city I've never been on my way to somewhere else and then wishing I had maybe stayed a little bit longer.

Well, London, tomorrow we leave you for even more exotic adventures but I think I'll break a tradition and come back to see you again. Like on my way back home actually. Robin promised we could go to the Tate Modern then.

A FOGGY DAY IN LONDON TOWN

Yesterday afternoon, the first day of our four-day stay in London, while Robin and I shared a local Stout and Lager in the Mayfair Chippy Shop, I decided necessity may be the Mother of all invention but calamity just might be the father of experience. In other words,  losing one's brand new Passport between the airport and your first night's hotel forces one to become an expert on US Embassy Citizen Services in Central London. Stout and Lager can offer one great insights I discovered.

I've wracked my brain and I really don't know how it happened. Was I just careless or did someone really lift it from the top pocket of my backpack? I'll never know. But I DO know how to access emergency Citizen Services in a foreign country. That's probably worth knowing but whether it's worth $135 and an entire afternoon of valuable tourist time, probably not.

Our trip started out in a rush but otherwise pretty much like we planned. We got to Tucson International in plenty of time, got our boarding passes and had time to unwind just a little before boarding our connecting flight to Atlanta where we would be changing planes for the big jump across the pond.

We flew Delta, a pretty good airline for international travel. It might have just been me, but the Delta crew seemed a little more cheerful than when I've flown with them before. And, more importly on an international flight, the food was actually decent and fresh.

Whenever I travel more than three time zones and the lights are turned off in anticipation you will sleep, I get  little confused whether the first meal is technically lunch or dinner, with the one an hour or so before touchdown breakfast or light lunch. Regardless, 'dinner' was hot ravioli with meat sauce chased down with a small but fresh roll and very generous quantities of free wine. Breakfast (brunch?) on the other end was cold and dominated by various forms of dairy - yoghurt, cheese and cream cheese on several choices of small breads.  Both meals were pretty tasty and definitely fresh.

Probably most importantly, these meals were complimentary as were the pretty nice selection of fresh snacks and booze. I think I mentioned the booze was FREE. The flight magazine listed the wine as a whopping $8 but it was served free. Never mind that I would pretty much only use the chardonay for cooking, it was FREE.  But I will admit while drinking this generous glass of wine,I rather ungenerously was thinking Delta might be serving free booze to impress the new customers it might have after those fliers decided not to fly with that bully airlne United. Nevermind, I have a suspicious nature.

Now on overnightnflights my biggest complaint with frankly all airlines is the practice of 'stacking' the seats so close together that it really IS tempting to pay the extra $40 for the Comfort Seats. The cheap seats on Delta were unbelievably cramped but Robin and I had chosen seats in the middle section with three seats, reservng the two aisle seats in the hopes we would have the middle to share. Booya! Accomplished. We took turns trying to sleep in the two joined seats in a fetal position without freezing our bodies into pretzel shapes but fankly, we were a bit exhausted and ready for some serious nap time when we got to our hotel.

Imagine my consternation when I reached down into my bag to pull out my passport and my credit cards at the Hotel to find they were missing. Yes, missing. Gone. To be fair, I was seriously weary when I left the plane which is why I may have inferred the Express train was our only option to get to Paddington Station which was closest to our hotel. It could also have factored into the loss of my passports and credit cards.

Frotunately, this trip is the first trip I have had  to use the international calling options on my enabled phone. I immediately notified my bank to cancel the cards then tried to use my phone and the hotel's wifi to figure out how to notify the US government that someone else was potentially walking around as me. The website, in my weary, stressed and frazzled condition, defeated me. The Embassy was not far away so we decided to visit the Embassy to see what to do. Obviously, I desperately needed a travel document to leave this country, fly to Morocco and then get back home.

I have always found the stressed little old lady with the gray hair superpower works best in person. I was not so stressed, however, that I failed to observe that our current London Embassy looks very much like it's architect offered the cheapist bid and was constructed in the most utilitarian Modernist style. Although quite large it truly lacks pizazz.

To access this ugly Embassy, you have to approach a security bunker which serves much like the triage station in an emergency room. Got an appointment? Wait outside sir while we check for you. Missing your Passport Ma'am? Can we please see your driver's license or other photo ID?

Well, uh, no. Not even a copy of them. Not even a Costco card. Nonetheless, the guard took pity on me, called Citizen Emergency Services and got me an immediate appointment. My superpowers stayed strong enough to convince him I needed my friend with me to help so after some to-ing and fro-ing, she got to join me within the Embassy. Of course the real reason was that she had to pay for it.

To obtain an emergency Passport, you have to fill out all the paperwork you would have filled out for your original Passport. Your exhusband's name, father's name, mother'maiden name, dates of birth, places of birth etc.  Honestly, some of the information I don't keep in my head. Then you fill out more paperwork listing the circumstances of the loss of your Passport (a little embarrassing when you don't know). Miraculously, after a few more interviews and some photo taking, I actually walked out with an official Passport - a baby one, with just a few pages but with the same cover and a better picture than my last one.

You'll be happy to know the Embassy people actually acted mostly like they work for me instead of vice versa, performing their tasks fairly quickly yet compassionately and efficiently. I felt so good walking out of the Embassy with at least a Passport, I chatted up some policemen to find out where Robin and I ccould find a good chippy shop as we were truly parched and hungry by then. And that's where this story ends, at Mayfair Chippy Shop, a lucky recommendation since the restaurant was once on the top cable show You Gotta Eat Here. Feeling relieved at our success, Robin and I shared a large local stout and lager and some of the best beer-batter fish fliets we both have ever eaten. Robin paid of course.

STRIKE

Anyone who has traveled very much at all knows there are just those days that things do not go as planned. Two days ago was one of those days.

 My son and I were on a very comfortable well-recommended overnight bus to Puno where we planned to take a 2-day, overnight trip to the Islands of Lake Titicaca. As we began to close in on Puno in the very early morning, I saw a long line of locals dressed as if they were ready for work walking away from Puno's suburbs. No vehicles were coming toward us on the highway. Surely, something was amiss.

The bus began slowing down and through its front windows I could see 16-wheelers directly in front of us also barely moving forward. Accidents can happen anywhere so at first I was not unduly concerned. Eventually, from my second-level perch I could see that although quite a few people lined the road, just a very few were dragging large rocks out of the northbound lane. Aha! That explained it. A rockslide. But peering out of the front windows again I could see that many rocks of all shapes and sizes were strewn on both lanes.

Our bus was at a standstill at that point and I began to think that one of the persons moving rocks might be our bus driver or drivers of the big rigs lined up in front of our bus.   My son and I had heard about the impending strike of train and bus drivers and employees between Cusco and Puno but had been assured the strike would begin after we were due in Puno. No problem. Won't affect us we were told. I'm actually certain the young man who sold us the tickets believed what he said but it was now equally certain that we would indeed 'be affected'.

The bus began zigzagging very slowly through the minefield of rocks intentionally placed in order to impede traffic in and out of Puno. All those people walking weren't doing it for their health; they were walking to work because they had no other choice. We passed an actual barricade and a burned out old car which had been dragged into the streets to form a roadblock. Two men carefully and with great effort tugged the barricade just enough out of the way that the line of trucks and long-distance busses could get through. I wondered if the many onlookers, obviously unwilling to assist, either supported the strke or were at least sympathetic to the strikers. I could no longer take comfort in the fact that the 'situation' was 'someone else's' problem.

A little background here. I am the child of a labor leader during times when the union not only pushed for higher wages but also better working conditions. While I don't always agree with a particular strike, I know that some strikes are about very serious matters that benefit the shrinking middle class in my own country. I certainly was concerned about crossing picket lines if they existed.

Not knowing what other choices we had for getting to our destination in a town we knew nothing about, we felt our only reasonable course of action was to let the bus company take care of the situation until they could no longer do so. In general, Peru has been in the tourism business for a long, long time and its  transportation services have proved to be reliably clean and efficient. For now, we would stay on the bus.

The bus continued its tortuous path inching closer to the Central part of Puno. At one major intersection, riot police stood in a line with their shields ready. This, too, was not reassuring me that we would be unaffected by the strike.

Just a few blocks from the riot police, we stopped for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, the young woman who acts as an attendant for the night busses began informing all of us that the bus could go no further and we would all have to walk wherever we might choose to go. Puno was effectively shut down.

The bus driver pointed the way we should go to find the Plaza where we would perhaps find at least tuktuks we could hire to get us to our hotel. One older couple traveling with luggage that bespoke of them not being used to toting their own bags (and clearly unable to do so) concerned me. How would they get to where they were going safely? I decided to enlist my son to help but we were already loaded down with our own gear. This plan was not optimal.

A young Peruvian woman, chattering away on a telephone, approached us to suggest they let her friend, who lived in the city, come to meet them where they were and drive them to their hotel. Although I have experienced kindness wherever I travel, I was very pleased that someone else recognized their distress and acutally had an operable plan of assistance.

Dan and I, backpacks affixed to both our fronts and backs, began walking the direction indicated by the driver. We finally came upon a taxi, the only one on the street, that was willing to drive us to our hostel. We honestly thought the affect of the strike on us was mainly over.

That night we decided to walk down to the Main Plaza to look at the church and find a restaurant for dinner. The Plaza was eerily vacant. The church was open but no one was around to give us a tour. We saw police in heavy presence around the Plaza but decided to continue down one of the main pedestrian lanes for food. Most of the restaurants we found were closed. Aha. No tourist busses; no need to be open.

We were looking for a tourist information center as well but even most of those were closed. Finally having found one of the only tourist agencies open, we finished our business (how to get to the airport after our island stay) then found a lone open restaurant. After a delicious dinner, our luck held out and we were able to hire one of just a few available taxis to take us to our hostel in the gathering dark.

Two evenings later, having returned to Puno after our sojourn on the Islands, we found a very different city. Traffic was heavy and pedestrians filled the sidewalks and sidestreets. Some fiesta was happening and (mostly) mothers with gaily dressed little girls were walking toward the party carrying what looked like miniture floats on sticks. Puno was back in business.

When traveling, it is easy to get caught up  in the drama of the country you are visiting. But events like this strike are rarely cause for concern for one's welfare but rather inconveniences that test one's patience and resourcefulness. Personally, I like being tested and feel that such inconveniences are part of what makes taveling in foreign countries most interesting. And such inconveniences nearly always require interaction  with your hosts in some way. Most of the time, these interactions lead to a much greater appreciation for your host country and its people. I have come to expect my hosts to understand and assist when I need help. Rarely have I been disappointed. For me, traveling reinforces that we are all sharing space on the same beautiful blue marble.

FINALLY PERU!!

The air in Lima is soft like the slightest breeze on a warm night. A desert rat, I am enjoying the humidity's way of puffing up those age wrinkles around my eyes and mouth but it is only May and I wonder in the back of my mind whether my relationship with the humidity will change when I come back to Lima in mid-June.

I have wanted to visit Peru for a very, very long time. Like others in love with the image of ruined cities above the clouds and families living on reed islands, I have wanted to walk where the ancients have in Machhu Pichhu and ride in a reed boat on Lake Titicaca.   Back in the 80s, I planned a trip  to Cusco and Machu Picchu, intendng on hiking the Inca Trail. I even had a guide scheduled. The Maoist guerilla group Shining Path destroyed the train rails to the ruined city destroying my plans as well. Now, thirty years older, I won't be hiking the Inca Trail but I will climb those thousands of steps to the top of the most famous mountain in Peru - Machu Picchu Montana.  

I never imagined, when I planned the first trip so long ago, that I would be taking this trip with my son, now a man. My kid grew up traveling with me and now I have had to adjust to meeting  him in airports all over the world. I am glad I have him along since he speaks 'practical Spanish' whereas I speak only Border Spanish. I know how to ask for a bathroom or how much something costs but that's about it. I am hoping my Border Spanish becomes a little more fluent while I am here.  

Fortunately, my 'piquito Espanol' is fine in Lima. Lima is wonderful. The beautiful Miraflores area is a fun place with lots of shopping (books, alpaca goods, and music for example). Lonely Planet's advice that Lima is the gastronimic capitol of South America is right I think. Everything we ate has been fresh, beautifully prepared and tasty. Especially the pisco drinks.  

When we travel, we don't often choose fancier restaurants, preferring Ma and Pa restaurants offering 'authentic' food. But after hiking down from our hotel near Huaca Pucllana to Larcomar, an enormous bay-side pricey shopping mall right across from the JW Marriott in Miraflores, we were hungry and felt like celebrating our good fortune to be in this lovely part of Lima. We were attracted to a restaurant called Popular, specializing in local, in -season fare. Wonderful! Especially since we were sitting right on the edge of the cliff that soars over the beaches below.  

After dinner, we walked up to the Cat Plaza where there were a LOT of stray cats lounging on every available surface. Really. Locals can't tell you why the cats are there - they just take for granted that they are. A few short blocks away, music caught our ears and we hiked up to the second-story ElTayta, a small bar with great music that night being performed by several bands made up of Collegio Musica Peru students. Reggae, pop and even blues from seriousluy talented yong people really looking to impress. And they certainly did.

 Now we have journeyed on to the Sacred Valley but that is another bog post - maybe two. In the meantime, if you are planning a trip to Peru, think about staying at least a couple nights in Lima. Peru is not just about the Sacred Valley and its most famous tourist attraction Machu Picchu. It is also about the cosmopolitan city of Lima with its great shopping and wonderful food. And don't forget the Pisco Sours!

ELKHORN HOT SPRINGS AND HOME FRIES

I am sitting in my jammies under a giant 6 x 6 elk head in the darkened lobby of Elkhorn Hot Springs and Lodge in Polaris, Montana under the light of the only lamp that is on tonight. It is only 9:00 pm. A few moments ago, I walked over from the Hot Springs building after my soak for the night. The stars are very, very bright tonight; a faint smudge of the Milky Way streaks across the sky. It is so cold that on the short trek back my body, even heated up from the hot springs pool, began to chill as we walked the short distance from the pools to the lodge. But now I am warm, sitting in my little pool of light, thinking about how vastly different are the lives of people that intentionally shuck the business of business in the city to live more simply in remote villages like this.

Besides my son Daniel and me, there were a handful of lively young people playing beach ball in the smaller of the two outdoor pools of the Springs. I spoke to one young man who is living the life here in remote Montana, working three days a week at the very local ski resort, Maverick Mountain, trying to make enough with that and occasional other work in the Polaris Valley to live in a place that bleeds serenity. I have met people like this – people who work in Yellowstone or Glacier or other remote Western villages. You can often find them at the day’s end at places like this hot springs or at the local watering hole.

I don’t like to use the word ‘rustic’ to describe these remote mountain places. To say that Elkhorn Resort is rustic is so subjective. Some people would consider the hotels and homes in Vail, Colorado ‘rustic’ for example, but that kind of very planned and very perfect rusticism is a far cry from the eclectic themes of places like this. Elkhorn’s main decorations in the lodge are hunting trophy heads and Audubon-like drawings of trophy heads. The 6x6 elk and another enormous trophy head of a moose have the prime corner over the sofas. I am guessing that in its long history, this place has been a popular hunting lodge. I would say Elkhorn lies somewhere between shabby and chic without really being either one of them. Their website calls their décor “spartan” but it is also clean and warm and homey which suits me just fine.
 

I’m sure when they are very busy, the barman bustles at the old bar in the main gathering room of the lodge. But it is a Sunday night in the middle of January. Only two of us are staying in the main lodge tonight with another two staying in one of the rustic cabins on the property. The lodge has the feel of a big family house where you are a guest, expected to get your own water from the tap behind the bar and to feel free to top off your coffee in the morning. Where you are welcome to bring your late night snacks down to the tables set for tomorrow morning’s breakfast and to pull a brew out of the bar frig late at night as long as you leave a note to add it to your bill.

Getting to Elkhorn from Missoula means driving through yet another of Montana’s astonishing valleys, the Bitterroot. Small towns break up the unending range land, mountains paralleling on either side. On this trip, snow starts at the edge of the road and runs all the way in an unending blanket to the top of the mountains on both sides.

Long past Hamilton, the 4-land divided road becomes narrower and snow blew across road the closer we got to the valley called Big Hole. We had not had cell service for miles. The road stays mostly clear until we get past Big Hole, the locus of one of the biggest mistakes in the Indian Wars – a massacre that killed many innocent Nez Pierce women and children and nearly wiped out the troops that did the killing. The Big Hole valley is wide and luscious – certainly a valley worth fiercely defending as the Nez Pierce did.

Leaving the Big Hole, we drove through Wisdom and Jackson, small towns with a few ranches and several summer cabins punctuate the snowy landscape. It is good to be reminded that it is still possible to find small, local places like this one. We finally arrive at Polaris and then Elkhorn Hot Springs, our destination for the next few days. Where we find the locals outnumber visitors in January but treat them as old friends. 

No one locks their door here. We were not given a key for our room upstairs. “You don’t need one.” the guy taking the money for the rooms and handing out the towels at the hot springs pool says. Neighbors are neighbors here. Implicit is that you will be a good neighbor too.

Tomorrow Daniel and I are on the hunt for good cross-country skiing. We have been assured that we will find that abounds in the forest roads closed for the winter. Just strap on those skinny skis and go. Between the skiing, the stars, the hot springs and the well-prepared full egg and home fries breakfast we were presented as part of our 'package', I think we will leave Elkhorn feeing well cared for indeed.

DASHBOARD DINING AND BAJA BEACHBUMMING

I hadn’t been to Baja for a very long time. About 27 years actually. One would think in almost a quarter of a century things have changed – and they have somewhat. But the beaches and bays are still beautiful, you still have to have pesos (not credit cards) in a whole lot of the Baja and you MUST still carry toilet paper. Just in case you would like to wander on down to that glorious peninsula called Baja California, I thought I’d share with you some things I learned or remembered for traveling down there.

Guadelupe Hot Springs Rd

Dashboard dining – really this tip is about not thinking of the mileage in Baja like you would in the States – unless you live in some of the vast Southwest where the ‘roads’ are named something like “The Devil’s Road” (but that’s another story). PLAN on taking your time over the rough and sometimes downright primitive roads you will encounter regularly if you veer off one of the three main paved highways down the Baja. You might want to pack a lunch and eat on the way. You’ll be going slowly enough to eat your lunch and digest it too!

Stuck in the sand – Optimally, you will benefit from a 4WD but I drive a 10-year-old Tacoma 2WD Offroad and Yeehaw seems to take most of what the Baja offers just fine. Including the supremely rocky and rutted road up to Guadelupe Hot Springs which is not to be missed just because there are boulders you will need to squeeze by going up the mountain as well as fording a stream that you think is high enough to leave you with wet feet in your high clearance truck. Actually, these road hazards Yeehaw handles just fine but she HATES sand. Poor girl gets stuck if the sand is only surface stuff. Like on Gonzaga Bay at Punta Final where I drove off the firmer ‘road’ on to the sandy beach. Faster than you can say "UY!", Yeehaw’s wheels dug right down into the sand. I had purchased the Maxsa Sand Planks just in case and we had our first opportunity to use them to dig out one of the four vehicles we were traveling with. But I felt okay about that when we had to use them on two of the three 4WDs traveling with me. I’m telling you, the more you want to overland it, the more you ought to consider buying sand planks. There are several makes but after researching them I bought the Maxsa which is a middle-priced, bright orange plank that comes in pairs for about $150 dollars. This is a link to a little video of the first time we used them: Sand Trap

Our very own hot spring at our campsite

Money conversion – I swear if I had to do it again, I would download one of those conversion aps that DOES NOT REQUIRE WIFI to give you an answer. I just could not wrap my head around the fact that 1000 pesos is only like $55 bucks. So when you are at the Border, stop in at an exchange and get LOTS of pesos for food, grocery stores and even gas stations (more on that below). But never fear, fortunately cerveza is only 25 Pesos (about $1.50). Of course, it’s ‘all Bud Light’ you will be told if you are thinking you are going to find a Kiltlifter on tap. It’s not REALLY all Bud Light but it IS all Bud Light wannabes – Pacifico and Corona being the most common. Mexicans like their food spicy and fresh and their beer…..light.

Gas and Gas Stations – So most all of the gas stations on Baja will be Pemex, Mexico’s nationally-owned gas company. Generally, the gas didn’t seem as dear as I thought it would be. Higher than Arizona for sure and maybe even California although probably not as much nearer the Border. In the interior? You might want to research that before you travel on down the Baja. And be aware that the further south you get and away from Baja’s bigger cities (Border towns especially), even though most Pemex’s are supposed to have credit card machines, this won’t do you any good at all if the Pemex is in a town that has just lost its wifi to high winds off the Sea of Cortez or the technology of the village is just not up to the task. Make sure you have plenty of pesos for gas stations that are still on the cash only system – or might as well be.

Toilet at Dagget's Campgound

One more thing about gas stations – their toilets are generally slightly more reliable in terms of cleanliness than most other places at your option. Although the one Pemex in Gonzaga Bay didn’t have water so its toilets wouldn’t flush so it was really just a toilet in name only. You might come across one that has an attendant and you might want to pay the attendant for ‘cleaning’ up after you – and giving you a bit of toilet paper if you happened to not remember that most necessary travel item. Generally, count on having to supply your own toilet paper at all times. It’s just easier and more sanitary for everyone. And remember, if there is a large trash bin next to the toilet – that means the waste disposal system is a bit wonky so just toss your used TP in the bin – even if it offends you sensibilities. You are doing the next traveler desperate for a working toilet a favor.

Moonrise over Punta Final

Sleeping on the beach – that’s what most of us come down to the Baja to do – or at least NEAR the beach. One thing I learned this trip – if you are going to sleep in a tent, make sure the tent is low-profile. I had along my Coleman 4-person which practically taco’d in the wind coming off the sea. A good choice would be one that was designed aerodynamically to resist the wind. Sand stakes or, as most of us had, sand bags are also very useful in stabilizing your tent. Most beaches will have ‘palapas’, small grass shacks which are perfect for extra wind and sand protection. Just pitch your tent and set up your kitchen in the palapa. Also, back to toilet habits, it is acceptable to pee on the beach as long as you walk all the way down to the tide line. If you pee anywhere else, it will begin to smell like the inside of a primitive state park latrine.

Have no fear – OK, things are different in the Baja. Restrooms are not up to our cleanliness standards; you can’t drink the water (seriously don’t); spending your pesos makes you feel really poor really fast until you remember the exchange rate. Sand gets in your crotch and your shoes. Obviously Mexico has not had the pleasure of having a Lady Bird Johnson clean up the sides of the highways (more prevalent closer to the urban areas) and the soda isn’t cold and the vendor’s shop has a whole bunch of knickers (everything from whitie-tighties to thongs) hanging from his ceiling (DO stop at Coco’s Corner on the way from Gonzaga Bay to Bahia de Los Angeles).

Coco's Corner on the 'road' from Gonzaga Bay to Bahia de Los Angeles

BUT you can find a mechanic in a small village by just continuing to ask around until you are given directions on how to get to his house where your host is certain you will find help for your ailing truck. You can find Aqua Purificata vendors for purified water and the much needed ice for your coolers in all but the smallest villages. The proprietors of the restaurants serve you delicious, fresh food and make sure you know they are glad you are there. The gas station attendants are courteous and don’t laugh at your horrible Spanish. Sometimes you can get away with breaking a traffic law you didn’t even know you broke by being polite and nodding to the nice policeman a lot (yeah, that happened to me).

Remember, too, that Mexico is a developing country, our neighbor to the south – light years further along in their development of a strong middle class than even ten years ago. These are the people that are going to continue to come across our southern borders to buy our manufactured goods, assuming that our expectations of perfection means their purchases will last longer, look better and work more efficiently than ones made in Mexico. Step out of your fear zone and you will find warm and hard-working people happy to see you, happy that you have chosen their country, their Baja, their village to visit. And you will be happy that you have.

Sunrise at any beach on the east coast of the Baja