desert between the grey Pacific and the deep blue Sea of Cortez. Sandy rust covered hills and desolate towns dot the distance between coasts. Besides an enormous hydroponic tomato factory most of what you see at first are skinny cattle, cactus and lonely stretches of ranch fence. A couple of hours out, the bus descends into a humid valley filled with desert palms. San Ignacio – an oasis I find out later. A guy in Ensenada told me there was a catholic mission here. From the bus the place looks like a truck stop.
Increasing elevation in the centre of the Baja peninsula and the cactus grow bigger, a result of Pacific rain clouds that sweep across and dump. The Sierra de Baja California mountains cut through the Baja and create remarkably different climates from one coast to the other. The dry Sonoran desert creeps onto the Sea of Cortez shore and up the east side of the Baja. As we roll along I am anticipating a view of the Sea of Cortez. We crest a ridge and there set against the dry Sonoran desert is a deep ultramarine blue stretching into the distance. I feel both a lift and
pervasive anxiety as we roll down into Santa Rosalia. Another town, another change.I sense the ghosts of campesino labour that worked at the now burnt out smelter as the bus rolls past to the station. The haunted feeling is quickly replaced by the anticipation of Christmas and the joy of the holiday.
After getting off the bus I make my first foray into town. Its narrow streets are filled with bustle, a combination of commerce and music. Street vendors are on every corner among juice stands, bakeries, beer stores and a big central plaza with its nativity scene. I begin my search for a bed. This place is alive. Vehicles endlessly idle up and down one way streets stretching into the narrow valley containing the town. Its the night before Christmas and all is not quiet. Every second vehicle passing me booms out funked up mariachi music. Every second shop I pass has an exterior stereo system doing the same. My noise threshold has diminished from 6 years of Ashram life. Silent Night this will not be.
Santa Rosalia boasts French influence, particularly in its architecture. A French company founded the town in 1884 and exploited copper mines till 1954 when they shut down. They installed a metallic church building, argued to have been designed by Gustave Eiffel, the architect of the Eiffel Tower. The mining company director found it disassembled in Belgium, bought it in 1894 and then had it shipped over to Santa Rosalia prefab, most likely to alleviate the nostalgia of the French community who missed all things European. Yet no official blueprint of the church exists and there are serious doubts about who the actual architect was. Frankly, the building looks like it could be a machine shed on a Saskatchewan grain farm. Even so, a machine shed designed by Eiffel brings an allure and mystery.
I get a place with a great veranda adjacent to what I hope to be a quiet street. I’m drawn to the hills. I want to get up high and see the length of the place. I scramble up the hillside to a cemetery and the perch provides the view I am after. It is Christmas evening with the desert light descending and the Sea of Cortez in the background. In that moment the whole journey is worth every peso, bus line up and road side meal. The town below is full of music and light, the townsfolk are radiant with holiday spirit. I feel a quiet satisfaction. Moments like this in life are rare and they always come with a price.
Later in the evening I attend the service at the church. Hearing the bells I walk through the town and meet a swell of beautifully dressed families pouring out of Iglesia de Santa Barbara. The church is full but I stand outside listen and appreciate the sincerity of the Catholicism. From there I wander the streets and hear families along the narrow streets celebrate in their homes. Children run around the nativity scene in the central square, young men play guitar for young women under a brightly lit Jacaranda, old men stand in the middle of a side street laughing, finishing their neighborly chat with a hug.
The celebration of Christ’s birth lasts late into the night. Firecrackers blast away as I lay down at 11:00 pm and wake me up again at 3:00 am as do the boom box cars and veranda conversations. Sounds fill the air till the early morning light. It is cool with a Sea of Cortez breeze.How long will I stay? I can get to Sonora from here. There is a ferry that crosses the sea. When does it travel?
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