Burning Through XI - Wind Blasts me Inland

The news from home is of a white Christmas. Snow piling up, travel thwarted - delays. I wake to a cool north wind blowing from Canada straight down the Sea of Cortez. It blows me right off the veranda where I perched to start my day.

Should I stay or should I go? Waiting for the ferry means 2 days in this town and it’s getting smaller all the time. I assess my options and stay. The next days are filled with many hikes up to the top of the surrounding hills, overlooking the town and the desert, investigating the old smelter where I hear the ghosts of all the Mexicans who died making money for the man in Paris. I wander the streets to visit and revisit familiar shops and restaurants. Time slows down as my movement decreases. 20/20 hind sight says moving on would have a better choice.

My plan was to catch the ferry on the 28th and make a run from Guaymas in Sonora to catch my train in San Diego by the 31st. When I made the plan I didn’t know the north wind would cancel the ferry again.

Being immobile for those days had an ill effect. The luster from when I first arrived wore off. Yet the beauty of Santa Rosalia and it’s people stay with me even now. From this distance I see it was not the place but the sense of familiar and lack of movement that began to crowd in on me.

I knew I had to move. The bus for San Ignacio left at 4:00 pm and I was on it.

It is early evening as I roll into San Ignacio. I hop off the bus and instinctually walk down a side street and fumble with broken Spanish asking around for a hotel. An ex heroin addict visiting his family from L.A. leads me down a dirt track to the highway and points in the direction of a hotel. I wander aimlessly and turn back.

I am famished in the fading light and choose a roadside taco stand for a meal. Three generations serve me as I sit and listen to evening sounds. Cicadas begin their evening cadence as fifth wheel tractor trailers roll by, the Grandmother is crying desperately out back somewhere, and the TV is background noise to all of this. A shiny faced kid with holes in the knees of his jeans serves me coke and offers me a Chick let. It was the worst meal I had in Baja, but perhaps the most memorable.

It’s time to find a bed for the night. A waft of refried beans and diesel follow me as I make my way to a travelers hostel I found out about.

It is a long walk in the dark. Dew and desert palms line the road to the hostel - Rice and Beans. I meet a Canadian couple who have spent the past 15 years of retirement in Baja, traveling back roads with their heavy duty 4X4. I haven’t been at a travelers hostel on this trip. There is a strange but familiar ethic among road people here and lots of English. It is a good place to be for a night. Bob and Ruth tell me the catholic mission here is one of the finest in Mexico. I have part of the day tomorrow to check it out.