2015-06-30

Muchas gracias, Todos Santos

My Love Affair With Baja



When I was a teenager in the 60’s in the beach town of Pacific Palisades, California, I had heard some pretty raunchy stories recanted by some of my adventurous fellow high school mates (guys) of their wild weekends in Tijuana.  I got the impression it was a dark, mysterious place where anything goes, and anything could happen, and did. There were plenty of tales of all the boozing without age restrictions, and going to bull fights and strip clubs. The shocking stories of strippers pole dancing with donkeys going at their private parts were enough to keep me and my girlfriends away.  I also knew, though, that there was another side to TJ too, since my parents enjoyed their excursions over the border to gamble at Jai Alai games and savor “real” Mexican food.

Before graduation a bunch of us decided to venture down to Rosarita Beach, where we heard it was safer, and we could ride horses on the beach and eat grilled lobsters for next to nothing.  And so we did…all we needed were birth certificates to cross the border (just in case you were stopped), and we had a blast.  For pot smoking teenagers of the 60’s, you couldn’t beat that contagious sense of total abandon in the air.  So I have fond memories of those days.

My father, a visionary developer of Maui, Guam, and Puerto Rico in the 60’s, used to fly down to Cabo San Lucas on a seaplane to go fishing with his buddies.  The tales of bringing in all the marlin and tuna they caught were pretty entertaining.  But he never chose to invest there, because it was “Mexico”.

My daughter and I had some fun spring break trips to Cabo in the 90’s, but never ventured far from the hotel or explored the area very much. It was all about party time for us, and we were surrounded by hundreds of others who obviously felt the same way. In the nearly fifty years that have passed since my early Rosarito days, much has changed and yet much hasn’t as well.

I didn’t take Baja seriously until 2002, when looking for some place to take my dad on a vacation for his 81st birthday.  A friend suggested we stay at her apartment In Todos Santos, a little fishing village north of Cabo I knew little about.  She owned a chili farm outside of town, and traveled there often to manage the business.  Sounded great to me, so we went.  There was only a poorly maintained two-lane road between Cabo and Todos Santos at that time, all  50 miles up along the Pacific Ocean.  We enjoyed the beautiful ride through the mountains and the vast desert “nothingness” right up to the water’s edge. It was pristine gorgeousness, and so far I’m happy to say, pretty much remains so on that stretch of Baja.

The first night spent in town in my friend’s 2nd floor apartment was magical, mostly because the farm workers gathered below to collect their pay and ended up singing around a bonfire in the driveway all night.  I had never heard such soulfully sung ballads before in my life, along with beautiful guitar playing wafting through our open windows.  It enchanted me all night long.  My father felt the same way.  In the morning we wandered around looking for a place to eat breakfast and stumbled upon the Caffe Todos Santos.  I was not prepared for the surprise I had walking into what I saw was one of the hippest little cafes in the world, with beautiful murals on the walls, delicious looking baked goods on display, and great music playing while sipping cappuccinos and espressos.  Where were we??  Walking around the historic village, passing a couple of beautiful art galleries, I became aware that there was a lot more beneath the surface of this place than one might imagine.  I grabbed my dad’s arm, and surprised myself when the words came out, “Dad….I could live here!”  Dad responded by saying, “So could I!”  The gypsy in both of us came through loud and clear.  We decided to explore the idea of buying something together.

That night we went looking for the Santa Fe Restaurant, having heard it was what put this town on the map, and we were not disappointed.  Owners Ezio and Paula Columbo were so gracious, and when they found out we “got the bug” to start looking around for property, Ezio set us up with a rancher in a pickup truck to take us around.  He spoke no English and we spoke no Spanish, but we somehow managed to communicate.  He took us all over the place…north, south and east…and we thoroughly enjoyed the experience.  We also saw that there were no homes at that time that were suitable as the family compound we had in mind to share, so we decided to look for land to build what we wanted.  We were hooked.  I returned two weeks later and found 2 ½ acres at the beach outside of town, in what was referred to as the “Otro Lado”…the other side.  We bought our land directly from the farmer who was selling it. There was only one home on our little dirt road then, and one summer when nobody was around, I named our street Avenida de Las Estrellas.  The nightly star show is spectacular.

The purchasing process was not as complicated as we feared, and within a few months Dad and I had each designed our own homes and contracted a local young builder from America, because as absentee clients we needed someone who spoke English.  He had our drawings transcribed by a La Paz engineer in the metric system in order to get our permits.  It took 8 months to build my home…and I found myself flying down every month for a few days to check on things and make the necessary onsite decisions.  As an architectural designer for many years, it was hard for me not to be on the job every day, but I was still working in LA, planning my graceful exit from my life as I knew it.

For the last 3 months of construction, I moved myself down completely, bravely driving my new pickup truck down the Baja, and setting up temporary quarters in a friend’s beautifully restored historic home in town.   The bartender at Hotel California was a school teacher during the day and before his bar tending shift he would come over and teach me all the Spanish phrases I needed in order to give instructions to the workers.  That’s how I started to learn Spanish. In the meantime, I was making new friends, and exploring my new world.

I experienced my first full on hurricane in that home, which had an open living room, and no screens on any of the bedroom windows. Hurricane Ignacio lasted five days.  There was no running water or electricity. There were bats hanging from the lampshades, and mosquitoes galore. I found cans of food in the cupboard to heat up on the gas stove.  To wash the pots, all I had to do was stick my arm out in the rain, pot in hand, and the force of the rain cleaned it right up.  That is also how I showered and washed my hair.  I’d go completely naked outside, overlooking the beautiful green huerta below with wild horses running freely in the rain, and just soap up and rinse off, while frogs danced all around me.  There were frogs everywhere, even hanging off my wine glass!  I felt like a heroine in a fairytale.

I was captivated by how much charm surrounded me, how polite and welcoming the locals were, the pristine beaches, and the freshest locally grown vegetables served in ways and with flavors I was not familiar with.  I loved going to Punto Lobos where the many fishermen revved up the motors of their pangas to ride the waves back onto the shore, returning with their day’s catch.  I was so excited to be able to buy fish right off the boats while watching them clean and filet, saving me the trouble.  It was glorious.  I was also so happy to be in a place where the sun was always shining.  I relished every minute.

When my home was finally completed in late September, the moving van carrying all my worldly possessions from California was due to arrive at the same time as Hurricane Marty was expected to hit.  Suffice it to say, the story has become a local legend and it was quite a test of my mettle.  The van also carried all my dad’s furniture for the house he started building next to mine. Every box was labeled in English and in the pouring rain it was nearly impossible to instruct the guys who were unloading, where to put what.  It was obvious the 60’ trailer truck would have to leave while it was still possible.  After four hours the dirt roads turned to mud and to this day I have no idea how they made it out.

I had a big generator in a storage area that was used for construction, but nobody taught me how to get it running, so I relied on lanterns for light. There were 140mph winds banging against my doors and windows, and horizontal rain coming at the house, flooding my living room.  I was soaked and completely alone in the dark, with only a twin bed set up in my guest room.  Nothing was where it belonged.  My beautiful and very heavy commercial Wolf range had been dismantled, with parts left outside to rust.  My washer and dryer were still in their cartons, which were swept off by the rain, on the side of the house.

This was a test.  A test of how committed I felt to my new life.  All I could think of was how I created this.   This home was my baby, and I was going to take care of it.  So I rummaged through my clothing cartons, found my sexiest nightgown, grabbed a mop, and started singing while mopping, all night long.  I knew I would be fine from that point on.  And no matter what challenges have been thrown at me since, of which there have been many, I have always been fine.

This Pueblo Magico is a magical place.  It is my observation, after 12 years, that it either embraces you or spits you out.  I was part of what has become known as the “second wave” of gringos to arrive.  The first wavers were the true pioneers having settled within 10 years before my arrival.  Since my wave, the next ones came fast and furiously for a while.  It was boom time.  I remember going up on my roof,  counting 13 homes that had been built in my neighborhood in the few years since mine.

After spending two years “retired”, my organic garden providing nearly everything I ate, writing and painting, I realized it wasn’t enough for me, and I started a business of overseeing construction for people who couldn’t be there.  My ad had me in a hardhat with flowers all over it and sequins spelling out Wendita.  I got every major project in the area, mostly Canadian clients.  The American economy started going down, but the Canadian dollar was strong and Canadians were discovering our magic town.  At that time I also started writing a column “Encounters of an Underground Milkmaid” in the local magazine, interviewing only people who were born and raised in Todos Santos.  It was my way of getting to know my adopted community,  and I published a book of most of those interviews, Genuine People Of Interest, Todos Santos.  I also published a magazine, Building In Baja, Solid Advice From The Trenches, devoted to helping people avoid mistakes from start to finish when considering moving to and building in a foreign country.  It morphed into the digital Baja Tips Weekly newsletter….Solid Advice and Tips With a Twist.

After many years of using his home here as a vacation escape, my dad moved down full time four years ago.  He is 93 now and thriving, owing his good health and well being to living the good life in Todos Santos.  He spends his time smoking a cigar by the pool, reading the many books he loves getting from the local library.  He enjoys taking lady friends out to dinner and goes to Cabo or La Paz to go shopping. My blog for Eldersense.com on alternative aging in place, is my way of sharing what it’s like to be a senior citizen living next door to my 93 year old dad in a foreign country.  He’s provided me with endlessly hysterical material.

Over three years ago, I was asked to host a radio program centered around Todos Santos for Cabo San Lucas’s only radio station. It’s one of the only English programs in all of Mexico. I’ve enjoyed this experience very much and it has added a whole other dimension to my Baja life.  I’m amazed at how many people from all over the world have discovered this place and fall in love with it.  It attracts a lot of young families who are choosing to raise their kids here.  It also attracts a pretty fair amount of single women “of a certain age”, for some reason I still can’t quite figure out. Perhaps we all just feel so comfortable and safe.  (To all the single men out there, please come down!  There’s a shortage of decent available men!)

Where else can one see the moon setting over the ocean as the sun is coming up over the mountains?  Where else can one have a burst appendix and spend a week in a private hospital for a total of $5,000? (The excellent medical care deserves its own article).  I love the roosters and goats that cross the road in front of my car as I drive to town.  I love seeing an honest to goodness Mexican cowboy on horseback.  Yes, we have our share of environmental battles due to the amount of people who want a piece of this place.  Water is an issue.  Electricity is an issue.  Overdevelopment is an issue.  Lack of infrastructure is an issue, such as an inadequate police force and fire department, but hey…the roads are getting paved!  And we now have a slew of great restaurants and a lot of festivals and cultural events throughout the year.  And yes, there are some unscrupulous characters who think they can get away with breaking the law by greasing the palm of the right person.  But that is changing.  All the waves of us who adore this place have influenced the people to rise up and demand positive change.  We have made a difference, whether it’s stopping toxic mining practices that will ruin our water supply, or putting a halt to building on precious sensitive habitats.  United, our voices are being heard.

I love my life here. I love my friends who have become family. My children visit when they can, but it’s so easy to hop on a plane or even drive and go visit them, so we get to see each other often.   I’ve been through four hurricanes now, but this last one, Odile, was a doozy.  She left her mark in the way of a lot of destruction of many of our homes and businesses, but not our spirits.  A lot of good has emerged from the ordeal of Odile.  It was a life changing experience for some of us, me included.  It set priorities straight where they belong….family, health, love and caring.  I feel blessed to be part of this beautiful community.  I am one of the “embraced” ones, and will forever be grateful for having found this (albeit, sometimes god-forsaken) paradise on earth.  I’ve lived in many places, but this place has brought out the real “me” in me, and has made me a better person.  Muchas gracias, Todos Santos.

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