I don’t like to consider myself a sentimental person but after traveling and living aboard Malo for the past eight and a half months, when I went to lock her companion way hatch for the last time before we were to leave her for the season, a big wave of sadness passed over me. Malo has been a great boat, I’d say that she’s one of the greatest boats in my life. She has seen us through over 3,000 miles of wind, waves and wonder but now, faced with leaving her all alone on the hard, out in the desert for the next six months filled me with a profound sadness. Besides not being prone to sentimentality, I also don’t think of my self as someone who is prone to anthropomorphism yet there I stood, feeling deep fondness and gratitude towards something made out of plastic, aluminum and lead. I can’t deny that I love Malo as dearly as I do any other being. I feel that she has taken good care of us, her crew, over these past many months and sea miles as we have done our best to care and honor her.
To paraphrase an old Japanese saying;
For a boat to ever be more than just
something floating on the ocean,
the sailor must be more
than someone just standing on that boat.
It does feel like a full and symbiotic relationship to me between Malo and her crew, with good energy flowing in both directions.
Leaving Mexico
It was pitch dark at 10:00 pm when Martine arrived with his compact sized taxi. We were standing outside of Malo with all our stuff piled in the dirt; two folding bikes, 3 back packs, and 3 large duffle bags. I was thinking that we should probably call another taxi to share the load but Martine seemed undaunted and asked for a rope. In short order the bikes and duffels were packed as high as the unclosed top of the trunk and all lashed down in a way that reminded me of Bev’s Dad and how he used to move similarly big loads and even bigger ones with his compact sized car back. The remaining three of us and assorted bags squeezed into the cab and then down the rutted and rock strewn dirt road we went.
As we made our way to the bus station the clear night air and bright lights seemed to reveal Mexico in a super-real way that left me feeling more like a witness than a participant in the events as they unfolded that evening. The streets were alive with people as we drove by a circus, a taco stand, a road side cantina with customers spilling out into the street, a meat market, it’s front open to the street and a butcher hacking away at a big slab of meat, kids hanging out, some people that looked homeless, a large patch of fur and blood in the middle of the road that may have been someone’s pet or perhaps a stray… We went through several stop signs without stopping and then passed a left turning car on the left. All of this without any since of drama or that it was out of the ordinary for this place. Mexico, I had felt so comfortable and part of this land of easy living for the past six months but not tonight. For some reason tonight I felt very much the stranger here. I realized that I must be starting to separate myself from this place and that brought on another wave of sadness.
24 hours from Guaymas to Las Vegas
We took a Tefas bus from Guaymas to Vegas. The buses are inexpensive, modern, comfortable and the people, both passengers and operators were more friendly than I remember US buses being. There was also a lot more technology than I could manage; WIFI, a video feed, both AC & DC power were available. I couldn’t even figure out how to turn on the reading light. We road the same bus the whole way with three different drivers who’s personality grew more gregarious as the journey progressed. The second driver played great Mexican music that both Bev and I loved. The third driver was a happy fellow that really loves music. He started out playing a mix of opera songs mostly soaring arias, then moved on to a collection of classic waltzes. He sang and whistled his heart out with both genres.
I enjoyed some pleasant conversations with the other passengers who were mostly Mexicans however I did have a couple of good conversations with a young man that looked road worn and was htraveling with a guitar. He had been traveling in Mexico for about six months and just before he headed home to Wyoming his phone was stolen. Bev tried helping him connect with a friend who was supposed to meet him at the bus station in Vegas but weak broadband and cross border caca prohibited that so they agreed to try again once we crossed the border. That didn’t happen. He was detained at the crossing at Nogales. The last we saw of that gringo guitarristo he was being led off in handcuffs by two border patrol agents. I hope he was able to sort that caca out…Meanwhile the rest of us were back on the bus to Veges. I just shook my head. It’s just like what Kesey said; “You are either on the bus or you’re off it”. Damn, that man was a profit and I’m going off into the weeds…let’s see if I can get back on course…oh, here we got back on the bus to Vegas. I can’t say too much about the end of the bus trip other than we were getting quite fried “en la cabeza” and we slept a lot. We arrived in Vegas after 740 miles of bus travel amazingly right on schedule.
It was ten o’clock at night when we got to the bus terminal and luckily we scored a taxi right off that was big enough to carry all of our stuff. The driver was very cool. He sported an old pork pie hat, had a big diamond in his left ear, said that he had 14 kids, said that had been a musician for the past 40 years, playing base guitar in funk bands. I could believe that, he had the vibe and he was driving a new vehicle worth over $60K and, and, and he had that super cool vibe. The other thing I remember about Vegas was using a very nice, Elvis themed bathroom at the airport. Elvis lives on in Vegas! The King is not dead, no he is not…
I was starting to feel charmed. We had hit all our marks and anything that could break, broke our way. Once we crossed the border I turned on my phone for the first time in months and almost immediately got a call from my old friend Al. He has been living out in the desert and decided to try my phone on one of his weekly sojourns into cell range. It had been a while since we had spoken and it was good to know things were well with him and his wife Angele.
We team drove a rental van all the way home a distance of 860 miles, another blurry, blur…again and more so as we were getting quite burnt out at this point. We drove very much the same way that we made passages on Malo, with one driving while the other slept. One cool thing worth mentioning was that we did a very good job of keeping an eye each other. I think that collaborative effort kept us out of a lot of potential trouble…
Most of this part of the trip is a full on blur. Two things I do remember; passing by Area 52 in the middle of the night (nothing seen) and twice encountering small herds of mules walking down the middle of he highway. Bev’s fast reaction saved us with the mules as she broke hard and swerved right to avoid what may have been a very nasty accident.
After traveling about 1,500 miles we hit our first “green”. We had been traversing the great Sonoran Desert, south to north and it’s wasn’t until we got near Crescent Lake in Oregon that we began to see green and it kept on greening all the way to our door step, where things were raging in electric green. And, and, and we got to take showers…simple pleasures are the best!
When we got home it was wonderful. The house was in very good order, well tended by my friend Al’s sister Diane who house sat for us these past 9 months. She had bought a trailer and is planning to move up to Portland area soon, establishing her new home. It’s a world of wonders and we had nicely landed back in our home again. I have always thought that one of the beat parts of a good trip was coming home and here we were, delighted to simply be…home.
No comments:
Post a Comment