The Air Up There

Have I mentioned lately that I love living here? This week I got to tag along on a business trip to Hermosillo, one of Sonora's largest cities. I have now learned to appreciate flying in Mexico on small, private planes for many reasons.
First, what security lines? We walked straight to the plane. No NSA gorilla asking to sniff your shoes. Nada. If you want to blow up your own plane, go right ahead. Sure, they check to make sure you're not loaded down with obvious weapons, but for the most part, you're free to carry all the deadly fingernail clippers you can handle.
Two, what immigration papers? I was supposed to carry my temporary visa since Hermosillo is outside the zone in which tourists are not required to have one. But, my documents are somewhere getting converted to a permenant visa. My boss said we'll deal with it if it becomes an issue. I was a little worried that it would. I was right; it did. But not like you'd think. The person at the immigration desk wasn't there, so they said we could take care of things when we were leaving. What? I'm trying to enter your country illegally! You have me at a federal facility guarded by, albeit short and scrawny, dudes with machine guns! I'm at your mercy! I could leave and never come back! Eh. Ok. I guess we'll take care of it when we come back. And we did. I don't think that flies on the other side of the border.
Three, what customs agents? After finishing our business in Hermosillo, we flew to Tucson to tie up some loose ends like stocking up at Cosco for the big fishing trip this weekend (if it's not too windy). I'll keep you posted. Anyway, on our way back, we brought all kinds of stuff. Nothing we really needed to declare. Don't worry; I'm not smuggling. We checked with customs in the States before bringing the watermelons (which, by the way we saw at Cosco for $6.79). We were fine. But we could have brought all kinds of goodies! Penasco has no customs agents.
All in all, it was a fun, enlightening experience. I told the guys on the plane that I had flown in a micro-light (one of those hang-gliders strapped to a propeller and a go-cart) when I was living in Russia. Technically that was the smallest aircraft I've been in. But this is the smallest one with doors. It was a surprisingly smooth ride. I didn't even puke!

It's spelled like "stop," but it's pronounced like "yield."

Have you ever heard it said that stop signs with white borders are optional? In Mexico, some stop signs have white borders and some don't. But let me tell you, after 2 weeks here in Penasco, I have found they're ALL optional!

I made it a whole week before falling prey to bad driving habits. I slow down for stop signs, make U-turns in the middle of the road, pass on the right, etc., etc. That woman at the DMV I talked into giving me a license when I was 16 would be mortified. I love driving here!

Cheeseburger in Paradise for $10?

What happened to cheap food in Mexico? I studied free trade economics so, yes, I know the answer. World commodity prices, blah, blah, blah. At one time the cost of living here was relatively cheap. Not anymore, my Norte Americano amigos. I found a restaurant by the ocean the other day that sells tacos for $15 pesos. That's a little under $1.50 dollars. (They use the $ for pesos here. When you see something listed for ten times its real value, you know it's pesos.) They're pretty small, but they taste good. Worth $1.50? Yes, but barely.

Then, last night, I went to a little cafe for dinner, mostly to use its free wireless internet. It has free (unsecured) wireless, but no power outlets. Bienvenido a Mexico. Bring a good battery. The pasta dishes start at $14. For pasta? Really? What's the markup on that? I went "cheap" and got the cheeseburger. It still ran me $10 with a soda.

And the dog taco shacks aren't much better. They charge just less than the restaurants. I'm not quite ready to gamble with my guts just yet. I know my wife says they're safer because you can see the meat cooking in front of you, but I'm not sold on most of the ones I've seen.

Honey, I should have brought more pots and pans.

Where's the flood, Noah?

This I found amusing. It never rains in Penasco. Ever. Why, then, would anyone sell ponchos? Because they have them. That's why. And as long as you have something to sell, anything at all, you put it on the shelf. I took this picture from the same spot as the one below.

Reasonably What Person?

In case you're wondering, this is a bucket of machetes. I found it in a general store called Numeros when I was looking for a shower curtain. The reasonably prudent person is different south of the border. Thanks for ruining the way I see the tort world, Professor Russell. And in case you're also wondering, why yes, they do sell children's toys here. I shook my head in disbelief, too.

Oh, and the Aviso in the picture above, says that children are not to remove machetes from the buck. Yeah, that'll work. I don't know what kind of child you were, but this one would have listened as well as all the other disobedient mocosos that get transfixed by the mirrored finish of gleaming blades. I've never had occasion to discipline a machete-wielding child, but I may yet get my chance.

Navy Pride

The other morning I went to the beach. My office is literally a stone's throw from the sand. I know. I threw a rock and almost hit a kid. From the harbor I could hear the lone snare drum of the Mexican Navy's marching band. When most people hear that Mexico has a Navy, their first questions is: "Mexico has a Navy?" Inevitably their second question is: "Why?" Back in the day, Mexico negotiated with the Army Corp of Engineers to build a port. In retrurn the US could use it to get supplies to the war in the Pacific. Not a bad deal. The Sea of Cortez is a very protected water way. Now the Mexican Navy has a small outpost in this remote fishing village. They throw loud parties at the officers club. We heard the music as we were coming back from that cruise Saturday night. They rivaled the karaoke bars in the old town. Because Mexico isn't exactly a terrorist target, its soldiers here are highly-trained bugling/dancing/partying machines. Until Penasco comes under attack, keep those instruments tuned.

Ahoy, Matey

My Sailing merit badges make me no more a sailor than the First Aid merit badge makes me a doctor. Luckily I wasn’t driving. I’ve been on large commercial boats before (ferries in the San Juan Islands and the Viking line from Helsinki to Stockholm), but they don’t really count. I’m talking true blue, private use cruising yachts. And I’m not sure what threshold a boat has to cross before it’s considered a “yacht” in the ocean, but I’m pretty sure my boss’s counts. In Wyoming a yacht is anything with a motor. I used to guide a “limo” down the Shoshone River when I was 18 if that gives you any idea how we mountain folk view watercraft.

I tried to act cool, like this was no big deal. It wasn’t to them. They do this all the time. When asked how often they “get out” on the boat, the answer was, “oh, about once a week for something like this and once a month for a longer trip.” Longer trip? How much longer? How many people go “longer?” I was intrigued. Turns out they do a few big fishing trips every year.

The back deck has 10 chairs set up with plenty of standing room along the rails. Inside the main room are 2 large tables that seat 8 each. A couple benches and other chairs by the TV round out the seating arrangements. The kitchen is larger and better equipped than the one in my condo. The master bedroom has a king-size bed and a king-size bathroom – by boat standards, that is. Downstairs are the 8 state rooms, each with its own bathroom.
Above the main level is the cockpit with captain’s quarters and a couple rooms for the staff. I think we had 5. Then, if that isn’t enough, on top of that is a lounging deck, equipped with a small bar.

The boat is called the Melanie Rose, after my boss’s daughter. Everywhere you look there are hand-carved roses in the woodwork. The boat even has its own printed napkins.

We pulled out of the harbor around 4:30 and headed for the sunset. Dinner consisted of chicken marsala (you’ll have to check my spelling on that one) and ribs. And all the beer you could guzzle, of course. These guys no how to put on a feed. I excused myself to watch he sun finish its plunge into the mountains of the Baja from the upper deck.

I’ve seen few sunsets that rival the one tonight. That one from the top of Ptarmigan Mountain back in 199? comes to mind as a contender. Apples and oranges, I guess. It’s one thing to watch a pretty sunset from the shore. It’s entirely different riding high atop a vessel in the middle of the water as the colors play off each other, the contrast becoming more defined as the sun fades. A picture is worth a thousand words, but 2-D images can’t capture the view from all the angles. You have to take in the sky and water behind you and to your sides. Besides, I forgot my camera.

We turned around just before the sky got dark. A bunch of us sat on the upper deck, content to take in the stars and to enjoy the breeze. From where we sat the Big Dipper was about to scoop up the water in Cholla Bay.

To date this stands as my most awe-inspiring moments on the ocean. It’s not my most memorable moment in the water. That place is reserved for the time I popped that “limo” and dumped most of my French passengers into the Shoshone River all those years ago. I just hope I get invited for the next cruise.

Until then, it’s still sunny in Penasco. I saw the sunset to prove it.

No Hay Agua

I’ve been here for less than 1 week and I’ve already experienced waking up to no water. My pump turned off in the middle of the night. And I thought it was just the quirky Mexican water system. No. It’s the quirky Mexican electrical system that kicks off your pump that sucks water from your quirky Mexican water system. I may have dust scented water, but at least it's running.

Whew! I made it! Bienvenido a Mexico!

I’ll be honest. The border crossing had me worried. With my trusty burro loaded down I looked like someone trying to smuggle junk into Mexico. I left Denver on Wednesday morning early and drove to Phoenix to stay with my parents for a few days before finishing the cactus leg of my journey. We bought one of those monster-sized travel bags you strap to the roof of your car so I’d have another 17 cubic feet of space. It’s too long to fit lengthwise (the proper way to install it), so I had to turn it sideways. It fits now, but just barely. And it looks funny on top of a Honda Civic. It’s so big that the added wind resistance killed my gas mileage by about 1/3. The guy at the border crossing had me open my trunk and look inside only one of my suitcases. I figured I’d get the vehicular version of the rubber glove, but I didn’t. When he asked what was in the bag on the roof I told him golf clubs. He must have liked my answer to the guns, bullets, and drugs inquiry because when I offered to open the bag he said it wasn’t necessary. Pretty trusting folks, those Mexican border agents. I bet their U.S. counterparts aren’t. As a side note, does anyone know what the border agents do when you admit to having guns, bullets, or drugs? And who does that anyway?

So there I was in Mexico. A lot of good stories start that way. Mine does.

Puerto Penasco is about an hour southwest of the Arizona border on the Sea of Cortez (Gulf of California). When I pulled into town I went straight to the office. Nothing says “welcome to your new job” like going to the office before unpacking. After the obligatory greetings I got the keys to my new digs.

Our place is a little 2-story townhouse in a recently constructed development on the edge of town – and by “edge of town” I mean away from the beach. It’s a comfortable 3 bed, 2.5 bath with tile floors and nice wood trim. It’s well built, but poorly designed. Who tiles the walls of the entire bathroom? But more specifically, who tiles the walls of the half bath? And who builds a kitchen with an electric range but no stove? And who builds a balcony but makes the door to access it an added feature? At least the AC works. I’m proud to say the company I work for did not design these townhouses.

I said earlier that our place is recently constructed. In fact, it’s never been lived in. It still has that new-house smell. It also has (or had) its fair share of quirks. For a while we couldn’t figure out why there was such a strong sulfur smell when we turned on the hot water. After draining the water heater we found the answer. The thing coughed out mystery chunks in varying shades of grey. I really don’t want to know what it is, so I tell myself it was just sediment of some kind. Luckily the hot water heater is outside.

The sulfur smell is gone from the water, but there’s still the aroma of dust. It’s the smell of the hot, dusty Mexican breeze you cover your face to avoid – only it’s in the shower. On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d rate this problem a 2. I’ll take a sedimentary smell over sulfur any day.

Despite a few hiccups, Rocky Point is sunny.