Is this a threat?

“So the 5 day rental was $143, and the 3 day rental was $121? I’ll pay the invoice and leave a review.” – Karen

– A little background. I’d sent an invoice that included an unadvertised, unpromised discount of over 50% on a 5 day Paddleboard Rental, and then a second invoice with a 35% discount when the customer, let’s call her Karen, said she’d only used the board for 3 days. The discount on the first invoice was labeled “Special Partner Weekly Rental Discount” with a dollar amount. The second one said “An Extra Discount Just Because We Can”.

I never actually met Karen. I gave her a deal for no real reason other than that she was staying at a friend’s B&B & I felt like hooking up their guest. She misunderstood a number of things along the way, making assumptions that we were trying to sneakily wrong her. “There was another board at the property. I’m not paying for that.” (We often keep boards and boats at this house since the property has multiple rentals almost every week. It was never suggested she would or should pay for a second board).

I generally really like crowd sourced reviews, and I use them often. I read comments about restaurants, activities, hotels, rental houses, just about anything associated with an experience I am going to have – especially with friends or family. I’m much more picky about these experiences than I am about the things I buy. And I depend on the wisdom of the community to point me in the right direction.

Of course, I also make sure that I am finding a place that meets my expectations. If the #1 rated restaurant in town is a Denny’s, I keep reading down the list.

But as a business owner, it seems like there are days when I’m being threatened by some customers if we don’t offer them a special discount or provide a special service that is beyond what was ordered or requested. They ask for something unreasonable, or better yet just imply a desire for it. Then say something like “Well, you’ll see what I really think on Yelp.”

It’s said in such a way that I can’t justifiably ask what’s wrong. They just said they’d leave a review – not a bad review. But the words are spoken with that slight accent of contempt that leaves the threat hanging in the air – Just waiting for me to swat at it with a discount or special offer or anything I can think of to protect my reputation from being sullied.

The onus is put on me to interpret that we’ve done something wrong and have to make amends. It’s bump, set, spike, where I’m expected to take their last hit and spike the ball into my own face.

Just in case you didn’t know this – your online reviews have a major effect on the businesses you’re writing about. Taking 5 minutes to stoke a shop, service, or restaurant that you loved with a 5 star review can bring them significant additional revenue, even keep them in business.

Additionally, posting a rave review and giving it 3 or 4 stars because “5 star is for something really special” can really screw a place over. Why? Because, thinking nobody has your high standards or knows how to use a 5 star system properly, you still only LOOK for 5 star reviews. And so does everyone else. Your review can be the difference between whether a restaurant is #1, #2, or #7 in town – Especially in a small community. How often do you look at a list of the top 10 of anything and go straight for #4?

Now, if a business doesn’t provide a decent product or service, please review honestly. I don’t know an entrepreneur out there that doesn’t want to know how they can improve or where they’ve missed the mark. But before you trash them online, try talking to the owner or manager to see if they’re willing to help solve a problem they might not be aware of. Try working together to make your actual experience better rather than suffering through it, stewing and writing your scathing review in your head.

If you go to a place frequently and have the same issues all the time, then maybe they really do deserve a 1, 2, or 3 star review. Or maybe you’re looking for something they’re not trying to provide. Expecting a perfect cappuccino at a drug store lunch counter (in America) is your bad, not theirs. It’s like going to a Dentist to get a Colonoscopy. You are going to be disappointed, and it’s not their fault.

But back to Karen. I still don’t really know if she’s just curt in email, or if she’s pissed off that I only gave her $57 off of her paddleboard rental. So I asked – “Is this a threat?”

And I sent the e-mail. And now, even though I stand behind everything I wrote. And I don’t think I was (very) rude about it. And I immediately added “If I misunderstood, please accept my apologies.”  I know she’s going to get the e-mail and think “Who does this guy think he is? I never threatened anything. I should write a review about how rude this guy is.”

But I hit my limit today. I’ve held back on too many things. Friends who I think of as kind, reasonable human beings are saying horrible, racist things online and posting incredibly offensive memes and images on social media and sending emails spreading inflammatory articles that have been proven to be full of lies and falsehoods. And I keep my mouth shut and my fingers off the keyboard. Because I don’t want to offend them or get into some long internet brawl with them.

People who are very good friends with gay and lesbian friends of mine talk about why we shouldn’t allow gays in the military or how gay marriage is an abomination “But not you guys. You guys are awesome.”

Having spent a lot of time as a happy civilian in the Middle East (I lived there as a child and have been back several times as an adult.), I am disgusted and dismayed by the anti-Muslim vitriol I see around me every day. But I keep my mouth shut and my fingers off the keyboard. Because I know that that dude who I chat with in the lineup at our local break- the one who just posted some crazy shit about how “All Muslims are scum.” has other friends who will caps-lock scream their heads off if I mention that Muslims are people, and there are several Muslim people that they actually know and interact with on a daily basis… And they’re not f’ing terrorists!

But today I feel that Karen, with her implied threat, is exactly that – a damn terrorist. She’s subtly trying to take something from me or influence my actions using fear and intimidation. And I’ve had enough.

So all of you out there who love the flame wars, and yell at waitresses about mistakes the kitchen made, and threaten to “tell you what I really think on Yelp.” I’ll tell you what I really think right here. You suck.

You’re part of the problem. Maybe not all of the problem, but a big damn part of it. Another part is the community of people, myself included, who are concerned about or afraid of pissing you off.

So here’s what I’m thinking I can do about a small part of it.

1. Start calling out review threats made to me or other businesses– stop the cyber-bullying of small business owners.
2. Respond to obvious BS reviews that I see online (1 star – Great shirt, but I ordered a Medium and needed a Large)
3. Fact check friends who post racist memes, fake quotes from celebrities, and other BS (Unless I actually believe they’re racist assholes. There’s no sense trying to correct those folks with facts on Facebook.)
4. Take a step back, go to the beach, and have a cold beer

I’m not going to make a crusade out of this. So, just because I don’t debunk your BS, don’t assume I think you’re a racist asshole. But if I do challenge you on something you posted, sent, or said, please know I am doing so because I think you’re better than that. That maybe you went for the cheap laugh without realizing the cost was your moral standing and the respect of your peers (not so cheap now). And I ask you to do the same with me. Call me out if you think I’m out of line. Let me know what you really think. Think.

I don’t care if you’re a Republican or Democrat. A Populist or a Libertarian. A preacher or a drag queen (or a drag queen preacher). Think what you want. Support who you want. Do what you want. But be ready to stand up for it. “That was just a re-Tweet.” Is a weak response to “Why did you send out that crazy racist shit?”

Just as a 3 star review because “It was my birthday and the guys at the tire place never even sang to me.” is an offensive assault on a business.

But please, Karen, if I misunderstood you, please accept my most sincere apologies.

(Sorry for the rant, I really just wanted to know if you thought Karen was threatening me, and I guess I had a bit more on my mind.)

 

Archive action

So… I’ve been trying to find the old Die Tan blog posts and have finally tracked down about half of them & archived them here. So that’s what today’s flurry activity was. BUT – this also served as a good reminder to me that this is a great place to stash future travel stories.

Out to the Islands

This entry was posted on 3/13/2007 3:48 PM and is filed under DIE TAN Retirement Tour.

 

I woke up early and excited. We were heading out to the islands today, and I wanted to get off to a good start without having to rush anything or push Josh and Jon beyond their comfort levels. I packed up my gear, loaded into the Jeep and headed off toward town to meet the guys and get any last minute details sorted out. I was about half way there when I spotted an Osprey taking his breakfast across the highway and into the top of a small cluster of Saguaro cacti not far off into the desert. Figuring that this could be a great picture if I could get close enough, I pulled over and wandered off into the scrub to find the perfect shot. Moving quite slowly I got as close as I dared to the Osprey without scaring him off and possibly sacrificing his fish to one of the scavengers that are never more than a second away in this harsh environment. Satisfied with this early bonus I hopped back behind the wheel, pulled out onto the highway, and cringed as I immediately heard the drive shaft smack into the underside of the Jeep with an angry, authoritative “whomp”.

 

I knew it was the drive shaft because I’d broken one before. When I lived in Berkeley I couldn’t afford to get a new battery for the Jeep so we always parked it on hills and roll started it. This was a perfect plan for a while, but just days before I left to head back East I sheared the drive shaft and shattered the Universal joints to the tune of several hundred dollars. I was not pleased with the prospect of doing that kind of damage to my limited budget on this beautiful Monday in Mulege.

 

Fortunately I was feeling like a local by this point, and thus was able to find a couple of construction workers to give me a tow, and directions to the best shade-tree mechanic in town. For a grand total of $50 I was towed, disassembled, and repaired before 10:00am. Thank you Phillipe!

 

Now it was time to get the boys on the move and start this adventure. I hightailed it over to the Maria Isabella campo and found a very grumpy man telling me that my friends had left and that I should do the same. I looked around their camp and saw both tents, all their belongings, and John’s bike. Something wasn’t quite right here, but this guy was about as friendly as a bag of Hornets, and I was in no mood to be pissed on. As I headed out John ran out of the woods to flag me down.

 

After a brief discussion with the angry man (Mike), we realized that I was probably the reason for his discontent. Apparently in my haste to depart the night before I had run over a spigot which had resulted in a lack of hot showers at the camp today (oops). Mike’s mom runs the place, and he had to deal with the angry RV crowd that had missed out on their rinse today. I placated him with $4 and a pack of Oreos and told John to find Josh and meet me at Santispac beach. No angry little man was going to derail this train.

 

By 2:00 Josh, John and I were on the beach and getting our gear ready for the adventure at hand. Boats were unloaded. Food was divvied up. Dry bags were stuffed. And beer bottles were emptied. By 3:30 we were on the water and searching for the shallow water wreck of a shrimp trawler we were told was in the lee of our first island. We never found the boat, but we did find hundreds of Pelicans, and several dozen blue footed boobies playing on and above the rocky alcoves we paddled past.

 

As the sun set we approached our destination on the back side of Isla Coyote. A gently curving white sand beach reached out from the rocky coastline and welcomed us ashore. After quickly setting up camp and gathering up some rather sketchy firewood we were ready for dinner, and looking for Josh to perform his magic as self-appointed camp cook. Had we known what was coming, we would have simply eaten a handful of sand and called it a night.

 

The fire was a disaster. Green wood and pyrotechnic shrubbery were a volitile and impotent combination. The “meat” that Josh had purchased resembled untanned leather, and went down like cow flavored chewing gum. To say it was disgusting is to compliment this meal beyond it’s most ambitious charms. Eventually we decided to skip straight to dessert, which was, of course… pop corn.

 

Upon discovering that he had used all the salt to “tenderize” the meat, Josh decided that garlic salt would be an acceptable substitute on the pop corn. If you ever debate this same mistake, consider yourself forewarned. It’s a bad call. The seagulls were spitting out our popcorn all day long.

 

We retired to bed that night with empty stomachs, but full spirits and eagerly looked forward to the day ahead.

Into Mulege

This entry was posted on 3/2/2007 6:36 PM and is filed under DIE TAN Retirement Tour.

 

As I rolled into Mulege I decided that the best plan of attack would be to set up a decent base camp I could use for a few days before finding a comfortable spot for lunch and lounging. My guidebook had some nice things to say about the Orchard resort & RV park, so I was on a mission to find a campsite beneath the citrus, avocado, and mango trees promised in the brief description of the camp.

 

What I found was a beautiful spot on the side of the river that had been all but wiped out by Hurricane John last Fall. The Orchard had some very cool little vacation cottages, and inside you could see the mud marks on the wall several feet over your head. The luxurious Eden of fruit bearing trees was now a collection of driftwood on the beach several miles away, and the camping area was little more than mud and overwash scattered amongst what was left of the tall palms and construction equipment. Not exactly paradise, but I’m sure it will be once again within a couple of months.

 

I spent a little time poking around the cottages, and even got the full real estate pitch from the owner / manager of the site. It already seemed like there was an air of inevitability to the development people here see coming to their town. The hurricane was certainly a very real speed bump, but there’s a lot going on in this little town, and I’ll be interested to see what it looks like in the years ahead.

 

The river in Mulege had crested at over 30 feet above flood stage in the middle of the night when Hurricane John tore through here, and you could see the scrapes on the underside of the bridge from where it had been hit by cars, busses, houses, and whatever else got swept up in the torrent. The town itself is on a little rise North of the river, and though there had been widespread flooding, it was nothing compared to the campgrounds and small residential areas that line the river itself. Miraculously only 3 people were killed by the flood, and one of them had decided to go back down to the rivers edge to try to rescue his RV. His dog had followed him down and made it out. He wasn’t so lucky.

 

Since my plan for tropical paradise living at the Orchard was pretty much shot, I headed South toward the Eco-Mundo lodge. This little resort was described as the hopeful future of sustainable tourism development with solar power, water recycling, and organic food in the restaurant. All this at only $15 a night! I figured I’d splurge a little and check out the nouveau hippie lifestyle.

 

Unfortunately all was not perfect in paradise, and the management of the Eco-Mundo resort had left the place to fend for itself for the past few months. There was evidence that people had been using the palapas recently, and after checking in with the neighbors I decided that this could be a decent base camp as long as I was subtle and respectful about it. Turns out this was a great decision, and it fit into my budget exceptionally well. I picked out a nice little palapa, set up my bunk for the night, and scooted back into town to find some groceries and some internet access.

 

After checking in with my friends and family I treated myself to dinner at a little road side stand operated by somebody’s grandma and worked on my Spanish a bit while watching the local guys play a few round of “First goal wins” soccer in the local arena.

 

My second day in Mulege started nice and slowly with yet another gorgeous sunrise over the Sea of Cortez and I decided to explore the coast a bit and check out the beaches that I had read so much about in my Sea Kayakers Guide to Baja. Each time I rounded a corner I was struck with how beautiful the beach in front of me was. The water here is crystal clear, and the limestone sea-floor gives each Bay a rich hue of greenish blue that fades to sparkling white as the small waves lap at the shoreline. Black volcanic rocks jut out as small seamounts and islands, and deep green date palms sway in the wind to complete the picture of a perfect paradise. I had plans to go paddling here for a few days, and it was all I could do to keep myself from just ditching the Jeep around the next bend in the road and heading out immediately.

 

Instead I headed back into town to get some supplies together and create some semblance of a plan for the adventure ahead. Needless to say, the first stop was for ice cream. I mean why not? I’m hot and it’s 75 cents for a big double scoop from the cute girl at the corner. So there I am wandering down the street with my ice cream in hand when I see a dirty looking Kiwi biker buying tortillas and beer from an old guy on an oversized tricycle.

 

Josh had spent his time since Bahia Los Angeles heading over to the Pacific side to see the whales at Laguna San Igancio. After wiping out on a salt flat and fixing his bike up overnight, he had not only seen the whales, but pet them and laughed with a bunch of German tourists as the whales pushed their little boat around like a tub toy. I asked if he and John were up for some paddling and told him about my plans for the days ahead. Soon we were off to find John and rent another kayak.

 

I didn’t realize that Eco-Mundo was the only real kayak outfit in town, but the excelllent people at the Cortez Explorers Dive Center were kind enough to rent us their personal kayak so that we could all go out and play. The little yellow poke boat wasn’t quite as fancy as the sleek Point 65 kayaks I had on the roof, but we all agreed that it was a considerable improvement over swimming. Properly equipped, Josh and I strolled around town for a couple of hours to find food for the adventure ahead, and John started a fire and a bottle of rum back at their camp. The rum went out before the fire did, but by then we were fed, showered, and more than a little excited about the expedition that lie ahead. Plans were made for an 8:00 rendezvous, and I headed off for my makeshift home at the Eco-Mundo.

 

Bahia Los Angeles

This entry was posted on 2/14/2007 12:29 PM and is filed under DIE TAN Retirement Tour.

 

Another morning, another gorgeous sunrise. I was getting used to this trend. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even get out of bed to take pictures of this one. I just sat up, shot a few frames, watched until the sun was higher than the roofline of my palapa, and then dozed off for another hour or so. Decompression achieved.

 

After a nice long walk on the beach, I spent the rest of that first day in Bahia Los Angeles doing practically nothing. I read a few hundred pages of my book, built another fire, and thought about reorganizing the Jeep. I can’t remember being more relaxed than I was on that beach.

 

The day ended as most of them have with another fire, more fish, and a couple of cold cervezas. The second day at Bahia Los Angeles started the same way as the first, and I was starting to wonder if I could possibly pass out from a complete lack of stress. I had planned on going paddling, but the wind started picking up just as I was unloaded my boat. Every book I’ve read about Baja warns about the strong el Norte winds that rip down the coast in the winter. I had no desire to work my ass off trying to paddle over to the islands that dot the bay, so I grabbed my book and waited to see what the wind would do.

 

By late afternoon, the wind had picked up to about 20 knots, and it was time to break out the kite gear. I drove 7 miles or so up the coast to Punta Gringa and started setting up. Soon I had my kite rigged, my Jeep locked up, and my board waiting by the water’s edge. I launched off of the sand at Punta Gringa and let out a “whoo-hoo” as I boosted a nice air off the first wave I hit and started an 11 mile downwinder to the little town center in Bahia Los Angeles. The islands that are sprinkled across the bay are backed by a mountain range that makes up the point that separates me from the Sea of Cortez proper. The islands are white from the birds that roost there, and the mountains were glowing red in the late afternoon sun. With the deep blue water and my green and yellow kite it was a beautiful scene to be a part of. I didn’t try to push it too much. This session was more of a Sunday joy ride that anything else, but I couldn’t help ripping the top off of some of the little wind swells, and charging the flat water pools that sat inside the sand spits that poke off the sandy beach by the lighthouse at low tide. I was having a blast as I cut past the lighthouse and into the harbor to see the lights of the town start to flick on as the sun set behind the Sierra Gigantes mountains. After quickly packing up on the beach I was walking along the road for all of 2 minutes before a little Mexican family in an old Toyota pick up truck pulled over to give me a ride back up to my Jeep. I arrived back at my palapa just as night fell. All in all a pretty efficient shuttle for a lone gringo.

 

By now the fish I had gotten from my friends on the boat in San Felippe had started to smell a little funny. I decided to try my luck in town and found a nice little hotel restaurant with an electrical outlet that I could use to write for a bit. I had a great meal, a perfect margarita, and managed to get a few days worth of notes worked up before heading home for the night.

 

By day 3 in Bahia L.A. I had this place wired. Sunrise, coffee, walk, wait for the wind to turn on. Once again my paddling trip to the islands was canceled by wind, and I started rigging up the kite for another run. I met a couple of the other folks who were staying at the camp, and one of them offered to take some pictures while I was riding. We did a quick photo session and then I headed off downwind again. It was just as beautiful, but today I was ready to push the envelope a bit. Big jumps and new transitions were the recipe for the day, and I was gunning for it and having a blast. But when I turned into the harbor for some slick water fun at the end of my ride the wind just shut off. The land was still too hot this early in the afternoon, and the wind off the water wasn’t even coming close to getting to the harbor. I limped my kite back outside and felt the instant grab of 25 kts of power lift me back out of the water. I saw a little collection of huts a couple of miles down the coast and aimed for it. As I got close to land the wind started getting finicky again and I was barely able to drag myself into the beach.

 

A quick look around revealed that I was pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Oh well, there’s a dirt road that leads back to town, and this is the kind of thing you have to be ready to do if you’re going to ride in new territory. It was just like our early days of kiting on the Eastern Shore, but with cacti and mountains instead of pine forests and crab pots.

 

Once again, I had only been walking for a few minutes when I was offered a ride by one of the locals. This time he was a young guy named Eduardo on a 150cc dirt bike. So there I am with no shoes on hanging onto the back of a motorcycle on a bumpy dirt road with my kite strapped to my back, and my board under my arm. Back at camp I showed Eduardo how the kite worked and gave him a couple of cold beers for his help.

 

About the time I got out of the shower (hot this time, but still just spitting) I heard the familiar roar of motorcycle engines pulling into the camp. Josh and John had made their way down from Puertocitos and once again I had company. We talked about heading into town to watch the Super Bowl with the gringo contingent that was packed into the local restaurant that has satellite TV, but never quite overcame the gravity at Campo Archelon. At some point Josh went into town to find some bolts for his bike. John sat by the fire and played the little Spanish guitar he had picked up earlier in the day as I cooked dinner and mixed up a couple of seaside margaritas. Josh eventually showed back up with a few shots of tequila in his system and mumbled something about Canadians before crashing out on the sand.

Bahia Gonzaga to Bahia Los Angeles

This entry was posted on 2/14/2007 12:27 PM and is filed under DIE TAN Retirement Tour.

As the sun rose over Bahia Gonzaga I knew that this was going to be how most of my days in Baja would start. You simply couldn’t resist stepping out onto the sand to take in the brilliant red sky and its mirror image rippling across the water. As I brewed some coffee and packed up my gear I decided to take a quick tour of Pueblo Gonzaga. Quick being the operative word. 16 houses, RV shelters, shacks, and lean-to’s lead up to the bar which sits next to the harbor… and that’s pretty much it. Walking through the bar on my way to the beach my plans were changed by the smell of breakfast wafting out from the kitchen. I placed my order, grabbed my coffee and headed out to the beach to explore for a bit while the old woman in the kitchen started on the eggs. Isla Santa Rosalia de Gonzaga sits off the end of the beach and the tide was low enough to allow me to wander out there to poke around a bit. A couple of rays were swimming along in the shallows, and I saw my first Frigate Bird of the trip drifting along on the thermals that were already starting to rise up off the top of the island.

 

I wandered back to find my breakfast set up on a table practically at the water’s edge. I feasted on Huevos Rancheros with fresh tortillas and a bottomless cup of coffee. The family running the place couldn’t have been nicer, and I was completely content to start off my day fully fueled up and decompressing by the minute.

 

Heading West from Gonzaga I had been told that the road improves dramatically. It soon became obvious that nobody who I had spoken to had driven this road because I was soon staring down 40 miles of the 2nd worst road I had ever driven. After about 6 miles I heard a crunching sound from my front left tire that just made my heart sink and stomach drop. It sounded like at least $400 of buckling and I expected to look out and see my wheel outpacing me down the hill. But there it was, rolling along exactly where it was supposed to be. I figured that given my level of mechanical skill the best thing to do would be to push on and see what happened. Heck, I was only going 12 mph at this point anyway.

 

Dirt paths began winding off into the desert as soon as I dropped out of the coastal mountains. The Baja 1000 had run through here a few months ago, and I assumed that these were the passing lanes and alternative routes that had developed along the way. The sand looked a little soft, but the washboarding was much gentler over there. I made the executive decision to ditch the road and head off into the desert using my compass as a guide and keeping an eye out for the road from the high spots along the way. As long as I kept going West I had to run into Hwy 1.

 

When the mountains jumped back up the dirt tracks returned to the “road” and after a couple of kilometers I was desperately searching for another dirt track. At the top of a particularly nasty climb I was surprised to look down and see an ’82 Corolla sitting in the bottom of the ravine with 2 old Mexicans tinkering with it amongst a dozen of so gallon jugs of water and gasoline. I pulled over to see if they needed a hand and after a little confusion ended up pulling a climbing rope off the back of the Jeep and tying the little Corolla to the back for the ride out of the desert. We were a solid 30 miles from the highway, and these guys had basically ripped the transmission off the bottom of their little car. The Jeep stood up to the extra cruelty, and those guys rattled around behind me happily enough. There were a couple of spots that I felt bad dragging them through, but I wasn’t confident that they could make it on the dirt tracks that I wanted so badly to turn onto.

 

After about 10 miles we got to Coco’s Corner. This ramshackle tienda in the middle of the desert has been a landmark for years since Coco moved out here from Ensenada after losing a leg in some sort of accident. The stories vary on the details, but Coco is famously gregarious and practically fell over laughing when I explained why I was towing a loaded down Corolla across one of the worst roads in the world. I was in no particular hurry, and I figured the Mexicans I was towing couldn’t really complain about much so I took advantage of the opportunity to sit and have a cold beer with Coco and poke around his place for a while. Most of the décor is strings of beer cans and there are hundreds of pairs of panties nailed to the ceiling. All he needed was a couple of big Greek letters out front and he could have started rushing up the freshman class at San Diego State.

 

We bid Coco a fond fair-well, and after a couple more hours we finally reached the highway. I swear the Jeep sighed as the asphalt rolled beneath my wheels for the first time in 2 days. I pulled the Mexican guys to the first mechanic we could find where they untied the rope and send me on my way with a quick “gracias” and a nod. It was almost as if they weren’t certain that they were happier to be here than they were stuck on the side of the road. I did sort out that they’d bottomed the car out the night before and had slept on top of their car, so I figured they were good to go.

 

Bahia Los Angeles was calling me and I charged southward with new determination and open eyes. Highway 1 crosses virtual oceans of massive Saguaro Cactus and there were Red Tailed Hawks everywhere. At the turn off for Bahia L.A. I started seeing these funky plants that looked Dr Seuss’s version of Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. Tall, thin, cone shaped trunks reached up from the desert covered with spiny, frilly leaves topped by a shaggy orange tuft. Totally bizarre, but very cool.

 

As the road wound its way toward the coast I could occassionally see the the Sea of Cortez peak out from in between a couple of mountains. Then, all of a sudden, there it was reaching out in front of me. A dozen blues wrapped around a half dozen rocky islands out toward the horizon. These views are literally breathtaking. I had to stop on the side of the road for a few minutes just to take it all in.

 

Pulling into Bahia Los Angeles I quickly found a grocery store and a taquerria to take care of my immediate needs. With a belly full of Tacos Pescados and a cooler full of icy beverages I was off to find a place to camp. I had read about a spot called Campo Archelon with rock walled palapas. The wind the night before has reached about 35 kts coming out of the mountains, so I thought a rock wall sounded like a great idea. A couple of RV folks tried to convince me to check out a place called Dagget’s, but once I found Archelon I was home. The proprietor, Antonio, had build 6 or 7 nice sized palapas right on the beach with sturdy rock walls on the landward side. A few simple folding cots had been cobbled together by previous guests, and my palapa even had a little shelf constructed out of flotsam and driftwood. There were only 2 other folks in the camp, and I set up in the Southernmost palapa away from the rest of the world. In a word, this place was perfect.

 

By the time I had set up my new little home I realized that I needed a shower in a bad way. This was the point at which I discovered the one draw back to Campo Archelon. I probably could have gotten wet quicker by spitting on myself than from the dribble of cold water that struggled to escape the faucet, but I was in no mood to complain about anything. I got as clean as I could, built a fire, cooked some more fish, and settled down to read my book. I immediately felt any weight that was left on my shoulders lift off as I realized that for the first time in a while I literally had nothing to do tomorrow. I wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t have to meet anybody. I had food. Perfect. I slept like a dead person that night.

Puertocitos to Bahia Gonzaga

This entry was posted on 2/14/2007 12:24 PM and is filed under DIE TAN Retirement Tour.

 

Waking up on Torsten’s patio overlooking the sea of Cortez I was greeted by the second amazing sunrise of my Baja adventure. John was brewing coffee, and Josh was still trying to wrestle some sleep out of the last few minutes of night. I was happy to have made new friends so quickly, but my desire to hang out for a bit was overcome by my apprehension about the road ahead. The “road” south of Puertocitos has somewhat legendary status in Baja as being one of the absolute worst places to take your vehicle. There are rumors of car swallowing pot holes, complete washouts around blind curves, and rocky sections that resemble a field of half buried basketballs scattered with broken glass. The flip side of things is that this is one of the most beautiful sections of coastline, and the dirt-bike crowd loves to come ripping down this particular section of dusty two lane.

 

My Jeep was not always my Jeep. Before it came to be known as Die Tan, this 1992 Wrangler spent time in the service of the Melrose Corporation bouncing around Daufuski Island in South Carolina. The first 20,000 miles or so of its life were spend off road, and I had put a few dirty miles on her myself. I knew that this was one capable vehicle, and I had just enough confidence in my ability to get down, over, and around whatever lie ahead to push southward. It didn’t hurt that the Kiwi’s were going to be coming down that same road 2 days later, and promised to give me a lift out if I needed it.

 

So I loaded up and headed to Puertocitos. The road was recently paved as far as Puertocitos, but you wouldn’t know how recently from driving it. My confidence built as I headed South, and the little town of Puertocitos turned out to be a charming collection of waterfront cabanas, shacks, and palapas wrapped in the deep blue waters of the Sea of Cortez. As I rounded the corner past the main beach the road changed personality quicker than my ex-girlfriend on a bad day. Rumbling pavement turned to carnage inducing rock fields with chunks missing that I guess you would call potholes if it looked like they were in a road, but this seemed more like a mule track, so maybe they were just dinosaur footprints. Needless to say, the day was to be defined by bumping, jarring, and crunching, and my speed would rarely exceed 20 mph and often feel more like 20 feet per second.

 

As challenging as the road was, the vistas from the top of each climb, and the hidden pocket beaches along the way made the effort well worthwhile. Keeping my eye on the road seemed to be near impossible at times. This would have been a great time for a clutch. If I had been able to stop and look around a bit more I might still be out there poking around. As it was, I didn’t even make it half way to my destination at Bahia Los Angeles. As the sun dropped lower and lower into the mountains I realized that I was still 30 miles from Highway 1 which was still 2 – 3 hours from Bahia L.A. I spotted the fishing village at Bahia Gonzaga as I came up over yet another rocky pass and decided that plan B was sitting right there in front of me.

 

To get into town I actually had to drive down a dirt runway toward the sea. There were a couple of Cesnas parked in front of the beachside palapas, a couple of boats pulled up in front of a few, and an old International Scout skidded out in a ditch next to the local bar. I figured that I had found an interesting little place to spend the night. South of town was a stretch of simple palapas that seemed near abandoned. I picked one out about half way down and gathered up some firewood.

 

Camp was easy to set since I just threw my hammock up between the palapa and the Jeep. Before long I had a wok full of fish on the fire, a half empty bottle of Cabernet from New Mexico in the sand beside me, and the remnants of a stunning sunset illuminating the water in front of me. Not a bad way to end the day. Not bad at all.

The Cortez Coast San Fellipe to Puertocitos

This entry was posted on 2/3/2007 7:46 PM and is filed under DIE TAN Retirement Tour.

I awoke on the top floor on my beachside palapa to the heat of the rising sun over the sea of Cortez. Jerry in the palapa next door was brewing coffee, and would soon turn on NPR for the morning news. A shrimp boat trawled lazily offshore and a few pelicans worked the inner bay. The view was spectacular with the mountains reaching out to the sea to our North, and a picturesque white lighthouse still flashing to our South. I could get used to this. After filling my coffee mug a couple of times thanks to the generosity of my neighbors I unloaded the boats off the Jeep in order to ensure that I got out on the water today instead of just heading South. Josh and John were up soon thereafter and were still “keen for some paddling”. John’s bike had some mechanical issues they had to deal with, so I took some time to organize my gear and relax on the beach.

 

Soon a school of dolphins (yes, it’s school, not pod) showed up in the bay. After a couple of minutes on the beach, I couldn’t help myself. I had to get a better look. I hopped in the XP (the blue kayak) and headed 100 meters or so offshore. I had seen several boats approaching the whales in Cabo and knew that the laws here must be different than back home, but I still didn’t want to approach the dolphins. Maybe… sure enough they came to me. Soon I had 6-8 bottlenose dolphins and another 8-10 porpoises darting around me. The water was so clear that I could see them swim beneath the boat and turn on their sides to check me out. They were as curious about me as I was about them. As soon as I’d turn my head I’d hear another one surface behind me with that “Phhttuppth” of air and a subtle splash. Then there was a different sound off to one side and I turned to see Josh paddling the X-Ray out to meet me. He’d left John to deal with his testy chain and was absolutely ecstatic at being able to share the water with the dolphins and porpoises that surrounded us. I don’t know that I could ever accurately convey what it felt like to sit there in a sparkling blue sea surrounded by friendly fins under the watchful eye of the lighthouse with a powdery tan beach in the background, but I know that Josh’s smile said everything I wish that I could. After a few more minutes I realized that I had to head back to the beach and let John have a spin. I might not have had the boats off the Jeep had they not been so excited about getting out on the water, and it just wasn’t fair to not let him play as well.

 

For the next half hour my new friends from New Zealand paddled around the Sea of Cortez with an entourage of dolphins and porpoises. It was stunning to watch from shore, and I’m sure that it was an experience that they will remember for the rest of their lives. John later told me that he’d never seen a dolphin before, and that this was his 2nd time in a kayak. I hope he realizes that he’s a bit spoiled now.

 

I had my gear just about all loaded up when a brief conversation with one of the locals changed my plans yet again. The little Mexican offered up that the guys on the shrimp boat have a lot of fish and shrimp to sell cheap. When I asked what time they come into port he shook his head and said that they didn’t and pointed at the kayaks on my roof. It took me a few minutes to decide, but soon I was unloading a kayak and heading back out into the Sea of Cortez.

 

As I paddled up to the boat I didn’t know what to expect. My Spanish still pretty much sucks, but I did have a few cold beers strapped on deck to convey my good intentions. At first the men on board looked at me a bit suspiciously, or so it seemed. They had the hardened look of working watermen everywhere, and it can be a bit off-putting. As I closed in on the boat I asked if they had any shrimp and made a move to toss a cold beer up to the guy leaning over the side. He caught the beer, opened it, and asked if I could manage to climb aboard. I tied my kayak to a line they dropped, and used all of my limited climbing skills to scale the side of the trawler and haul myself up on deck with the rest of the cerveza. I was met with the curious eyes of 6 strong men who spoke a language different from my own and who called this particular boat home. I sincerely hoped that I had understood them correctly and that I was not acting like some sort of stupid gringo pirate.

 

The brief tension was one sided to say the least, and as soon as I passed out the remaining beers they pointed to a large basket full of shrimp and squid and encouraged me to dig in. I hadn’t counted on lunch out here, but I’ve spent enough time on shrimp boats to know that they are the best places in the world to eat shrimp. I tried to explain my trip in halting Spanish, and they told me that the captain was asleep and I’d have to wait for him to buy some shrimp. In the meantime it seemed that I was expected to eat and relax. I can do that.

 

Soon a panga from town pulled up along side and the captain emerged from his cabin. He looked at me curiously and then focused his attention on the small crew of the panga. After a brief conversation he gave some orders to his crew and soon they were hauling huge bags of fish out from the storage freezer below. As the crew worked the captain reached into a large sack of frozen shrimp and pulled a couple out. He looked at me and shrugged in a way that caused me to shrug back with a nod. Then he tossed me a frozen shrimp. I looked at it for a second and thanked him, trying not to look too confused. He took another and stuck it in his mouth like a lollypop. O.K. I guess I’m supposed to eat this frozen Mexican Shrimp. So I popped it in casually and tried to look as normal as I could on deck with a frozen shrimp hanging from my mouth as the captain stood next to me and watched his men work. At some point I asked the fisherman nearest me what type of fish were in the bags. He turned to me and in his best Jack Sparrow drawl spoke the only English word I’d heard on board; “Shaa-ark”. As if on cue a crew member below tossed up the tail fin of a Thresher Shark that had to be 7 feet long. The tail fin that is. I have no idea how big the shark was, but I’d imagine it was pretty damn big.

 

Once the panga was loaded up and headed to the fish market the captain turned his attention to me. It took us a couple of minutes to sort out our conversation, but soon I understood that I could get a couple of kilos of shrimp for a very reasonable price. However, the captain insisted that I join him for lunch and once again pointed to the basket of shrimp and squid. We sat and tried to converse for a while. He told a few dirty jokes that I hoped I wasn’t the butt of and I told the crew as much as I could about where I’d been and how I’d ended up on the deck of their trawler off the coast of San Fellipe. When it finally came down to business the captain handed me back my money and said “is for beer” “For me?” “No. For me… on boat.” I tried to give him back the cash. “No. is for beer.” and with that he pointed to my kayak and made a paddling motion with his hands. The Captain was sending me on a beer run.

 

As I paddled back to shore with a boat full of shrimp and fresh fish I couldn’t help but laugh. At the beach I hauled my take up the camp site and told Josh, John, and the rest of the assembled campers the story and headed off to the store. I returned to the trawler half an hour later with a case of cold beers and a small bottle of tequila. Back on deck we finished off the squid, the tequila, and a couple of beers before I bid my new friends a fond fairwell and headed back to Shore.

 

It had gotten late, and my plan to head South to Bahia Los Angeles was shot all to hell. Well, maybe I’d just go to Puertocitos and re-stage from there. Or I could always stay in San Fellipe. Back on the the beach Josh and John had a better plan. A friend of theirs had a beach house 40 km down the coast, and I could stay with them on the deck if I wanted. Perfect. Free and on the beach is always a good plan. By the time John got his chain issues all sorted it out, their neighbor Ken had convinced us to have a “fairwell margarita” with him in town. We obliged, naturally, and then were on our way to Tornsten and Tiki’s house. I know the spelling’s off, but you try to figure out how to spell Dutch names given to you by Kiwi friends.

 

Trying to follow these guys on their bikes reminded me of watching dogs chase bottle rockets. It was futile at best to try to keep up with them. As darkness fell it was all I could do to keep their taillights in sight and try to use them to judge when the next curve was coming up. I was breaking Baja rule numero uno, and I was doing it at speeds that I didn’t hit on the San Diego freeway. Speaking of bottle rockets, I did see a shooting star that looked like something we would have been stoked to shoot out of Bowdy’s yard on the 4th of July. Gotta love the desert at night.

 

At the beach house we cooked the shrimp on the fire, and Josh worked up some seafood chowder that had all 3 of us scraping our bowls. I broke out the growler of American Pale Ale that I’d been keeping from High Desert Brewing Co. and we had one hell of a night sitting on the deck and telling stories. As I retired to my tent and looked up at the stars I couldn’t help wondering how it was that things were working out so well. Better not to jinx it now. I’m just thankful that I am where I am and I hope that tomorrow will bring more of the same.

 

 

I had hoped to get through more of the trip tonight, but the boys here at the Villa Vitta are closing up shop, and I still have to find a way to get this up on-line. I will continue to write when I find another outlet and internet connection. In the mean time, thank you for reading along. Obviously I am enjoying myself, and I am happy to report that taking the time to convey all of this to you is making me think even more about each experience and each new friend I meet along the way. Thanks.

 

On the Road in Baja California

This entry was posted on 2/2/2007 7:39 PM and is filed under DIE TAN Retirement Tour.

 

I awoke in Mision with a mission and quickly packed my things for the trip South. My frantic pace lasted right up until I stepped out onto the patio to retrieve my book. What’s the rush? I’m already where I need to be, right. What’s an hour or so between friends? I sat on the porch immersed in my book for a while and drank my coffee as the surf pounded the shoreline below.

 

Eventually I had to leave, so I hopped in the Jeep and headed for Endenada. I needed to get my tourist card and a map or two as well. Ensenada is actually a pretty big town, with a pretty serious tourism industry. There were literally dozens of shops aimed at gringo tourists. Cigars (Cuban of course), booze, arts and crafts, and T-shirts were everywhere. No maps though. At least not maps that told you more than where the major roads were. Certainly no nautical charts. Not even at “Mexico’s Best Fishing Store”. Oh well, I’ll find them at some point I suppose. Along a side street I spotted Hussong’s Cantina. All the guide books had mentioned it as the “the bar that built a town”. Might as well stop in for a beer.

 

After Hussong’s I had lunch at a roadside taqueria and headed for the immigration office. Believe it or not, you have to buy your paperwork down here. Just the blank forms cost $5. Then you go see the immigration officer. He checks 2 boxes and sends you to the banker who takes $27 and sends you back to the immigration officer who checks one more box before sending you on your way. It was a slightly ridiculous process, but while waiting in our various lines I met a couple of guys from New Zealand who were headed South as well. But they are headed all the way to Brazil! 4 months on motorcycles to head all the way through Central America and down to Rio. Now that’s an adventure.

 

From Ensenada I had my first major decision to make. Did I head South toward Pacific beaches and epic surf, or did I head East toward the Sea of Cortez and world class paddling destinations. I had every intention of heading East, but everyone I spoke to warned me of the horrendous quality of the roads there. I trust my Jeep and everything, but was it really fair to subject it to the kind of torture they were talking about. One shopkeeper told me the story of a friend of hers who had hiked the entire coastline. She said that the section of road between Puertocitos and Bahia Gonzales was “impassable”. I got in the car with every intention of heading South… and then drove East. I had come here to see the Sea of Cortez. And it would be warmer than the Pacific. And if the road was really that bad I could always turn around. A few of the butterflies returned, but soon they were overwhelmed by the beauty of the mountains as the Jeep wove its way through the sharp curves, steep drops, and blind corners that define highway 3 through central Baja. The views were awe inspiring, but if you took your eyes off the road you’d end up 1000 ft below as a less inspirational part of the scenery. There were plenty of car shells rusting away down there to encourage respect for this section of road.

 

Finally the Sea of Cortez glistened in the East as I rounded yet another narrow mountain curve. As I descended into the town of San Fellipe the sun was descending as well into that Vermillion Sea (I believe that was Steinbeck’s term). A quick flip through the guidebook pointed me toward Ruben’s Campo and a palapa shaded camp site on the beach. The level of accuracy of the directions in this particular book began to wear on my nerves as I searched the “area North of town” for the camp. Eventually it was dark enough that I was content to find the closest available refuge. They were full, but informed me that Rubens was in town, not North of it. A couple of sketchy back roads later and there I was. Ruben’s son Javier runs the campo now and is an enthusiastic Jeep fan. He has a ’92 Wrangler as well, and spent 45 minutes showing me how he intends to put the axles from a 2.5 ton Dodge truck on it to turn it into a true desert machine. More like a tank I think. That thing will be unstoppable.

 

After setting up my camp I headed into the cantina for dinner. Fish tacos and beer seemed to be the right call. Between ordering and eating I headed out for a minute to grab my books and through the fence I saw two red motorcycles at Campo Kiki’s next door. No way. The Kiwi’s? Sure enough Josh and John rounded the corner and with equal surprise we shook hands and talked about how we had both ended up here completely randomly. I invited them to go paddling in the morning and they invited me over for a beer after dinner. Fast friends indeed, it was easy to tell they were good people and adventurous souls.

Heading into Baja

This entry was posted on 2/1/2007 7:35 PM and is filed under DIE TAN Retirement Tour.

 

Hola Amigos. As I type this I am sitting on the patio of a small hotel restaurant in Bahia Los Angeles on the Sea of Cortez in Baja California Norte. My first Pacifico of the evening has already disappeared, and there’s a little gray cat doing his best to distract me from my computer without actually letting me pet him. I have been to a lot of beautiful places in my life, and this little town ranks up there with the best of them. It’s a bit inconvenient to get to which has kept most of the gringos away, but the ones who find it are eternally grateful. I know that I am. So far`my trip through Baja has been everything I had hoped it would be, and more. I have met wonderful people. I have seen beautiful sights. I have had some incredible adventures. And my Spanish has improved dramatically. What more could a travelin’ man ask for?

 

I have had spotty internet access at best for the past week or so and thus cannot remember what I have already written on this site. When I post this I’ll find out what I still have to fill in, but for now I’ll start with my descent into Mexico and try to get all the way to the peaceful evening by the sea that I am currently enjoying.

 

When Jason and I were in San Diego one of the people we met was a kayak guide named Katrina. She told us where we should go paddling, where we should go drinking, and where we should go to try out hang-gliding if we had the nerve. Well, I’d like to think that it was the cost rather than the risk that kept us from hang gliding, but we did have a great paddling trip and enjoyed a couple of rounds in a cozy little bar at her suggestion.

 

Needless to say I tracked my new friend down when I returned to San Diego, and I spent my last morning in the U.S. kayaking with her off of La Jolla Shores. Jason and I had paddled a fair amount of this water before, but it was much more interesting to do it with a pretty local guide who knew the natural and cultural history of the area (sorry Jason). Certainly it was better than my original plan of spending the morning in San Ysidro trying to get the best deal on Mexican car insurance and Pesos.

 

After our trip Katrina had to get back to work and I had a couple of other kayak guides to meet to show off the Point 65 boats. It was a relaxing morning on the beach, and after a final stateside meal at In & Out Burger I headed South for the border. I pulled into the border town of San Ysidro with butterflies in my stomach and questions in my head.

 

The break that I had taken from my travels to spend some time with my Dad had effectively split this adventure in two. I had completed my cross country adventure and had a great time. Everything had been pretty much perfect, except for the weather and the car troubles, but those were to be expected. Now I was off on a new adventure to a foreign country and all those nagging questions swirled in my head. Where am I going? How could I afford this? Should I be back home working on something more important? Do I deserve to have this much fun? Am I going to get robbed? What is my favorite color? I reached for a piece of technology I profess to hate and dialed my friend John’s number on my cell phone. I tried to sound confident and excited, but couldn’t help but convey my reservations. John quickly grasped the situation and assured me that the world would be just fine while I was off on my adventure, and that my dog was in good hands, and that I should just chill out and enjoy the fact that I had committed myself to a path that would lead me to a life experience no matter how it all turned out. Thank you Mr. Golden.

 

The butterflies were still there, but now I was in San Ysidro, and it was time to start haggling insurance and exchange rates. I’d like to think I did pretty well on both accounts, but honestly at this point I’m just glad it took me less than 3 hours. Properly equipped I traveled the last couple of miles to the border ready to be searched, questioned, and probed due to the traveling circus appearance of my vehicle. Much to my delight I was simply waved across the border and suddenly found myself in Tiajuana. Excellent.

 

Of course I immediately got lost. I don’t know how many times I had read the directions that said “ignore the signs and just turn here and here and here”. I just didn’t read them at the right time. After a quick tour of the seedier parts of Tiajuana (I assume there are less seedy parts) I found the toll road south and gladly paid the 30 pesos to get on the highway. I even managed to have my first decent conversation in Spanish with the toll collector. As with every officer and gas station attendant I had seen to date he apparently thought I was crazy for driving this Jeep from Virginia and couldn’t believe that I was going all the way to Cabo. For my part I tried not to offend him or insult his family or country as I stumbled though most of my Spanish vocabulary.

 

The road south into Baja runs along the coast for the first 100 km or so, and the scenery is immediately breathtaking. I stopped at my first opportunity and could hardly contain my excitement as I jumped over the viewpoint guardrail to check out the crashing surf below. Baja! Damn. Ba Freakin’ Ja! Unbelievable.

 

Needless to say, the butterflies had flown the coop. Now there was just excitement and anticipation. I continued south trying vainly to keep my eyes on the road. At my first opportunity I was back off the highway and on the true coastal road, old Hwy 1. Clusters of villages and towns dotted the coastline like christmas lights on a roofline. Each with its compliment of cantinas, taco stands, and souveneir shops. I was hoping to get to Ensenada, but the sun was going down quickly, and there was no way I was going to drive after dark. That’s Baja rule numero uno, and it seemed foolish to break it now.

 

I decided to take a pit stop in Popolta for an early dinner and cold cerveza. This charming little fishing village is little more than a collection of restaurants, fish markets, and bars. In short it was the perfect first stop in Baja. I stumbled a bit with my Spanish as I ordered my meal, but it all worked out well as I enjoyed a large plate of fresh fish and a cold Pacifico under a setting sun.

 

I knew I had to beat a quick path South to get to a decent place to spend the night, so I took a couple of quick notes from my guide book and headed toward Mision and the inviting Hotel Mision which was said to have fireplaces in each of its rooms which all fronted on the Pacific. All for under $40. Perfect.

 

The guidebook was right about the fireplace, but a bit optimistic on price. What the heck, it was dark, and I was in Mexico. I settled into my room, lit the fire, and watched the surf roll in under the moonlight as I sipped a glass of red wine on the small patio. Baja. So far, so good.