Get on the Bus!

Our truck needs a new starter so until E's day off when we can get it towed and go to the mechanic together, it's back to taking the bus.  (or the bicycle, but I informed E that I only ride a bicycle November-March because of the heat).  Busses run in and out the city mostly on main roads.  They converge in an area of the city's center that is full of hardware stores, clothing boutiques, food stands, paper goods stores, plumbers, electricians, dry goods stores and a few restaurants.  If you want to go from one end of the city to the other, you have to stop and get off the bus at this point and try to figure out which bus will continue to the other side of the city.  I have had to do this, alone, and have asked the nice policemen-like bus officers that stand with their clipboards and whistles and direct bus traffic in and out of the intersection.  They seem to think there is a discernable "schedule" to these busses; they make one leave every time another arrives.  But the further you get from that crossroads, the less the bus drivers stick to any type of schedule and route.  Usually the bus approaching you as you stand on the corner (they'll pick you up anywhere, not just at marked bus stops) has its route written on the windshield...sometimes not, or sometimes it's not planning to follow what's written. 

The busses themselves are a hodge-podge of old baby school busses, long modern city busses, vans converted into busses with the sliding side door made to be automatic. You never know what will come rambling down the road.  Or who will be inside.  The bus drivers own their own busses, and just pay a tax to the city to drive the route and make a stop at the city center crossroads of busses.  The bus driver is usually male, 30-60 years old wearing jeans, boots and a t-shirt.  Sometimes they have cowboy hats! They're usually very nice and patient when you ask them if they are, in fact, planning to take the route marked on the windshield.     My favorite people to ride with are children (provided they're well behaved and they usually are) and elderly people.  Somtimes it's a bonus and I get to observe a grandmother with her grandchild the whole way to my destination.  Busses make excellent opportunities for people-watching. 

Dust to dust

A cool(er) cloudy day in Baja means it's a fine time to get some housework done...and my mother taught me to start cleaning at the top of a room and finish with the floors (see mom? you taught me something about house cleaning!!) So I tackled the top of the fridge - always a daunting task but here in Baja even more so.  Because we're out here in the desert (and I'm convinced also because there are no laws about car emissions and blue smoke can frequently been seen coming out of tailpipes), things can get a little dusty.  The fall wind is welcomed of course, after a hot summer, but dreaded because of the battle that begins over sand and dust on EVERYTHING! The tops of any object (counters, desk, chairs, tables, books, etc) get it the worst because it just settles down with gravity.  So on this cleaning day, the top of the fridge was a dust-bunny terrarium.  Then came the desk top and all the little odds and ends that don't belong anywhere else in the house and always seem to end up on the desk in the living room.  Those that know me well will recognize how much this "catch-all" concept bothers me!!! I think if left alone, E would turn this whole house into a "catch-all".  But that's good for me; I like to organize!

The other goal for the day was to bathe M - but he got lucky.  Though we have indoor plumbing water every day that comes from our huge cistern on the roof, the city sends water to the cistern and to our outdoor plumbing (garden spiget/hose) only about every other day.  As with many other things here in Baja, this is unpredictable and not to be relied upon.  Today is the "every other day" and alas, no water.  M's bath will have to wait....or maybe we'll just go to the beach :)

Totally worth the bloodshed

Just got back from a morning at Baja Dogs! This was my second trip out to the dog refuge and i feel very accomplished this morning - we got a lot done! Went on 4 walks around the property, had puppy play time and spent a good 10 minutes petting and scratching each dog.  Unfortunately, the little puppy nails on one pup carved up my wrist pretty good! But it's all superficial, no need for alarm - just a red squiggly scratchy mess.  Where did I put the antibiotic ointment?

When I arrived to the refuge this morning, there was one dog outside her kennel, running free around the fenced in property.  As I came up the gate (still locked), she showed me how adept she was at scooting underneath the flexible fencing and coming out onto the desert road.  Houdini! Come to find out this dog, Smokey, actually climbs out her 10 foot high chain-link kennel enclosure on a regular basis! She even taught another dog, Pointer, how to do it.  Mid-morning, with her walk all done, we saw Smokey standing on top of the covered area of her kennel - about 6 feet off the ground.  As we got closer she lept off the rooftop and flew through the air like she was part monkey!

Now, back home, M is having a heyday sniffing my clothing and finding all the dogs' individual scents - must drive him crazy, huh??

Mornings

Though I'm not what I would call a "morning-person", the early hours of the day are magical in Baja.  It could be that this is so because the sun hasn't arrived yet and the temps stay low.  But it seems to hold a special limitless feeling; like the day could go any which way from there.  It is my favorite time to walk on the Malecon or go take M to the beach to run around - which he does a lot of.  These are some pics from our walk yesterday

First Post

I'm always kind of awkward after a person asks me a question about Baja.  I usually end up answering their question and then rambling on about a side story or a funny experience.  The person listening does not know the places or friends I'm describing, but just talking about them gives me a happy feeling so I usually go on and on without realizing the person has stopped listening. Or they've raised their eyebrows in surprise, or furrowed them in concern, or cocked one of them in confusion.  This is when I uncomfortably realize I've talked too much. 

The truth is, I could probably go on for days about this place and its people.  About how I'm as shocked as the person listening that my life took this turn.  That I alternate between having to pinch myself as I get off the plane and feeling like I'm exactly where I should be. 

So I won't go on and on now. Just wanted to establish a first post. Get it out of the way.  I'm thinking of codenames for those to be mentioned in these writings so that I can retain some anonymity, goal #1 with these writings.  (I would try to do Aztec warrior names, but those have way too many letters.) Goal #2 is to not sound too rambly - because of the aforementioned story and the fact that, upon review of emails I've sent to my best friends over the years, I realize I can write a run-on sentence like nobody's business.