reposted from Baja Report blog 1/9/2013
So you are hanging out in your house in El Norte, the heat is turned down to 60 as you are really getting tired of the $500 utility bill at your suburban home in the beautiful Rancho Rolling Hills of Tuscany. From under your REI, gortex sandwich, Shetland Wool blanket, where you and your beloved are reading the latest Vampire Trilogy with your trusty Maglite flashlight, you poke your head out and look up at your constellation glow-in-the-dark ceiling. You wonder if there any annoying Vermin in Baja. You hope not, as you are longing for a golfing, surfing, romantic, drunken, WARM vacation in Area Sur. And you are afraid of bugs, snakes, mice, rats, lizards, scorpions, and such. This has been a long-term problem for you ever since your mom let you watch Deadly Mantis, Black Scorpion, and the Fly in one night on Turner Classics “Bugfest”. You couldn’t go to school for 2 days after that one. Had to detox with 4 teddy bears cuddling in bed. Bug flu.
But you forget about your fears and book the trip. iPad, flashlight, done. You turn the heat down to just above freezing; put the dog in a kennel, and GOOMBYE EL NORTE. Don’t email me I’ll email you.
You and your beloved land in Cabo. You love Cabo, the food, the golf, parachute rides behind a ski boat in the blue bay, the giant Sombreros with attachable beer bongs in this perfect holster thingee. You spend a few days of revelry in the sun and sin capital of Baja. You have conquered the waiters at the Giggling Marlin by throwing up on their shoes. 10 straight shots of mescal, BAH, child’s play. You have played the perfect round of golf. 18 holes of triple Bogie. You did the parachute ride, no biggee. But enough fun is enough fun(read you really need some sleep). Plus the Greens Fees are getting to you. SO it is time for a road trip to Pescadero, 45 miles north of Cabo. A little time in the country.
You call Alamo and they deliver a cute little sub sub sub compact for your ride. It looks like a cross between a Le Car and a Yugo. It is a Chevy Chedrequle. Not available in the Estados Unidos. The car is $19.95 per day. The insurance is $75 per day. This is puzzling. But off you go. You are confident of the trip. You have read and reread Mexican Driving School and are prepared.
You also have online booked the cutest little casita at Casitas de Viejo Grunone (Cabins of the grumpy old guy) down by the beach.
The trip is way too easy. Something has happened. It is not a dangerous 2 lane road anymore. It is a brand new dangerous 4 lane road. But no mishaps. You are a little disappointed as you wanted to have a light and entertaining run in with a bus driven by the infamous Juan De Ja Vueses De La Camino Muerta, a tanker truck with bald tires, or truck full of pigs per Mexican Driving Schools pithy tale. The only excitement is passing a 1985 Toyota Celica running on, apparently, ONE CYLINDER. You also see a Coca Cola Semi that appears to have 3 trailers. You do a double take and pass the Semi. But what’s fun about that? You are not afraid of Mexican Caminos, only bugs and snakes.
The drive is truly beautiful. You see whales breaching in the blue Pacific. The desert is in bloom. There is only 1 dead donkey in the median strip. But you notice that the brand new 4 lane is washed out at the edges. There are signs of recent heavy rains.
You pull into Pescadero, following the directions to the Casitas you turn onto a dirt road. Now you see why the insurance was so expensive. The road is one big pothole. Signs of recent a washout are everywhere. The little Chevy rides down into the potholes like a small boat in waves. Now you see it, now you don’t. What is left of the muffler, as it high centers on yet another big rock, exhausts the sound of a chorus of chain saws. Oops, you almost, but don’t, miss an open concrete irrigation channel that crosses the road. Clunk. There goes your deductible.
About dusk you turn left at the burned out VW bus per your handy map, go right, go right, and you are there. Casitas de Viejo Grunone. Lovely little casitas in a lovely little garden. A lovely little garden that has been washed out by heavy rain. You get out of the car and are attacked by tiny bugs that you cannot see. You yawn and stretch after your drive and inhale a few bobos, no se ems, and maybe a mosquito. What the fu? Bugs! But small, mostly harmless bugs. Your pulse quickens and you enter the OFICINA. The young lady attendant gives you your keys, wishes you a happy stay. She warns you, in a courteous tone, that there are a lot of bugs at dawn and dusk, maybe some bugs in your room, maybe even a scorpion or 2, but their bite is not fatal. It is the rain you understand. We have just had the hurricane pass by. It makes the bugs. Not to worry, though, as the Casitas de Viejo Grunone has a fool proof method of bug riddance. Please just come to the OFICINA if you have any problem. We can take measures. We have measures. She smiles widely and nods as if she had just taken Soma.
You approach your casita. There are many moths near the porch light. But you are not afraid of moths. They are like butterflies. You watch them fly in their darting patterns. You put the key in the lock; open the door to the rustic casita with its palm roof and Mexican tile entry. You flip on the light as you go in. You notice something scurrying then stopping in freeze frame. No it is not Something, it is Somethings. Many large cockroaches are on the little kitchen counter. They seem to be trying to disappear into the countertop. Or is that you. Your blood pressure goes up. You begin to sweat. You back out slowly, your knees knocking, and turn off the light. You and your beloved trace your steps back to the OFICINA.
You open the door and squeak, barely audible, cockroach unghn!. You are slightly paralyzed. The young lady of the OFICINA looks at you and smiles and nods. Please go to your casita, sit on the porch, wait. We have measures. It will be taken care of. You comply. You wait a few minutes.
An older gent, or a middle aged gent, or a young man you can not tell he seems ageless yet aged walks slowly up the path. He is wearing black pajamas, a small red brimmed hat with scalloped edges. His eyes are slits. Around his waist is tied a white silk scarf. There are 2 spatulas tucked in the scarf like Samurai swords. One large (Katana) one small (Tanto). He appears not to make footprints in the sand path.
He walks up to you. Nods, then bows. One bow toward you, one bow toward your beloved. He walks into the casita, turns on the light, then WAPAWAPAWAPAWAPA. He returns. He bows. One bow toward you, one bow toward your beloved. It is done, he says. You watch him walk away, toward the OFICINA. He seems to float. There is a full moon rising behind him. You expect him to fly into it. But he does not.
You put up your hand. Wave. What is your name, you say?
Juan Mirafuni, Cockroach Samurai, he replies.
After 5 glorious, cockroach free days you head back to the Estados Unidos. You are humbled by the beauty of Mexico. You are somehow changed by your chance meeting the Juan Mirafuni, Cockroach Samurai. You wonder, could I follow him, give up my life, enter the Cockroach Samurai Monastery? Learn the true path? Become one with the spatula?
Nah, you curl up under your blanket with your beloved. Watch the last 20 minutes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on your iPad. You have popcorn in there and it sends off a little heat to keep you warm. You love Vampire movies. You are so happy that Vampires are not cockroaches. Then you think to yourself. Vampire Cockroachs vs The Cockroach Samurai starring Juan Mirafuni. Now that would be a scary movie. You’ll have to make some calls, coupla emails, get something going.