Orignially posted 11/26/2012
Why do we love whales? What is it that draws our attention? When we see whales we are entranced and cannot turn away. Some of us sit for hours and count them as they go by. I have done this many times. I found a pattern. They blow a few times. I see the pod, or a cow and calf, here, then there, then once again 200 yards to the south. They blow again. Then it is flukes, tails skyward, and they sound, swim down deep into the ocean home with their preposterous load of oxygen to swim under water for ¾ of a mile. If I am attentive, if the light is right, if the sea is not too choppy, if I am lucky, I will see them blow again. Far away.
I have heard that the spinal column to brain weight ratio of a whale is close to that of man. Do we somehow believe that they are like us? Admittedly they are not us. We have found no poetry written by whales, but there is their music. Hear it and it will haunt you for the rest of your life. Are they so different that they communicate in a watery way and we do so in air? But they are an alien race. Can we pretend to understand them?
If you have an opportunity to get close to whales do so. I have had this privilege. There is a beach in Baja where the whales come right to the shore. They hover there, or swim lazily back and forth. Something attracts them. There is fresh water sifting through the beach sand from a lagoon. Perhaps it attracts them. The beach is steep there as well. Some say that they scrape against the sand to remove barnacles. This is not their destination. They are going to the Sea of Cortez to birth their young or are on the way back to cold water in the far North towing a calf.
A friend of mine suggested that we swim with them. At 1st this seemed extreme. What if one hits us with a tail fluke. The flukes as well as their graceful bodies are covered with barnacles. They could do some damage. But this friend and her husband are all courage. So, they went in. If they would, so would I. Several others felt the same. We all waded in with fins and masks to see what we could see. The whales stayed away for a while. They were eerily missing, listening to us perhaps, feeling who we are. Then they began spy hopping from a distance to look at us. Spy hopping is when the whale goes vertical, treading water, their heads stick up out of the water and they cock an eye at the item of curiosity, which was us. We watched them back. Theirs are not the nervous dog eyes of the seal but knowing eyes. The need not be wary of us and they seem to know this.
Then someone started singing Stairway to Heaven, and though I was done with Led Zeppelin, I joined in. All 6 of us sang. We were a little nervous. But the whales woke up, started coming toward us. They are apparently not burned out on this song. No classic rock under the sea. I felt a sense of panic and calm at the same tame. A feeling similar to taking off a wave a little too big for me knowing that I would make the drop.
Someone shouted, “One going under us”. Against my best judgment I turned over and started swimming down toward the whale. The females are the biggest, so I will call her a She, and She was big, right below me by about 6’, long as a school bus but much slimmer. The shape of an organic underwater locomotive. A streamliner. I reached my hand out to touch Her but could not. She kicked here tale with broad movements and was gone. I felt as though I had tried to touch a star or that the passing whale had shown me an aura of the genetic code of all biology. An impression of our continuity.
These are Grey Whales. When I was a young surfer on the northern California coast they were consider on the road to extinction. Now, 40 years later, they are migrating from north to south and back every year in large numbers. And the world is better for it
The Mexican Hot Dog, or Hot Dogs in Latin America in general, are part of what I call United States Coca Cola Diplomacy. As soon as a nation begins to emerge guess who show up first to take part in that country’s flowering (spending). Coca Cola has historically been the forerunner emissary of El Norte. Right behind Coca Cola would be the U S Consulate, Ford Dealerships, and The Hot Dog. But unlike Coca Cola or Ford the Hot Dog is not a corporate product. It is a food of the people. It is morphed by the natives of its adopted home in the hotter climes and the world over into a new thing based on an older concept. The Hot Dog, like the concept of democracy, becomes localized wherever it is adopted.
The invention of the hot dog bun in the U S in the late 19th century changed the sausage into the Hot Dog. The bun, coupled with the ubiquitous tube steak, creates a condiment delivery system. The character of the adopting nation food culture is in the condiments and the presentation. From Japan to Uruguay and of course Mexico they are all different.
Walls all over the world are the blank canvases of culture. Building walls and vertical surfaces of train cars, trucks, overpasses, sound walls, are, in many ways, public spaces. Individual expression, urban art, commissioned murals, graffiti, political frustration, social movement, are on the walls for all to see. A common forum used often in unique ways.
Businesses use this available space for advertisement of their shops. Baja biz usually does not go to the sign shop and order a sign to hang on the building. They get a sign artist to come out and paint, in the largest format and in bold colors, the business sign on the business.
And the walls are used for political campaigns and protests of political campaigns. Driving through the back streets of Cabo you will see painted signs for a candidate for office that may be many years old. Or half painted over by the next round of candidates. The wall is the permanent running fence of Mexican politics and social consciousness. Everywhere you look.
And art. There are wonderful art pieces on the walls in La Paz and Cabo. Typical of Mexican art and architecture in general much strong color is used. And if you google street art of Mexico City you will be amazed. Public art. For all to see.
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.
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. 
A long time ago, perhaps as much as 40,000 years, a lone grey wolf entered into the light of the fire ring of the human family. This wolf was less afraid than other members of the pack. Or perhaps it was very hungry. That first family had always been afraid of wolves. They are wild animals. But this time it was different. The human fear of the wolf and the fear that the wolf felt was a little less than before. The wolf found a scrap of food and ran from the light of the fire ring. The humans did not give chase.
The next night the grey wolf came back. Maybe it stayed a little longer, maybe it had a companion. Later somewhere in the well of time that wolf became the camp dog. Then it became camp dogs. Everything for the human family changed. A symbiotic relationship unlike any other in human experience became a part of daily life. Man began to rely on the dog for protection, comfort, warmth, companionship. The dog relied on humankind for food, protection, comfort, warmth, companionship. The human family became the parent of a former wild animal.
When we first came to Baja 25 years ago the descendants of that first dog were often the 3rd class citizens of Todos Santos and Pescadero. The local population was mostly very poor. And, as in poor third world or developing countries everywhere, the dogs had to struggle for food and care. They were on the outside looking in and often stranded in loneliness and illness.
On our first trip to Baja we were walking through a palm forest. A medium size black dog was following us. We would stop, he would stop. We looked at each other, wondering. We wondered about the dogs health, whether he was eating regularly, if he had a family.
The dog looked at us with a type of hopefulness. We could not return that gaze. We couldn’t respond at that time as we were new to the area, didn’t know what would be appropriate, didn’t have the time or circumstance to reach out.
Over the years everything has changed for the local dogs. Groups have formed to help dogs in distress. A retired women who settled here opened a refuge for dogs, providing shelter and medical care for rescued dogs, as well as adoption services. A young couple developed rescuing dogs as a way of life. Free spay and neuter clinics have been set up a few time per year to help reign in over breeding that results in an increase of at-risk dogs.
Today we see fewer dogs that are in very poor shape in the 2 towns nearby. Usually they are picked up by one of our many caring neighbors that live here and in other Gringo neighborhoods. They receive medical attention and are brought back to health in a loving environment. Often they are adopted by the rescuing families or a neighbor. They also find homes through a pipeline of dog adoptions from Baja to both the U S and Canada.
Sally and I have found and brought to health several dogs over the years. Our dog Mari is one. Nine years ago she followed us home from a beach walk. Apparently abandoned and very thin but not ill she became ours in 1 day. Two of our rescues were so ill they did not survive but spent their last days in comfort and in companionship with other dogs and people at the refuge. The others we have adopted out. These are dogs that have always given more than they get.
Rescuing a Baja dog is a type of alchemy. The alchemists of history attempted to change lead to gold. The process was both a physical process and a ritual of personal change. When a rescued dog experiences healing in the company of humans the rescue families go through that same experience. We hope the dog gets better, that it is allowed to reenter the fire ring of the human family and become the dog it was meant to be. As this happens we become the people that we are meant to be. We become the healers that are healed by the dogs of love.
So I wasn’t going to write any more blogs this year. My thoughts have moved from tacos and beer to Sonoma County zinfandel and grass feed beef with blue cheese, pommes frites and locally grown farm to table artisanal salad. $80 at Chez Bistro Trattoria. But I just gotta do one more.
As you know from my famous blog Hardware Store Spanish I have long resisted speaking Spanish. Just yesterday I had a wonderful opportunity to not speak Spanish. The police drove into our yard in their nice 4 door pickup. The passenger side cop (good cop) yelled out a greeting to me. I responded, “Hola Senors, Ich spreche no mucho Spanisch. Mein frau specke Spanisch gut. Ein momento.” The cop said, “Como, Senor.” Then Sal came out. Sal asked them if there are any ladrons (thieves) in the hood. They said, “No ladrons ahorita (no thieves right now).” Then she gave them 100 pesos for “coffee” ($6.50 US). They love coffee.
I have used German (my only foreign language unless you count hardware store Spanish) as a defensive weapon in Mexico. I learned a little German in college. I wanted to learn Italian so I could argue with my mother in one of her native tongues (the other was French which she used for praying and math. Italian was for yelling.) but it wasn’t offered. One day I was at the airport In San Jose del Cabo picking up my son when I drove the wrong way on a newly unmarked 1 way street in front of terminal uno. I got pulled over by a Policia Federal (Darth Vaders of Mexico). He told me in Spanish that I was driving the wrong way. I thought, at first, that maybe he noticed I wasn’t 10 and 2 o’clock on the steering wheel. But no I was going the wrong way on the strasse. I said, “Ich bin ein tourista und Ich speche kein Spanisch.” He repeated his admonition in a louder voice. I repeated my response in a louder voice. He repeated, I repeated. I was just about to get out my FAKE GERMAN DIPOLMATIC PASSPORT that I made in FotoCounterfit, when I noticed that his dark glasses were fogging. He put his hands on his hips, looked at me, looked at the street, looked at me, and then pointed the right direction for the street. He got back into his death star patrol car and drove off (the wrong way). German just confounds these poor Darth Vaders. If I had taken Estonian in college I could have really confused the cop. Very few Estonian touristas.