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Missing Baja

Bernie Swaim has a book titled “Remembering Baja” or something close to that. I might write a book about what I don’t, can’t remember about Baja. Missing Baja might be appropriate; each trip down here, from 1969 on would find me at my favorite beach or resort usually with a fishing rod in one hand, a beer in the other. I do have a ton of fond memories but during a large part of each adventure I was in a state I call “Comfortably Numb”.

I was a teenager in the ‘50s but I couldn’t get the hang of pot, pills or acid – alcohol was my drug of choice. It was portable and affordable – that’s all I needed to know about it. When I drove down the peninsula I would stock up on the stuff at select stores on the way. One such stop was a liquor store in San Felipe where I remember buying 2 half gallons of vodka, 2 cases of beer, a gallon of wine, lots of mix and pop, 4 bags of ice, a liter of Gran Marnier, a liter of good Jamaican rum. The total bill = $30.40 dollars.

In the early days my favorite pop was Boing. It was pure fruit juice/nectar and the fructose kept me hopping and happy. By accident I discovered that if one drank Boing with vodka and moved at a leisurely pace one could maintain a respectable demeanor, an enjoyable feeling of well-being. If you drank a large amount, then swam or ran or played games it seemed to heighten your energy level but if you stopped, the sugar/ethanol combo reversed itself and you were instantly plastered – as in falling down stupid wasted.

Perhaps it is a convenient cop out that I do not recall my use of alcohol causing accidents, harm to me, others, equipment. Having said that I do wonder just how much I missed. I know I did a lot more sitting, listening to music or just the sounds of the day on the beach than I did swimming, snorkeling, diving.

I think, especially long, long ago, Baja and it’s beaches was a very forgiving place. A place where you did not have to worry about using good, sober judgment all day to keep yourself and your companions safe and happy. The worst consequences for over-imbibing were missed appointments, late comings and goings which did not seem to shatter anybody’s world – your plan was to get up early, drive to Mulege for ice – you made the trip but two days later. You planned to take 3 days to travel home; you put off your departure and drove straight through in 1 day and night……

So I guess, overall, I have few regrets about the drinking. My liver can’t argue – it is a mean organ and deserves punishment. I can say that if my remembrances are not well defined, clear and distinct, all things with perfect edges, the overall effect was relaxed and enjoyable. The words are lost on me but the tunes still play in my head, the colors still glow brightly in my memory bank if shifted just a tiny mark from the real spectrum.

Over time I have learned that it is necessary to continually give disclaimers. On this little piece I’ll remind you that my headstone has already been ordered. It is engraved: “Don’t go by Me.”

I can identify.

The most embarassing part for me is to run into somebody I used to hang with. I don't recognize them at first, but then somebody repeats their nickname or otherwise jogs my memory...

I've done it a few times and judging from the response that's one of the bigger faux pas you can commit in Baja.

What's one of the bigger faux pas you can commit in Baja?

To be friends with someone and not remember them some time later.

Originally Posted by Osprey

What's one of the bigger faux pas you can commit in Baja?

Asking one of the locals where you can find a Taco Bell...

Jorge,

Takes a lot of guts to write about a shameful life like that.