After two agonizing years without traveling, I am brushing off the Passport and reaching deep into the back of my sock drawer for that adventurous spirit. I know it’s in there somewhere…?! The glories of my beautiful contracting job at Microsoft require me to take a 100-day break. Boo-freakin-hoo. So what to do? Any guesses? Travel, of course. As soon as I submitted my timecard on my last day at MS (while having a couple office-made margaritas), I hopped on a bus to the airport where I departed for Baja, Mexico on a Green Tortoise bus trip. Now home for a few days, I am preparing for my 10-week backpacking adventure through Argentina, Chile, Peru, and Ecuador. Further details on that trip to come…
The Green Tortoise is, for lack of a better term, a hippie bus. Green Tortoise operates a handful of hostels, but also hosts a delightful slew of bus trips throughout North America. (To give credit where it’s due, http://www.greentortoise.com/) Predominately geared toward the budget [ghetto] traveler, Green Tortoise appeals to all poised for a good time—and all who don’t mind going without a shower. Hygiene? Who needs it?! I heard about this phenomenon through my dear friend Crystal, who has been on the Green Tortoise before. This particular adventure included me, Crystal, and Chad on a bus ride from San Francisco, all the way down the Baja Peninsula in Mexico for some beach camping, and back. I boarded and disembarked in LA. It was a 9-day trip, with the two days at the beginning and end on the bus.
With my huge, 10-weeks-in-South-America-and-I-have-so-much-planning-to-do trip looming forth, I admit I didn’t hold high expectations for this trip. To me, it was a great way to kick off my 100-day break from work, and a wonderful chance to hang out with Crystal and Chad. Hell, our final destination could have been Detroit and I would have signed up. But the glorious memories, experiences, lessons, and the… sand surfaced throughout the whole week. On Baja, the sand gets everywhere.
On the outside, the bus resembled a fairly standard coach. On the inside, however, was a machine for living. The front of the bus featured bench seats on either side, the middle of the bus had a couple tables, and the back of the bus was one large, cushy platform for the lounging, the living, and the laughing. All the overhead compartments were bunks. “All I need is a miracle! All I neeeeee-eeeed is you!!!” At night, the so-called “miracle” happened. And miraculous it was (and yes, that cheesy 80’s song was sung with much enthusiasm). The front seats became another large cushy platform, and the tables transformed to bunks on the top and bottom (a.k.a. the bat cave).
It took a split-second to get used to spooning with people on either side, but the odd looks from the Militar at each checkpoint made it all worthwhile. I can only imagine their speculations of 20 people all lying down together in the middle of the night…
After a couple days on the road we arrived at the beach at the crack of dawn, and not soon enough, as I opted for one of the overhead bunks on the night we had over an hour of bumpy dirt road. It was like someone took jackhammers to all four corners of your bed. And after a few too many drinks the night before (insert Crystal snort here—don’t make fun of my friend!), bad news.
Following a picnic breakfast, we made the 6-mile hike down the mountains to the camp. The camp itself featured a tented area with tables for cooking and food preparation, as well as a cantina serving chilled cerveza and delicious soda. There’s something about orange soda at the beach… There was an area with a circle of camp chairs for hanging out, as well as a shaded area on the beach to get out of the sun. We all set up our tents on various parts of the beach. Charming, yet breezy. Where is my lilo?! There were no showers, but there was one big, salty ocean. As for “facilities”, we had two options. If you had to do a Number 1, there was the “Pee Tree.” It wasn’t as private as Miguel described it to be (and I stood there, frozen in disbelief at my first visit right before I started laughing out loud), but featured designated areas for each gender as well as hand washing buckets. If you had to do a Number 2, “or you weren’t sure”, then you had to take one glorious walk down Lagoon Drive to the outhouse. Friends, they call it “out”-house for a reason. Boy, were you out there—it was completely open on the side and back. But hey, when camping you are one with nature, right? Right.
The days were filled with beach lounging, frolicking in the water on our Lilos (British term for blow-up air mattresses for floating in the water), perfecting the tan, and varied activities such as fishing, kayaking, and mule-riding. The evenings were filled with trying to be the first in line for dinner, singing at the campfires, and enjoying many drinks. Too many drinks, for some! On this particular trip, food was not a-plenty. I am told, however, that such is a Green Tortoise anomaly. If you were at the end of the line, your portions were smaller than normal—we all warmly referred to Playa Escondida as Fat Camp—and if you had an appetite like mine, you were destined to eat the leftovers off your friends’ plates. And I certainly did. But after my day of kayaking and needing at least a few grams of carbohydrates (sometimes fat camp had Atkins-themed meals), Bob—always the hero—went and got me some tortilla chips from the food storage. These weren’t your typical tortilla chips. Nah. These were infested with ants. But a girl’s gotta eat. They’re really fine once you blow them off and I figured any leftover debris likely added nutritional value.
Yes, life at Playa Escondida was pure joy. Relaxation and sunshine. No phones, emails, or watches; just inside jokes, nicknames, rituals. The flow of positive energies was everywhere, and we were laughing harder than we’d laughed in a long time. I loved the friendships I developed with everyone; I learned so many interesting, amazing things about each person that 9 days simply wasn’t enough. We were blessed with an amazing group of people—we could have camped in a WalMart parking lot and had a blast. Our group included people of all ages, backgrounds, and countries of origin. Aside from a few pervy predators, I’d jump at the chance to travel with this group in a heartbeat. My only outstanding question was whether or not the boy I thought was cute had figured it out yet…and was he going to do something about it?
The one real challenge at the beach was managing what I began to refer to as “the funk”. For those who have never had the pleasure, allow me to explain what happens after a few days of not showering at a saltwater beach. Your total surface area is quickly covered with the dustiness and roughness associated with delicious mix sea water, sweat, and dried sunscreen. Said “build-up” leaves your skin dulled, salty, and even slightly sticky. And consequently, this dullness bonds well to other particles, so you’re picking up and carrying around more dust than you normally would. Your clothes have white blotchy marks shaped like jellyfish from the dried salt, and your hair feels like decades-old yarn you pulled from your grandmother’s basement. Every time you try touching it you perform a combination of scowl/cringe/laugh, while peering at the faces of others to see if they were equally grossed out (but realizing their hair feels that way too, and at this point, it’s funny). You embrace that there will always be a dusting of dirt and sand on your feet. It will never go away no matter how hard you try. Even with socks and shoes—the sand is everywhere.
Yes, the days were glorious, and the nights enchanting. Someone, please. Please send me back to Baja. It’s been a long time since I rocked out as much as I did on Margarita night. It’s been a long time since I laughed as hard as I did when we had a visitation from Crystal’s alter-ego. And it’s been a long time since I felt like a ninth-grader with a silly crush … “You can’t kiss me for the first time in front of the Pee Tree!”
I spent 9 days driving in a bus and camping alongside a handful of perfect strangers—who soon became like family—and found myself near tears once it all began to wind down. Getting on the bus was surreal. Getting off was even more. The two people who disembarked with me also felt a little lost once the umbilical cord was cut (or maybe it was sleeping on a concrete floor for two hours?). I kept waiting for the bus to be outside ready for us to hop back on.
Baja was most certainly about breaking rules and exceeding expectations. I have a strong tendency to write myself a list of regulations and assumptions about people and experiences, and this trip reminded me to stop. To evaluate people, ideas, and experiences for what and who they are, letting pre-conceived notions fall away. To grab hold of what you’re doing, and be where you are….and for chrissake’s, just eat the ant-covered chips! And now, back at home, absorbing all the memories and experiences I realize that thankfully, the sand gets everywhere.
Viva la Mexico!
The Green Tortoise is, for lack of a better term, a hippie bus. Green Tortoise operates a handful of hostels, but also hosts a delightful slew of bus trips throughout North America. (To give credit where it’s due, http://www.greentortoise.com/) Predominately geared toward the budget [ghetto] traveler, Green Tortoise appeals to all poised for a good time—and all who don’t mind going without a shower. Hygiene? Who needs it?! I heard about this phenomenon through my dear friend Crystal, who has been on the Green Tortoise before. This particular adventure included me, Crystal, and Chad on a bus ride from San Francisco, all the way down the Baja Peninsula in Mexico for some beach camping, and back. I boarded and disembarked in LA. It was a 9-day trip, with the two days at the beginning and end on the bus.
With my huge, 10-weeks-in-South-America-and-I-have-so-much-planning-to-do trip looming forth, I admit I didn’t hold high expectations for this trip. To me, it was a great way to kick off my 100-day break from work, and a wonderful chance to hang out with Crystal and Chad. Hell, our final destination could have been Detroit and I would have signed up. But the glorious memories, experiences, lessons, and the… sand surfaced throughout the whole week. On Baja, the sand gets everywhere.
On the outside, the bus resembled a fairly standard coach. On the inside, however, was a machine for living. The front of the bus featured bench seats on either side, the middle of the bus had a couple tables, and the back of the bus was one large, cushy platform for the lounging, the living, and the laughing. All the overhead compartments were bunks. “All I need is a miracle! All I neeeeee-eeeed is you!!!” At night, the so-called “miracle” happened. And miraculous it was (and yes, that cheesy 80’s song was sung with much enthusiasm). The front seats became another large cushy platform, and the tables transformed to bunks on the top and bottom (a.k.a. the bat cave).
It took a split-second to get used to spooning with people on either side, but the odd looks from the Militar at each checkpoint made it all worthwhile. I can only imagine their speculations of 20 people all lying down together in the middle of the night…
After a couple days on the road we arrived at the beach at the crack of dawn, and not soon enough, as I opted for one of the overhead bunks on the night we had over an hour of bumpy dirt road. It was like someone took jackhammers to all four corners of your bed. And after a few too many drinks the night before (insert Crystal snort here—don’t make fun of my friend!), bad news.
Following a picnic breakfast, we made the 6-mile hike down the mountains to the camp. The camp itself featured a tented area with tables for cooking and food preparation, as well as a cantina serving chilled cerveza and delicious soda. There’s something about orange soda at the beach… There was an area with a circle of camp chairs for hanging out, as well as a shaded area on the beach to get out of the sun. We all set up our tents on various parts of the beach. Charming, yet breezy. Where is my lilo?! There were no showers, but there was one big, salty ocean. As for “facilities”, we had two options. If you had to do a Number 1, there was the “Pee Tree.” It wasn’t as private as Miguel described it to be (and I stood there, frozen in disbelief at my first visit right before I started laughing out loud), but featured designated areas for each gender as well as hand washing buckets. If you had to do a Number 2, “or you weren’t sure”, then you had to take one glorious walk down Lagoon Drive to the outhouse. Friends, they call it “out”-house for a reason. Boy, were you out there—it was completely open on the side and back. But hey, when camping you are one with nature, right? Right.
The days were filled with beach lounging, frolicking in the water on our Lilos (British term for blow-up air mattresses for floating in the water), perfecting the tan, and varied activities such as fishing, kayaking, and mule-riding. The evenings were filled with trying to be the first in line for dinner, singing at the campfires, and enjoying many drinks. Too many drinks, for some! On this particular trip, food was not a-plenty. I am told, however, that such is a Green Tortoise anomaly. If you were at the end of the line, your portions were smaller than normal—we all warmly referred to Playa Escondida as Fat Camp—and if you had an appetite like mine, you were destined to eat the leftovers off your friends’ plates. And I certainly did. But after my day of kayaking and needing at least a few grams of carbohydrates (sometimes fat camp had Atkins-themed meals), Bob—always the hero—went and got me some tortilla chips from the food storage. These weren’t your typical tortilla chips. Nah. These were infested with ants. But a girl’s gotta eat. They’re really fine once you blow them off and I figured any leftover debris likely added nutritional value.
Yes, life at Playa Escondida was pure joy. Relaxation and sunshine. No phones, emails, or watches; just inside jokes, nicknames, rituals. The flow of positive energies was everywhere, and we were laughing harder than we’d laughed in a long time. I loved the friendships I developed with everyone; I learned so many interesting, amazing things about each person that 9 days simply wasn’t enough. We were blessed with an amazing group of people—we could have camped in a WalMart parking lot and had a blast. Our group included people of all ages, backgrounds, and countries of origin. Aside from a few pervy predators, I’d jump at the chance to travel with this group in a heartbeat. My only outstanding question was whether or not the boy I thought was cute had figured it out yet…and was he going to do something about it?
The one real challenge at the beach was managing what I began to refer to as “the funk”. For those who have never had the pleasure, allow me to explain what happens after a few days of not showering at a saltwater beach. Your total surface area is quickly covered with the dustiness and roughness associated with delicious mix sea water, sweat, and dried sunscreen. Said “build-up” leaves your skin dulled, salty, and even slightly sticky. And consequently, this dullness bonds well to other particles, so you’re picking up and carrying around more dust than you normally would. Your clothes have white blotchy marks shaped like jellyfish from the dried salt, and your hair feels like decades-old yarn you pulled from your grandmother’s basement. Every time you try touching it you perform a combination of scowl/cringe/laugh, while peering at the faces of others to see if they were equally grossed out (but realizing their hair feels that way too, and at this point, it’s funny). You embrace that there will always be a dusting of dirt and sand on your feet. It will never go away no matter how hard you try. Even with socks and shoes—the sand is everywhere.
Yes, the days were glorious, and the nights enchanting. Someone, please. Please send me back to Baja. It’s been a long time since I rocked out as much as I did on Margarita night. It’s been a long time since I laughed as hard as I did when we had a visitation from Crystal’s alter-ego. And it’s been a long time since I felt like a ninth-grader with a silly crush … “You can’t kiss me for the first time in front of the Pee Tree!”
I spent 9 days driving in a bus and camping alongside a handful of perfect strangers—who soon became like family—and found myself near tears once it all began to wind down. Getting on the bus was surreal. Getting off was even more. The two people who disembarked with me also felt a little lost once the umbilical cord was cut (or maybe it was sleeping on a concrete floor for two hours?). I kept waiting for the bus to be outside ready for us to hop back on.
Baja was most certainly about breaking rules and exceeding expectations. I have a strong tendency to write myself a list of regulations and assumptions about people and experiences, and this trip reminded me to stop. To evaluate people, ideas, and experiences for what and who they are, letting pre-conceived notions fall away. To grab hold of what you’re doing, and be where you are….and for chrissake’s, just eat the ant-covered chips! And now, back at home, absorbing all the memories and experiences I realize that thankfully, the sand gets everywhere.
Viva la Mexico!
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