Tijuana Gringo |
Michael Thomas |
Thorsnight, 28 Diciembre 2000. |
Leaving Tijuana for the south of Baja California. Leaving all the flashing madness of Revolución disneyfied olde Mexituristico shops and bars. But before I go... last night met Miguel #2 in the cantina El Patio. We started talking about writing. I think I can convince him to let me publish some of his work here. [ADDENDUM: Yes, I will convince him!]
Approaching Ensenada I watch the stars and planets sink into the western ocean. Thus far it's a mellow ride along the superhighway. But after Ensenada....
I have the front seat -- but had to throw two dudes out of it. "These seats are reserved," I said, trying to be polite, showing my ticket.
"Oh, sorry," they said, and only now looked at their tickets and saw the numbers. "Sorry," they said again, with more feeling.
"No problem." -- No hay pedo.* And I settled down, hoping no one would come, but yes, she did. A young woman heading south to be with half of her family over new years.
Later: The second driver gave his other double front seat to the girl who sat beside me, and then he went away to sleep in the cabin below decks where drivers have an actual bed -- even if the ceiling is only three feet high down there. So now she and I both have double seats to ourselves. Not too shabby.
We crawl through the night of Baja California, the desert invisible beyond my rushing window. Stop for a few minutes in El Rosario, south of San Quintin. I get out and stretch my legs. Smoke a cigarette. Chat with the two dudes I had thrown out of my seat. They seem happy to talk. We're all glad there's no ill feeling about the front seat. They mention the view. Yeah, I say, except it's so dark you can't see anything! We all laugh at that. I mention that when you buy your ticket, the computer can select your seat automatically. They smile, glance at each other. "Computers, eh? Ya todo está bien arreglado por computadora."*
Modern life. Postmodern reality.
Soon enough we're back onboard and rushing south. We start to climb into a horrifying series of switchbacked grades and twisting turns. Yellow caution arrows blossom in front of me in the headlights and sweep past my side window. The bus elegantly leans this way, then that. I glimpse the shaft of headlight stretching out into a steep canyon and brushing the other jagged wall. Mmm that's one hell of a gorge. Why am I not afraid? I wonder for a while over that one, as another set of yellow arrows looms up, announcing yet another unbelievable twist of the transpeninsular. Ah, I know why I'm not afraid... this road is so twisty and so quote-unquote "dangerous" that there is absolutely NO Danger of our driver falling AsLeEp!! Hee hee hee!
I, however, like most of the passengers, will fall asleep. All through the night I awake at moments to gaze out the window, looking at the stars and guessing what time it may be. No. I still don't carry a watch. And yes, I love, and fear, the stars.