I decided to paddle rather than sail to the other two camps to see what could
be found. . .thought it might be a mostly cross-wind trip. Ha. With the arroyo
and cliffs around it somehow contrived to be mostly a headwind trip both directions.
I’m still not sure how that worked. In any event, I arrived at length at the
second camp, where I could see several people walking about or sitting in the
shade of one of the houses. However, as I beached the canoe and drug it up
above the tide they all disappeared. Not sure of the etiquette, I stood around
for a while to let people make whatever adjustments were appropriate for unexpected
gringos arriving, then walked slowly toward the first house. These were much
tidier houses than many you see along the roadside in Baja, well plastered,
tidily built, painted pastel colors, well provided with shady porches and brush
arbors in front and behind. An older woman in apron and kerchief was scrubbing
clothes on a washboard under an arbor behind the house. . .and nobody else in
sight. I approached slowly and stopped ten feet away to offer my “buenas dias
Senora”. . .She answered in Spanish deliberately slowed to gringo speed. . .”Muy
buenas dias Senor, bienvenidos.. .” Once again the conversation stalled. I
fell back on my one good trick. . .”your house is quite lovely and the place
is beautiful” It worked again. Gradually we worked through all the topics
my Spanish would handle: the number of families in the settlements (14) and
the number of people? Not so sure. . .these things change as people come and
go. Right now.. .maybe 28 or 30. The school? Right over there (pointing to
a tiny building, a lot like a storage shed in a back yard in Seattle), then
again the explanation that the maestra was away in La Paz, sick; the fishing,
is it good? Yes, just last night the men caught a tonelada (2200 pounds) of
sierra fish (a tasty fish, popular in the city) and they’ve gone to sell them.
. . then the kids started coming out of the woodwork, along with at least one
of the moms. It was busy visiting, trading names, describing Seattle’s weather
(hard to get them to believe rain-every-day all winter) and my work and where
I’d sailed from and trading names and ages and where is my family and how old
are my children and on and on. Finally I asked if I might take pictures. We
started pretty formally with rigid poses but then things loosened up, especially
when the spoiled 2-year old grandson decided to open a water jug and pour it
out on the ground. Older sisters and cousins came from everywhere to scoop
him up and I got a good photo of the culprit.
We traded addresses and I promised to send the photos when they were developed, said my good byes and walked down to the beach. Suddenly the 10-year old young lady of the house shouted that there was one more picture to take, the baby. . .please. Well goodness, wouldn’t want to skip the baby or his very young mom, still basically lying in with her first.
.
I was escorted by most of the kids into a bedroom in the next house where the new mother got out of bed and carefully showed off her young son. A few more photos for luck and then the real good byes.. .I thought. Once again, already seated in the canoe, I was stopped by a shout from the ten-year-old young lady, this time running down the beach with one hand held out in front of her. . .”I give you these” she said and held out 5 perfect little jewels of snail shells, gleaming like cloisonné, each less than an inch long. I studied them carefully and thanked her as graciously as I could, but then said, “These are very precious, can’t I pay you for them?” “Well, you could”, she said. “Then, how much could I pay you?” I asked. “Maybe ten pesos?” I dug in my pockets. The wallet was on the boat and all I came out with was one 5 peso coin. I held it for her to see. “It’s all I have with me” “That’s okay, then, I already gave them to you.” “But would you take the five pesos?” “Well, yes, thank you, I will take the five. . .” and finally the visit was done.
