Surprize is anchored off the Malecon, the beautiful beach front promenade in La Paz, Baja California Sur. The cabin temperature is a balmy 83 degrees, comfortable for those of us in shorts, T-shirt optional, which includes almost everyone in view. And there are quite a few boats in view: easily over a hundred at anchor like us between the protective sand spit breakwater called El Mogote and the Malecon, and a couple hundred more at the three modern marinas that have been built to shelter the growing number of American boats and crews that have come to the Sea of Cortez and decided to enjoy the hospitality of La Paz year around.
And La Paz is quite a hospitable place. Ample supplies and services to meet the needs of the large expatriate US cruising community all embedded in a prosperous, energetic and charming Mexican town, not yet entirely Americanized and tourist-oriented. But “progress”, as we call it, is inevitable.
The other day we took an alternator mounting bracket to be welded at a local shop. Taller Chicote is literally a shade-tree mechanic in the fine, classical sense of the term. The business operates in front of the owner’s house, virtually indistinguishable from the other houses on a quiet, narrow, tree-lined but dusty back road of a poor residential neighborhood a few blocks from the marina. Here, amidst piles of various scrap metal objects of indeterminate pedigree el Senor Chichote sits, a large man in a wheelchair, wearing a heavy leather welding smock, and directing with equal alacrity the activities of his small cadre of welding artisans and a much larger and noisier group of children, dogs, and miscellaneous family and neighborhood hangers-on.
A man with a small hand-pushed food cart in the center of the shop was entertaining several delighted squealing children by distributing what appeared to be a sweet decoction of corn and yogurt. Another couple of men were contemplating the attachment of a rather large metal cargo box to the frame of a rather small pickup truck. And while we waited, two expertly drawn bead welds were applied to Surprize’s alternator bracket, hopefully permanently unitizing that which had rattled loose during 30 hours of motoring across the Sea of Cortez last week. Total bill: four bucks. Entertainment: free.
A few blocks away, however, is another world of shopping malls and department stores. Aisles lined with prepared foods, fresh and frozen meats, cheeses, and deli items, a vast array of fresh produce geometrically organized and tastefully displayed, drugs, cosmetics, and, for your added shopping convenience, clothing, sporting goods, automotive and household supplies, beer, wine, and liquor all conveniently located under one large air-conditioned roof. A red flannel-clad Santa Claus wandered the aisles promoting the featured displays of Christmas decorations and gifts while popular holiday music provided a festive, seasonal background on the PA system. Dozens of check-out registers using the latest in bar-code scanners and credit-card payment technology were kept busy processing shopping carts heaped with goods on their way out the door to cars waiting in the vast parking lot surrounding the store. Could have been “Frederico Meyer”.
It is clear that such super-stores, familiar to most Americans, will soon displace the more modest, family-run mercados and tiendas which still persist on many street corners in La Paz to serve Senor Chicote and a diminishing number of others like him. And that soon, with the exception of the language in which it is conducted, mercantilism in Mexico, or anywhere else in the world, most likely, will be indistinguishable from the convenience-coddled experience prevalent in the USA.
The movie theater in La Paz boasts four screens, attempting to compete with the satellite dishes becoming ubiquitous on residential rooftops. Every other middle-class Mexican seems to have a cell-phone on his or her belt, if not attached to his/her ear, and jet-skis slash the calm waters, weaving through the anchored sailboats of the expatriate cruising community.
With the majority of the Mexican population well under the age of 35, and television now well over the age of 50, it should come as no surprise, perhaps, that this part of the country has so completely succumbed to the cultural imperialism of the north. In reality, it seems that the “modern” North American expatriates on our cruising blow-boats are the quaint, anachronistic throw-backs nostalgically clinging to an earlier, more leisurely-paced age while modern Mexico races gleefully into the 21st century. But, really, how can it help it? To paraphrase the classic Mexican lament, “...so far from God, so close to California....”.Turning to more mundane matters, during our visit in La Paz, Mike has busied himself with the traditional activities of a boat owner: fixing things on the boat. Besides the alternator bracket, he replaced a balky fuel pump and swapped out a fuel filter, installed screens to cover the port-holes which will hopefully keep out the biting “bobitos” and mosquitoes of San Blas and points south, and is working on splicing lines for a new vang.
Meanwhile, I have been reading Octavio Paz’ classic essay examining the character of Mexico, Labyrinth of Solitude, which undoubtedly accounts for some the maudlin introspection evidenced above. In a few days, we will begin provisioning the boat for the crossing to Puerto Vallarta which should begin on or about December 3 and take a couple, maybe three, days.
Meanwhile, it is Thanksgiving, and I, for one, have much to be thankful for. This includes, perhaps, a traditional turkey dinner and satellite-mediated football game at the local cruiser’s bar which should be commencing shortly. Until next time, hasta luego y que les vaya bien!
John Sherman
with skipper Mike Frick aboard Surprize in La Paz, BCS