A Little Adversity is Good for You

I may have missed seeing the epic Baja 1000, but leaving Cabo Pulmo to reach La Paz where I would catch a ferry to mainland Mexico, I feel like I got to compete in my own personal off road race, The day before I had gone scuba diving. After the dive, instead of throwing a bunch of wet dive equipment in the back of my car, I left it hanging at the dive shop to dry overnight. In the morning I packed up my campsite and headed into the tiny town of Cabo Pulmo for my favorite Mexican Breakfast, Chilaquiles. Afterword I planned to make the three hour drive to La Paz. I would be a couple hours early, but I'd just hang out on the malecon with a Pacifico or something, maybe grab some tacos while I waited for the boat.

About halfway through the 110 mile drive, much of which is on a rough dirt road, I thought about the dives I had done the day before and I was reminded of my scuba equipment still hanging at the dive shop. Normally turning around would be a no brainer, but I had a boat to catch. I had a ticket, and I was on a tight schedule to get to Mexico City where Kerry was flying to meet me and I had a hotel reserved. After a verbal explosion of expletives and a momentary consideration of leaving a couple thousand dollars worth of scuba gear I flipped the Trailblazer around, turned on the "Roadtrip Playlist" and put the pedal down. This was not safe driving. I had extra time, but if I didn't knock down the miles quickly there would be no chance of making the ferry. I was hitting the twisting bends in the roads at nearly rollover speeds and fishtailing on the dirt roads as I bounced along. Urging me along with a positive attitude, sometimes the music would sync well with the mission. - "I left my scuba in Cabo Pulmo" by A Tribe Called Quest, "I'm going going back back to Pulmo Pulmo" by The Notorious B.I.G., etc.

I made the drive that Google Maps predicted would take 1:40 in about 1:10, grabbed my gear, then turned around and did the same stunt work back the other way. Devastatingly, it was all for naught. I reached La Paz with what I thought would be enough time to catch the ferry but couldn't find the terminal. I called the ferry company who told me where the port was, but also informed me that to catch the ferry I needed to be three hours early! Somewhere between inadequate Spanish, not reading the entire ticket confirmation email, and assuming that three hours early to board a ferry would be ridiculous I missed this important detail. Long story short, I changed my ticket to the next day and booked a room for the night in La Paz.

After a nice breakfast in La Paz and a run on the malecon, the first of a series of issues with the car registration that have been a theme of this wonderful adventure began. While in Todos Santos I had had my mom send me a temporary vehicle import permit that is necessary to drive in Mexico. Nowhere did I read that I needed the permit until I was already well into my drive in Baja, where for whatever reason the permit is unnecessary. I read from multiple sources that the only way to receive the permit is at a Mexican consulate in the US, at the border at Tecate (The border crossing I took leaving San Diego), or online (in which case the permit is shipped to a US address), which is what I did. You can't board the ferry without the permit so before I drove to the terminal I opened the Fedex envelope that my mother had sent to me. It looked like it had been taped at the top but I figured this was simply done for extra security. I was wrong. Turns out the envelope had been opened during its journey from the US and the contents had been stolen. Needless to say, I freaked out. What would I do? It would take nearly two weeks to apply and receive another permit, essentially ending my trip that was intended to take me through most of Central America in Baja. And of course, Kerry would either be hanging out in Mexico City alone, canceling her ticket all together, or changing it to hang out with me in Cabo.

With no real plan I began driving to the ferry terminal. If I didn't get there soon I would miss the ferry no matter what I figured out. On my way I Google searched Banjercito, which is the Mexican bank that issues the temporary car permits. Oddly I found that there was one located at the ferry terminal. I called and explained the situation and they told me to come there to see if I could get another permit. This was good news because I was under the impression that getting a permit anywhere within the country was completely impossible. When I arrived some phone calls were made and I was eventually told that I would have to buy another permit (about $60, with a $300 deposit that is returned once the car leaves the country) but I could do it there. Fantastic! Sold! So, a note to anyone who stumbles across this blog looking for information about a similar road trip: YOU CAN PURCHASE A TERMPORARY VEHICLE IMPORT PERMIT AT THE BANJERCITO OFFICE AT THE BAJA FERRIES TERMINAL NEAR LA PAZ.

Sadly, my relief didn't last long. You see, I purchased the car I was driving two days before leaving the US. When I went to the DMV in Oregon they took the title and the registration so new ones could be created with my name on them, which would be sent to me in four weeks. I was given a receipt of the transaction and was told that this would be enough documentation for whatever comes up. Mexico doesn't agree. After showing the DMV receipt, the Bill of Sale, and a photocopy of the original title I was told flatly, "I'm sorry, I can't give you a permit with this." (Spoiler alert: An issue arising due to not having an original tile will come up again in a future post.)

Another rush of doom came over me. I pleaded, begged, and charmed until my gatekeeper did a little more research into how I could get the permit. She said that if I had proof of insurance from the US she would do it. "Yes! I have that!"

After some forms were filled, pictures of the car were taken, and money was exchanged, I had my permit. It was only an hour and a half before the ferry departure time but that proved to be plenty. The stress of the 24 hours leading to the 9 hour (that includes boarding and disembarking time) over water journey took a few days off my life but I would soon be on mainland Mexico. I would need to hammer pretty hard to get to Mexico City in time but I would make it.

The ferry ride was uneventful. There are two or three large rooms. I chose to sit in the cafeteria area where the bar was located . I had my own table to watch other groups of people get wasted drinking cases of Tecate while Mexican music blared and the AC kept the room just above freezing, which was likely an attempt (unsuccessful) to keep people from passing out on the padded benches that surround the room. 

After waiting for over an hour to disembark I made the decision to stay in Los Mochis overnight as opposed to driving to Mazatlan late which I was advised not to do for safety reasons. This meant that I would give up the room I had reserved in Mazatlan and I would need to drive the 900 miles from Los Mochis to Mexico City in two days, but it was the safe play.

I made it safely to a hotel where I knew I would sleep after a long day. A couple big days of driving were coming but I was happy to be on my way to see two cities in Guadalajara and Mexico City that I had heard good things about, and of course to see Kerry.

Cabo Pulmo

Cabo Pulmo is my new zombie apocalypse hold out location. Does everyone have one of these? Well they should. If the CDC has a zombie apocalypse emergency plan (They do), you should have a general idea of where you'll head once your neighbors start coming over to eat your brains instead of borrow your sugar.

This Baja town of 111 people is about two hours from the closest city of any size. Half of the drive is on a mountainous highway, the other half is on rough dirt roads. This means there will be very few potential zombie locals, as well as a low number of zombie tourists from Cabo or La Paz or wherever. I'm picturing undead with cold, blue, drooping skin, wide brimmed khaki hats, ripped Tommy Bahama shirts, and Tevas with socks, maybe fanny packs. Poor bastards were in the middle of an all inclusive vacation when the sickness spread.

Cabo Pulmo is a nature reserve both on land and in the surrounding ocean. Since receiving its protected status in 1995, marine life within the park has increased by an amazing 463%. Originally the local fishermen were pretty upset about being forced to change their ways of life but many quickly saw an opportunity in transferring their ocean knowledge to other endeavors such as scuba and snorkel guiding for tourists excited to see the amazing change in marine health. Other fishermen soon realized that the increasing biomass within the marine reserve was spilling over to unprotected areas nearby and they could therefore continue fishing, often more successfully than before, just outside the borders. This is an absolute victory in marine conservation, something that I am passionate about, and a blueprint for the protection of other regions. It also means that during a zombie apocalypse there would be plenty of protein. Yeah, I know it's protected and for good cause, but when the world as we know it is ending I'll do what is necessary to survive.

I'm not sure about the fresh water situation in Cabo Pulmo after the fall of civilization. It's in a desert but there may be wells. I'll be looking into that. Wow, really nerding out here, huh? Okay, moving along...

I heard from some dive buddies of mine that the diving in Cabo Pulmo is fantastic. Since that's kinda my thing, I planned on checking it out after I left Todos Santos. It's on the other side of Baja, about two and a half hours away. There are a couple small rented cabanas in town, but I wanted to camp, which I heard was very possible. Once I arrived in the early afternoon I had a solid lunch at one of the three or four restaurants in town before finding a dive shop that could take me out the following day.

I then set off to find a place to pop a tent for the evening. After some searching I found the perfect spot at the end of a long, wide, white sand beach. At the other end of the beach there were some travelers in RVs and tents but I was interested in solitude, just a boy and his dog. There was a large rocky headland to the south which protected from wind, and the water was a stunning turquoise blue. The mountains to the west caught the evening's setting rays of sun and turned the sky and land alike to vibrant shades of purple, pink, and orange. I was truly in awe of its beauty.

I set up my tent and gathered firewood while Carlos, or "Los" as he now prefers ran around happy as a pig in shit to be off leash, prancing through the sand and taking the sticks that I was collecting to wherever he willed. As the sun set I lit a nice little fire and roasted hot dogs and heated a package of pre-cooked lentils I had before a dessert of toasted marshmallows. I listened to music, read, and chatted with Los like he actually understood me before turning in early.

I woke up early after a night of restless sleep in which I used two Mexican Blankets as a sleeping pad. I'm pretty much The Princess and the Pea when it comes to mattresses so I was quite achy when the alarm went off. I packed up camp and made coffee with my awesome turbo boiler thing (I fucking love REI) and headed to the dive shop.

The two dives were average I would say. I think it was just an off day unfortunately. A storm had come through a few days before which decreased visibility to about 30 feet. There were some fish, even a few that were quite large, two white tip reef sharks, a tiny frog fish, and a few moray eels and sting rays. I saw none of the large swirling schools of jacks I had seen in pictures, or hammerheads or bull sharks. It doesn't help that I've been lucky enough to work as a dive guide and instructor in some amazing places or that I have visited many more prime dive locations. An embarrassment of riches has risen the bar for me. At the end of the day though, a day spent underwater always ends up in the plus column.

After the dives I had lunch and a beer at a restaurant on the water in town before heading back to my campsite for more of the same activities from the previous evening. In the morning I took my time packing up before heading to La Paz to catch the ferry to mainland Mexico.

I felt then, and still do today that the simplicity, solitude, and beauty of my two days and nights in Cabo Pulmo made for an experience near the top of the list for this entire adventure thus far. I think it's safe to assume that it will be a little more stressful once I have to think about fending off zombies.

All photos are of my camping area from different vantage points at different times.

Todos Santos

The rolling hills of the desert of Baja gave way to two weeks I planned to spend on the rolling seas of Todos Santos. Although I had never been before I made the decision months ago to spend more extended time there than anywhere else during this adventure. I heard good things about it, knew there were good surf breaks, and simply had a generally good feeling about it. So yeah, good.

I booked a house on Airbnb in a neighborhood right in town and it ended up being just right. The home was modern, comfortable, and big. There was a rooftop palapa for stringing up my hammock and watching sunsets, an outdoor shower, and a washing machine, among other creature comforts. I was sharing the home with quite a few very large cockroaches and a mouse who had made a nice little bed in the oven using insulation. I lived in Thailand, Hawaii, and Grand Turk in a previous life so I'm not too freaked out by the critter roommates that make themselves comfortable in tropical habitations, but that didn't mean I was against smashing the massive insects if  I found them loitering too long in the kitchen. I eventually began using a Friday reference pretty much whenever I went in to grab a snack or some water. "How come every time I'm in the kitchen, yo ass in the kitchen?"

Thanksgiving fell during my time in Todos Santos so Kerry decided she would come down for a few days to celebrate. It wasn't what you would call a traditional experience full of football and hot toddys. Ours was filled with whale sharks, humpbacks, and dolphins. Off the coast of La Paz, about 45 minutes away by car, there is an opportunity to see whale sharks this time of year. For those of you not familiar, a whale shark is a shark and not a whale, meaning it's a fish. It's actually the world's biggest fish, growing up to 40 feet long. They have no teeth being filter feeders so they're completely harmless to humans. They're pretty rare and are something of a holy grail to scuba divers. I've seen quite a few in my life but Kerry had never seen one. If you're ever in a part of the world at the right time when seeing at least one is more or less guaranteed, take advantage of it. I was excited that Kerry would have the opportunity. We were able to get in the water to snorkel with three or four different whale sharks. The previously mentioned humpbacks and dolphins were bonuses that showed up during the tour.

After we returned from La Paz we decided we would do our best to make a somewhat traditional dinner. Proper Thanksgiving ingredients were hard to come by but we were able to find enough to make it feel legit. We had chicken, boxed stuffing, yams, gravy, potatoes, green beans, and brownies for dessert.

The first problem we encountered was that the oven wouldn't work. Well, actually the first problem was than when I opened the oven I saw a little mouse scurry away and out through the bottom, leaving his cushy little insulation bed in the corner. After removing that the second problem was the non working oven. No worries, we'll make the chicken on the stove. We won't be able to toast marshmallows on top of the yams, but that's not the end of the world. Moving right along.

Problem number three: In the US if we have gas powered appliances there is a magical endless supply. We don't really think about it until the bill comes, and at least for me, I don't really even think about it then because it's on auto pay. In Mexico the homes have propane tanks. When they run out you have to get them filled before you have hot water, a stove top, etc.. So of course during Thanksgiving dinner, for which Kerry and I spent a good amount of time and money at three different stores finding the appropriate ingredients, the gas ran out. Basically, all that food we half way prepared was garbage and we had no other plans for a proper Thanksgiving. I did successfully half cook the yams which I proceeded to mash with a fork and add brown sugar and yogurt to (I had no milk). I then threw some mini marshmallows on top and boom, Thanksgiving yams. They were tasty. Kerry liked them and said they had a "trashy" taste. I told my friend Chloe back home about Kerry's opinion and she informed me that putting marshmallows on anything pretty much makes it trashy. I had no idea.  I guess I'm not as classy as I thought I was.

Mexicans obviously don't give a shit about the third Thursday in Novemeber so luckily my favorite Todos Santos taqueria was open. We had an awesome Thanksgiving dinner of a baked potato loaded with carne asada, cheese, and vegetables and tacos al pastor.

The rest of my time in Todos Santos was pretty relaxed. My days consisted of waking up early, making coffee and a basic breakfast before heading to the beach to surf and hang out. I even bought my first surfboard, shaped right there in Todos Santos. I also met some French Canadians who were on a road trip themselves all the way from Quebec. They had made friends with some of the Mexican guys who worked on the beach renting surfboards and beach umbrellas. We all hung out quite a bit both surfing and apres surf beer drinking and eating.

Although I enjoyed Todos Santos, two weeks was plenty of time I was excited to first do some camping in a rural national park, then to get over to the mainland.

Kerry releasing a baby sea turtle at the beach near the house in Todos Santos

Da Beach

White Trash Thanksgiving Yams

Carlos "Los" and the sunset

Baja Bound

After leaving San Diego, Charlie the German Shepherd and I took our time getting to Todos Santos, Mexico where I have a home rented for about two weeks until the 7th of December. I gave myself five days to drive the approximately 950 miles because I didn't want to rush. It was more than enough time and I probably could have stayed in San Diego another night. If I'd had a surfboard with me it would have been valuable extra free time as much of the coast of Baja, California is a surf mecca. Unfortunately, I'm still at the dorky, trying to catch waves on a garage door sized board level and driving 1,000 miles with one of those strapped to your roof is a challenge. So I just took it easy, drove a few hours a day and stopped in little towns along the way that looked like they may be interesting.

The first stop was Ensenada. Nothing remarkable here normally but when I arrived Baja 1,000 racers were in town preparing for the race that was due to start in a couple days. There were quite a few "trophy trucks" around getting ready for an epic 1,000 mile off road competition. I had a chat with one of the racers hoping for a podium spot and he got me excited to see a part of the race. I thought he told me it would be starting the next day so if I headed south I would catch it.

I headed down to El Rosario after one night in Ensenada. It's a quaint little town near the Pacific where I had heard of this cool little roadside motel. Sadly, when I arrived all the rooms were taken by Baja 1,000 teams prepping. Luckily right next door there was a perfectly adequate motel called Mama Espinoza's. They even let Charlie stay in the room, which I had been told is rare in Mexican motels. He'd had to sleep in the car quite a few nights due to me sleeping in friend's homes where someone had allergies and a lack of pet friendly hotels. Luckily, Charlie is pretty low maintenance so as long as he gets good exercise in the day he doesn't mind a little car camping. Once settled in at Mama Espinoza's I ran a few miles, showered and went to dinner. The most noteworthy thing that happened in El Rosario is the enchiladas I had at Mama Espinoza's restaurant next door to the motel. They were hands down the best enchiladas I've ever had and of course they only set me back about $3 and were served with rice and beans. If you find yourself driving through this part of the world, don't miss the food from the place.

I left the next morning expecting a stop in Catavina which I was told would be an excellent vantage point to see some Baja racers but before I left, one the racers' support crew told me they wouldn't be reaching that point until late the following evening. I had the day wrong and was actually a day ahead of the race start. When I reached Catavina I momentarily considered staying overnight to catch the action the next day but there is next to nothing to see or do in the miniature town and I would be waiting for close to 36 hours if I wanted to see anything. I decided to keep moving to get to an oasis pueblito I had heard good things about.

Although the town of Catavina has little to keep a traveler leisurely occupied, the terrain surrounding the town is a site to behold. Out of the rolling, stark baja desert, huge boulders begin to appear, between which are some of the biggest cacti I've ever seen. It's quite dramatic and I took advantage of having an SUV with 4wd by going off road for a bit and navigating around some of the boulders on the actual Baja race course.

Next stop was the oasis of San Ignacio. Got in a little late and quickly saw a sign for a B&B with yurts for accommodation. It is run by a kind Canadian couple, and although it seemed overpriced at $65 per night, I was tired and hungry and they were pet friendly so I took it. After a six mile run I sat down for roasted chicken, salad, and other yummies with the B&B owners and the large group of Canadians on a motorcycle tour that were staying there. They were interesting folks and it provided an evening of pleasant and interesting conversation.

I next planned a stopover in Loreto. I think this is a good time to talk about the kindness of others that I've been experiencing. Full disclosure here: I don't have a whole lot of faith in people for the most part. I know it sounds negative, bit I feel like people let you down more than they should. I choose the people in my life very carefully and keep a pretty small number of friends, and don't expect much from most. This trip has helped me getting an ever so slightly sunnier outlook so far. After letting friends know of my plans to drive to Central America and posting about it on Facebook I have been overwhelmed by the kindness and support I've received. I was offered a place to sleep in Northern California by an old friend I barely ever talk to or see, I was offered a place no questioned asked for a couple nights in LA, and I had three places to sleep offered to me by people in San Diego. I've also been offered a bed and local support in both Guadalajara and Mexico City by people I've met on the road.

One of the most heartwarming events was a message I got from a Portland friend shortly after I left home. It said that one of his wife's previous employers had seen that he "liked" my post about driving down Baja. They told him that they had recently purchased a home in Loreto and that if I needed anything at all, including a place to stay, that I should contact them directly. The morning I left for Loreto, despite my tendency to do everything in my power not to put people out in any way, I did just that. Tim and Sherrie met me in the town of Loreto where they were attending a party at a local microbrewery. After the party died down they had me follow them to their beautiful home in an expat community called Loreto Bay. I hadn't had dinner and it was late and nothing was open so Tim made me tacos and gave me a beer. After staying up and talking for a while I was led to my comfortable guest room where they even let Charlie stay. When I woke we had coffee under their rooftop palapa looking over the ocean. They had some previous plans so they told me to stay as long as I liked and allowed me to do my laundry before I left.

The kindness from these complete strangers really felt amazing. They were friendly and fun and didn't make me feel uncomfortable at all in accepting their help. I knew they were just good people happy to do something good for someone else.

Okay, this post is starting to feel a little rambly to me so I'm going to wrap it up here. After Loreto I went to La Paz where I spent two uneventful nights. I watched the Cotto VS. Alvarez fight at a local bar and tried to practice a little Spanish with some of the rabid Alvarez fans (He's kind of a national hero at the moment). Other than that I went to a beach, and ate tacos at least twice per day while waiting for the 23rd to arrive when I would pick up Kerry at the airport and get my first glimpse of my home for two weeks in Todos Santos. I'll try to get a post up about all that in the next few days.

Route from San Diego to La Paz

A Baja 1,000 racer in El Rosario

Catavina Boulders and Cacti

Charlie on a Beach Near La Paz

San Diago "A Whale's Vagina"

Okay, so it turns out I'm not so good at this blogging thing. The truth is that between pursuing my strict diet of chilaquiles, tacos, and tequila, surfing in the mornings, and spending time with friends in the evenings, well, I know where my priorities lie. Of course this blog is a journal to my older self just as much, if not more than it is a way for friends and family to stay updated on my travels, so I'll keep trying. I'm up relatively early today due to the cacophony of the local pack of street dogs in my neighborhood. They're a rowdy, rag tag bunch who get their kicks barking at pretty much any passing car going under 35 mph (especially when I'm sleeping), and chasing other dogs off their turf. It's a good time to throw some words down.

Okay so I'll back up a bit. When I wrote my last post I had been in San Diego for about a day. I ended up staying almost four full days and wanted to stay more, Every time I'm in San Diego I consider moving there. It's the surfer town vibe of the smaller areas like Ocean Beach and Pacific Beach, It's the consistently warm but very infrequently hot weather. Of course it's the ocean, something I have felt at home in and near since I can remember.

San Diego is just a generally fun city as well. While there I went to a couple great restaurants, went out and heard some okay music that was just fine because I was smashed when I heard it, tasted some shitty tequila that George Clooney promotes (If a bartender at a gay bar tries to sell you a tequila based on an endorsement by George Clooney, pass and just shell out the extra few bucks for the Don Julio Reposado. George Clooney has shitty taste in tequila.), and saw Point Break Live.

Point Break Live is a show I've been trying to see for a couple years now. It's a satirical stage play based on Point Break, a movie that has always been a guilty pleasure of mine. The show is quite interactive. Keanu Reeves's character is chosen from the audience, when people are shot blood splatters around the theater, the audience is made to get down during bank robberies. It's absurd but an absolute riot. If you're ever in a city where you can see the show I highly recommend it. Check out the YouTube video I linked to above.

But most of all it's the group of friends I have there. It seems to me that although there are so many people moving to Portland, those that were born there leave in droves as adults. Sure I still have some good old friends around but they're all a bit scattered among different groups of people and so busy with their own lives we don't see each other as much as we should. I love my new friends as well but the comfort one gains after knowing someone for one or two plus decades is difficult to match.

The truth is I only have a couple of those long time friends in San Diego, but they've been there so long that they now have old friends that are like family, and now they're getting so old ;) that they have actual families and the whole bunch really makes me feel like family. Phew, that was quite the convoluted sentence. On my final night in town dinner plans my pal Chloe was arranging for her family organically turned into a dinner party of about eight people. We had a great time just talking, laughing, drinking wine, and eating good food. It was run of the mill for them and maybe even taken for granted, which I think is a positive thing in this case. It was a really nice feeling and something I don't really get often back home anymore.

Someday I could really see myself committing to a move but for now I'll simply treasure the people and moments the city blesses me with.

Adrian getting his head humped at Point Break Live

Point Break Live

 

Family Dinner. Sorry guys, I wanted it candid.

Portland to Panama - US West Coast

A road trip from Portland, Oregon to Panama with a dog, crossing multiple international borders is probably the kind of thing one would want to extensively plan for. Fact is though I've never been much of a planner. I tend to fly by the seat of my pants making decisions as I go. So far so good. My life works pretty well. I like to think this can be attributed to having a "feel" for things, an intuition if you will that helps me know which path will deliver the optimal outcome. In reality there's probably a lot of luck involved. But that's neither here nor there. I'm not going to go messing with a winning formula. I will drive to Panama and figure it out along the way.

It's not like I didn't do any planning or preparation. I booked a home for two weeks in Todos Santos, Mexico. I looked at a map of Central America at least seven times. I saved some money. And that's about it up until two weeks before my target date to leave. So after I returned from Cabo San Lucas where I was competing in an Ironman I got cracking on the minimum necessary to get on the road. I prepared my home to host Airbnb guests to reduce the financial burden during my two months away, got Charlie the German Shepherd caught up on his vaccinations, tied up a bunch of work loose ends, and went to REI. I FUCKING LOVE REI. I'm not even much of an outdoorsy guy. I don't camp, hike, or backpack much, but all those genius tools to make those activities work more smoothly and comfortably fascinate the shit out of me. I now own bear mace.

I knew I wanted to fly back home from Panama which meant that I needed a temporary car so I figured I would buy something in Portland then sell it when I reach Panama. It had to be big enough for my dog, gear, and possible car camping, and it couldn't be too nice because I didn't want to draw attention. It also needed to be inexpensive so if I had to sell it for less than I bought it for it wouldn't be too big of a deal. Finding an inexpensive vehicle  that is also likely to actually make it to Panama safely proved to be difficult. I looked at four or five cars and by November 8th I still hadn't found anything. I was scheduled to leave on the 10th. I finally looked at an '04 Chevy Trailblazer on the 8th that was in great shape and was reasonably priced. Sold. Brought cash the next day and I was ready to roll.

And we're off. The effect of a lack of planning made an early appearance in the journey. A quick look at Google maps told me that Ashland, Oregon was about six hours from home, and that Redwood National Forest is in northern California near the coast. I figured six hours was good for the first day of driving due to my late start so I would stop in Ashland to sleep, cross the border into California in the morning, and hop right over to the redwoods. I found a lovely Best Western (You had me at "free breakfast with a waffle station") and slept soundly, happy to be on my way for the adventure of a lifetime.

In the morning after three waffles and two cups of shitty coffee I checked Google Maps for the travel time and route to the redwoods. North on I-5 for 45 miles? Huh? I need to go south. The redwoods are in California. Nope. Apparently there's no road to the coast until you get well south of the forest in California. The only way to get there from southern Oregon in a reasonable time is to get on Hwy. 199 in Grants Pass, Oregon heading west. This highway crosses into California before linking up with Hwy. 101 going through the forest. After some cussing and hemming and hawing about how much I hate the idea of backtracking I decided that the opportunity to see some of the largest trees on the planet was worth the effort. You can see my roundabout route on the map in this post.

The backtrack was worth the time. The redwood forest was beautiful. Being from Oregon I've grown up around trees and thick beautiful forests. Redwood National Forest looks a lot like the forests back home, but on steroids. They're simply massive. There's no other way to put it. Not just thick in the trunk but incredibly tall as well. I found myself thinking about the amazement pioneers felt when first encountering them.

After driving around with my head on a swivel for a while I eventually I pulled off the to the side of the road at a trailhead. I brought running shoes on the trip so I did what any self respecting runner would do and went for a trail run. This adventure of mine is all about experiences and running through the redwoods is something to remember.

After I'd seen enough big trees I was back on the road. I drove for a few hours and ended up at a Holiday Inn just outside of Santa Cruz. It looks like I'll be coming quite familiar with three star hotels with free breakfasts and waffle machines. Winning!

I stopped in Santa Cruz for the afternoon and had lunch with an old friend before driving to Hermosa where another friend offered me a place to stay for a couple nights. On the 14th I made it to San Diego where I have a good group of old friends. I'm here now and will stay around for another couple nights before crossing the border into Mexico.

I'll try to check in here with updates regularly so stay tuned.

Below is a picture of a sign letting me know I was about to enter an area with some big ass trees, a picture of me with a big ass tree (Pictured is the tree known as the "Boy Scout Tree"), and a couple pictures with San Diego friends.

The map below is taken from Google's location services. Looks like it went a little haywire in northern California, probably where my phone lost signal.

Vanuatu Kava Journey: Part One

I finally got around to putting down some of the happenings during my recent journey to Vanuatu. Here is part one of that story:

“What kind of kava bar owner has never been to the motherland of kava use and cultivation?” I asked myself in January of 2012. This simple question set in motion the planning for a late spring trip to Vanuatu, which was recently voted as “The Happiest Country on Earth” by one of the periodicals that attempts to quantify those things. Was this “business trip” partially an excuse for me to spend some days in a less developed tropical nation, an environment which over the years has proven to be where I feel most at peace? Does a bear do his business in the woods?

Of course just as importantly, a trip to Vanuatu would give me a chance to see firsthand the supply chain of most of the kava we serve and sell at Bula Kava House. From the farmers that plant it to the exporter, I was excited to develop a personal connection with those involved with kava cultivation and sale. The plan also involved making new kava connections, and of course chugging copious amounts of the famous Vanuatu fresh root kava.

Before the journey began I contacted my Vanuatu kava supplier to let him know I was coming. I told him that I'd like to spend time with the kava farmers and if possible stay in their villages. I also gave him the names of other people involved with kava production in Vanuatu that I was hoping to talk to, and asked him to set up meetings. Of course no self respecting scuba instructor like myself goes to the South Pacific without logging some bottom time, so I also told him that I hoped to get to Espritu Santo Island, to dive the world famous President Coolidge shipwreck.

Within 24 hours my supplier had gotten back to me informing me that he had purchased all plane and boat tickets for my wife and me. I stopped him when he attempted to book all accommodation in country as I'm somewhat picky about where I stay. He was so excited that I would be coming that he offered to be our personal guide for most of the trip. That is the type of service and kindness we would come to expect from the people of Vanuatu.

So in May, after a flight cancellation due to weather caused an unexpected overnight layover in San Francisco, and over 20 hours in the air my wife and I arrived in the capital city of Port Vila, Vanuatu. We were picked up by my supplier at the airport and taken to our hotel where we would stay  for a single night before traveling to Pentecost Island to spend three days in a traditional village where some of the kava that we import is grown. The villagers would also be performing a Nangol which is a tradition in which boys and young men hurl themselves from a wooden trellis from up to 60 feet high with vines tied around their ankles, which apparently helps ensure a healthy yam crop. The Nangol is very literally the original bungee jump, and I was super excited to see it in person.

Very early in the morning my wife, supplier, his son, and I headed to the airport for the flight to Pentecost Island. After landing we were told there would be a “speed boat” ride of one and a half to two hours to Santari Village on the other side of the island. Three hours later as the small fiberglass outboard boat was tossed around the mighty pacific ocean in 15 foot swells with my wife puking and crying I found myself scanning the coastline looking for the right direction to swim when we capsized. Unfortunately the options were nil, for every direction I looked giant waves slammed into the rocky coastline. If the boat failed us we would be in serious trouble.

Every time we asked  the boat captain how much further we were from the village we were told it was around the next corner. You see, in Vanuatu time and distance truly is relative. “Around the corner” can really mean something like, “on this island” and “one or two hours” really just means “more than five or ten minutes, less than all day.”

Over four literal hours after we stepped onto the boat near the Pentecost Airport, we stepped onto the shores of Santari Village and were greeted with the smiling, inquisitive faces of its residents. The chief would later say at a welcome ceremony that pulling up we reminded him of the missionaries that used to come. He explained that no other white people were ever willing to make the long journey. Surprise, surprise.

The setting was amazing in Santari. A sprawling grass field with a few grazing cows and chickens began after the shoreline and ended at small stream that ran the length of the village, parallel to the coast. Beyond the stream were most of the 30 or so simple village residences which were built in between palm trees on a large grassy hill.

After being poked and prodded by the children of the village who had most likely only heard of the existence of white people, we were taken to Ben's house where we would be resting our heads during our stay. Ben worked as a kava buyer; his job was to collect and buy kava from the farmers of Santari Village and other villages around the island to bring to my exporter. The ridiculously scary and dangerous journey we had just taken, Ben did on a weekly basis. Knowing this it no longer seemed appropriate for me to ask for a lower price at which to purchase my kava, which is something I had planned on doing before the trip.

Because of his work, Ben was considered rich compared to other local villagers. This meant that his house was built of concrete instead of the local timbers and palm fronds. The room that Ben and his wife prepared for my wife and me was very nice, most likely nicer than their own. The walls were decorated with flowers and colorful tapestries and there were relatively soft pads on the floor with clean sheets for sleeping.

Santari Village has no plumbing so bathroom breaks were done either in nature or in what is called in the local Bislama language, the “small house”. The two or three small houses in Santari are simply built, wooden, four walled structures erected around a deep hole in the ground covered by two by fours in all but a slit in the middle. A steady aim is the key.

Showers are taken and clothes are washed in the crystal clear stream on the outskirts of the village. There are spots deep enough to swim and bath time is also an opportunity to play for the children. Some men bring down mini rubber band loaded spear guns to hunt for fresh water shrimp to be snacked on later. Bathing in this beautiful stream more than once made me envious of this simpler way of life.

Also of note, and something my wife and I talk about to this day, is the food served in the village. There were two or three types of taro that all tasted a lot like, well, taro. These were prepared in various ways such as grilling, steaming, or pounding into a paste to be mixed with coconut milk and baked in the ground wrapped in leaves, which is a dish called laplap. Into the second day my wife and I started to joke that there was a special taro for every meal and snack. Yams were served regularly too, but these were not the bright orange yams we were used to. These also seemed to taste a lot like taro. Along with the taro and yams we would often be served boiled chicken and sometimes bread. The south pacific staple of canned corned beef was on the menu for breakfast one day and oranges and bananas were readily available.

Pigs, the possession of pigs, and the killing and eating of pigs is a big deal in Vanuatu. I was absolutely mortified when I was asked to bludgeon the pig that would be eaten for a ceremony one night in the village. You see, I love to eat meat but I'd prefer not do the dirty work. Killing a pig is an honor given to a male visitor, but I just couldn't do it. Luckily, my kava exporter who was also a revered guest bailed me out and did the honors.

The night of the pig feast and every other night involved lots of kava drinking at the village nakamal. A nakamal is a meeting place where villagers come on a nightly basis to drink kava and talk about anything and everything. The kava was made in the traditional way using root that had been pulled from the ground that same day. Young villagers would use a long piece of coral to grind the root into a paste which would then be mixed with water and strained. Being the guest, kava shells were constantly passed my way.

This kava was serious. I often tell first timers at my kava bar in Portland to expect a less intense intoxication than what alcohol provides. After a couple shells at the nakamal though, it became apparent that the difference between high quality dry root kava and high quality Vanuatu kava straight from the ground is like night and day. There isn't an alcohol out there that you could take a shot of that would compare in potency to a single shell of this stuff. After about five shells, when I could barely stand, and my mouth simply couldn't form the very clear thoughts in my head, I had to start turning them down.

On our last full day in the village we were treated to the spectacle that is the Nangol. This ceremony is as exciting as it is terrifying. Men dance and chant wearing nothing but nambas, which are sheaths made of leaves and wrapped around their penises. Women sing and dance bare breasted just behind the large trellis built on the hill overlooking the village and ocean. And the boys and young men psyche themselves up to jump from the various platforms built progressively higher on the structure. The more experienced and older jump from the higher platforms.

Before jumping the daring youngsters dance and sing on the platform, some definitely hamming it up for the crowd, others clearly nervous. After a few minutes of this the jumper goes for it. When the vines around his ankles lose slack near the ground the platform that the vines are attached to at the other end cracks and gives just enough to slow the fall and the jumper lands softly on the loosened dirt below.  Don't worry mom, I did not attempt a leap myself.

After the Nangol we were led to the village kava farm. I was showed about 500 plants, mostly of Borogu and Melo Melo kava strains. At one point one of the farmers pulled out a machete and a shovel and began uprooting a four year old kava plant. He showed me the root explaining that we would be drinking it that night. He also took a stem cutting which he replanted and told me that I would have to return in four years and we would drink kava from that plant. What an experience! 'You've got a deal' I thought.

The following morning after it was decided that we could not trek through the jungle to reach the airport, we drugged and blindfolded my wife (no, not really) for the boat ride back. We were sad to leave all the lovely people of Santari Village, but excited to meet others in the Vanuatu kava industry, see more of the country, and drink kava at the many kava bars in the larger towns. See you in four years, Santari.

Part two coming soon.