A Sort of Homecoming

The biggest change in this year’s venture south is the way in which I arrived. I flew. I really never envisioned myself doing this---at least, not into Baja. Once the decision was made and the ticket was purchased, the truck packed and the boy sent on his merry way down the road, I started to imagine that the flight would be a really interesting way to see the Baja Peninsula. All those mountain ranges. The blue of the Sea of Cortez visible from one side of the plane, the vastness of the Pacific Ocean visible from the other. The starkness and severity of the desert, and every contour defined by the shadows and light of the midday sun.

Final verdict on the flight: one-and-a-half thumbs down. Sure, the quick nature of it was interesting. And the people on the plane were entertaining enough. But sadly, the windows were not of the greatest clarity, so the glare of the sun prevented me from seeing most of the landscape below. And I was on the Pacific side of the plane...this means that one sees primarily the Pacific Ocean, as we didn’t cut inland until at least halfway down the peninsula. The mindless banter on the plane was.... well, mindless, and not really engaging on a level that encouraged one to get into the groove of a change in lifestyle. It was the banter of people who were scared of traveling into a place where they had never seen, of people who had watched the US nightly news that speaks daily (this time of year) of the violence south of the border and warns Americans against travel into Mexico. People were planning (generally) of leading far different lives in this part of the world than I do, and although I chatted with them and told them that they would have a great time, I secretly hoped that they were disappointed in it so that they wouldn’t want to come back.

Arriving in La Paz was great, though. The flight over the desert landing strip was wonderful, and even served as a substitute for the feeling that I get every year when we arrive in El Rosario. It feels like a different kind of homecoming. A welcoming back to the desert, to the salt water and the dryness and the confusion of what it means to be in a different country. I started to feel the reality of the beginning of my adventure, and started to feel the anticipation of completing the trip through customs and through the door to where Karsten had been waiting for more than 2 hours for my arrival. And that part? Clearer than any image I tried to see through that scratched-beyond-belief plane window, and worth every minute of the flight.