Tues Nov 23 rd or something,
Sea of Cortez, in my tent.
It’s sparkling out there, and it’s time I recorded a few thoughts. That hike down in the baking sun gave a distance from the bus, which is more like my life than this hot place. Lots of people, now they’re scattered in tents, all on different schedules suddenly.

Is this what it is to be 33? Caution, calm, and crushes? I was more vital when I was teaching. The GT trip I took then, I was more alive. Am getting close to planning to return to teaching, though the old dread and complaints lurk. Certainly am talking enough about it now. Things that you can’t shake, in a hot tent on a beach with attractive people and food around, are important things.

1 st beard since Africa 2 years ago; should be fun, though less in style than I can ever remember. Ditto for Green Tortoise culture, you’d think, but no, it works for stylish youngsters and long-time hippies and us in the middle. This trip has two civil engineers my uncle’s age with moustaches. Bob, my buddy, looks like David Nivens, and I have told him so. His drunken refrain around the campfire, “Tequila in Baja,” got me all goofy. Better go eat.

3 gray temple hairs at least. Happy and pissed. Force me to act older? I’ve had this free pass for a while. Have not been in the greatest frame of mind lately and needed this trip. Now I put pressure on myself to not only enjoy it, but to be transformed by it. Been feeling a sort of hovering “waom waom.” Irish boy Peter loves the onomatopoeia. Greek gal Allison loves identifying butterflies, hit me when I called her a nerd. My other buddy Paula has nice legs for a woman in her fifties. Like Tina Turner. Samuel has gone ‘kata’-crazy. But I understand.

Josh reminds me of my teaching pal Drew. Alpha male but gentle, unrestrainably fun yet vulnerable. Now I’m thinking of teaching again, writing prompts: “What are four things you’ve done that make you wince to think about?” This large brown clamshell I found represents steady progress, since it’s easy to see how small it was when it started. [NOTE: it made it home, even through a laundry without being smashed; all the more meaning]

I’m bothering everybody by humming Ravel’s ‘Bolero’ today, which crashed into my head in this hot tent this morning. Was ABBA yesterday. Then again, I didn’t know the name of the song this morning, and it matches this mood like no other song. Sometimes you’ve got to annoy people to get answers. Steady progress shell agrees.

Wednesday Nov. 24 th I think
Got into a fun conversation with Elizabeth about economics. She doesn’t respect the EU the way I do. I like smart people. She’s a social liberal, fiscal conservative. I couldn’t keep up with her swimming, and I had flippers on. Peter got me throwing a football at dusk, trying to avoid the rocks, then drank Kahlua with a group on some cushions. John and Julia got it going. Then we ate yummy ginger tofu, and was pleased the way everybody talked lewdly afterward. I was coy about guitar at first but got going. Richey played too. Trac sang some joke blues, and Annette gave us a taste of her lovely voice. Am feeling connected to old traveler me, though not yet emerged from NY doldrums. Glad I didn’t get completely muddy with Adam, Liz, and Abby in the mudflats. Gotta get some gifts for friends. Still waiting for that after-30 bounce of confidence. Have it, in a way. I’m strong but don’t show all. And shy too. Fine.

I have seen a third scorpion! Need to make that list of things I’ve done in my life. Have now shucked oysters, and ridden a burro. It kept walking just enough around the cactus so it could get by, but then I would get scratched. Stubborn as it should be. Life is consistent sometimes, which is a relief.

Surprise: I like being unattached, so I can flirt with all. Aren’t I sick of it? It’s hard for me to bring a lover around friends. That’s when I won’t like her.

Outhouse: I don’t know why but I’m not scared. First time on this thing I was. Hope I can’t get sick from the ice in that margarita. I haven’t seen myself in days.

Thursday morning, Thanksgiving 2004
Didn’t feel so good last night, though perked up enough to help the dance scene, again with Christine. She’s cool peeps. Threw my back out with all the craziness. Sarah asked what I said to the 400 lb black dude at the bus terminal before we left. I asked him to stop shouting. She’s inspirational, and has a funny Canadian accent too. Must visit, eh? Patty Pringle there as well. Sarita makes wise insights in a cute voice. She is totally different than my first impression of her, which was distant and high-maintenance. She has turned into a favorite of mine.

Friday
1 st sunrise I made. I skipped the late night hotsprings trip, fell asleep around the campfire, stuffed with mashed potatoes that invaded my bloodstream and I woke up drooling, cold and nearly alone around the fire. Saw some bad clouds last night at dusk out on the sea kayaking, ones that made me nauseous in their scattering.

“Where does the time go?” asks David, the super-nice Californian Japanese dad, wearing the same tie-dye shirt every day so far. Do the rest of his shirts make him look like an engineer? Yes, where does the time go, to what offshore bank account? Had a dream last night about a big honest fight with Mom about being fake in front of others, about making me feel uncomfortable socially because she does. I want to rely on that relationship. Perhaps David has me thinking this way, such an obvious good father from the way he talks about his kids.

Great snorkeling yesterday. I got scared but relaxed and enjoyed it a little, even when I was the last one in the water. Writing prompt: What is bravery? Show it in a story.

Am I ready to go back to kung fu? The heel is much better, not perfect. About to return to Ensenada, at Pemex station, Celine and Steen are playing speedcards. Tequila Sunrise John just ran for the bus and Josh let him on. I stayed up late teacher-recruiting to him with Celine, who keeps revealing new sides of herself, arguing about TV and gay marriage and mirrors. I slept up front, first time. Someone stepped on me. Darren and I spooned. He has a great brown jacket, a blow-up kayak he’s generous with, and a Peter Brady cracking voice whenever he’s telling some truth he seems embarassed, but destined, to say. Think it was Idaho Bob or Julia that stepped on me!

Trac and Allison are holding hands like a cute couple. Adam and Liz have cute couple credentials. They actually seem to like each other, want to hear what the other has to say. Whoa. They’re welcoming and independent at once.‘Steen points out the New York “throw-it-in-on-the-table” hand gesture I allegedly do when I say “Maria Christina Padilla” all fast. Allowed Josh Mulholland to shoot the moon thrice in Hearts, playing conservatively and unheroically, but I destroyed everyone in the second game. I never start strong at anything. Peter Jeffers is singing along to his movie soundtrack song, “Big Daddy Rolling Stone.” I love this funk mix, getting me and Christine dancing again. Have been sleepy, trying to reconnect with old moments of alertness, life-awareness.

Interpreted cave paintings at Atavina: 3-legged men, man with a headdress carrying a body baptism-style, fishbone lines/counting, 3 suns, 3 moons as though tracing them across the sky. Saw rare chrystate cactus, according to deep-voiced Kim, who is always trying to reclaim his seat. Lash’s Canadian accent is hilarious, so positive, so what black people make fun of white people for. She is so cool though. That’s it, Canada will make me love white folks again. Being in New York is missing the rest of the world. Tim needs to do some yoga, fix up his back. 50% of his jokes are great, and I like a storyteller. Her reminds me of me leaving teaching, burnt out and impatient, but still with some love.

Card playing and shrieks and giggles. Fish smell as we enter Ensenada. Loreto was great, middle class safe and pretty. “Madre y cabeza” of all Spanish missions in California Baja y Alta. Got lost trying to find RV park last night with my Irish pal. Kids were kicking a soccer ball as always. Why does “Alto” mean stop? I love the Dr. Seuss cactus-scapes. Here is the first grass we’ve seen in a while. On the Gulf side it’s desert with odd dusty bushes and cactuses 8 feet apart.

Sunday Nov 28 th, 2004
Heading towards San Francisco. I like the windmills at Altamont Pass, lines of them spinning down the hillside, some not moving at all. Can’t find my damn hat. Won’t need it anymore. Will look weird in the city. It’s like we spent this secret naughty time of poor hygiene and uncommon closeness to strangers. San Diego was like the Twilight Zone, frat boys and retirees, didn’t feel like a country I recognized. But the lunchbox collection, including the Dukes of Hazzard which may have been mine once, softened the edges of the place. I like Americans, even conservative ones. They get a bad name.

Wednesday Dec 1 st, 2004
Back in civilization. At Oakland airport, very nice feeling in the brain, though the occasional jolt of panic at all there is to deal with at home. In San Francisco, they chide, then let them slide. So different from NY. Here yesterday, a woman was 40 cents short to get on the BART, and the BART-lady said “What if you went to Safeway, bought a loaf of bread and were 40 cents short--what would they say”? The woman, said, “They’d let me slide.” And the BART-lady let her get on. Not where I live. That “wear sunscreen” speech/song thingie seems correct about attitudes in NY and Northern California.

Am on the “newest plan in the fleet”, $99 JetBlue back home, may have been CEO who told us this, guy in a baseball hat and shades, looking a lot like Lyle. Is there an intersection in qualities necessary to run a thing like the Green Tortoise and a low-budget airline? Will there be ashes to drop down the toilet on this plane?

New York is not nice to come back to. What an ugly, crowded town. Gray, stone, grim. No hope in the people, just guardedness. Is there a beautiful area here? Will my pictures make me feel wistful or will they transport me? How permanent will this trip’s effects be? But, I like my bed, my computer, my shower, my toilet, my friends. My friends. I always feel a sweet pain to leave a lifestyle, to get close to people and have them leave your life. It’s possible to keep them in, at whatever level.

Had brunch with Trac. His voice is deep like Kim’s. He should do voice-overs. He’s like Bowser from Sha-Na-Na. I want to see Celine’s knitting when she comes to NY, and Allison’s when she does.