James Burleigh
Well-known member
As a graduate of Palos Verdes High School, I am quite familiar with Baja California. This from my autobiography:
"I remember one time [when I was in high school] we went to Ensenada, Mexico, for the weekend. Mexico was just a few hours south of Los Angeles. Jim, Brad, maybe another fellah, and I drove down there and got into town in the late afternoon on a Saturday. Of course I spoke Spanish, so we felt pretty comfortable finding our way around. Our plan was a simple one: we would buy a bag of bread for a couple of bucks at the local panaderia (bakery), pick up a bottle of tequila (we did not bring pot into Mexico), some limes and salt, buy some bottle rockets, and find a place on the beach south of town where we could spread our blankets and spend the night.
"Our plan went without a hitch. We drove south of town till we found a road that cut across one of the farmers’ fields to the beach, parked Brad’s truck at the base of the dune that rose and then fell to the beach, climbed to the top of the dune, and spread out our stuff. It was late afternoon, and we watched the sun set as we ate our bread and drank our tequila. When it got dark enough we fired off the bottle rockets and had a grand ol’ time.
"When we woke up the next morning everything of value that was not nailed down had been stolen. The pickup doors were open and the glove box ransacked. Things that were just inches from our heads were missing. Jim came out the worst, having lost an expensive leather jacket and Kastinger hiking boots that he had hitch-hiked up to San Francisco to buy. Someone lost a wallet that was in the glove box. I don’t think I lost anything (I didn’t have anything of value).
"But Jim got hit the worst, and he was outraged, and worst of all he was determined to do something about it. Jim looked down the beach and spied about a mile south of us what appeared to be a fenced-in military housing complex that abutted the dunes. Jim concluded that his stuff was there and demanded that we drive over there and get it back. This was not the first time that I dutifully albeit doubtfully followed Jim. We entered the compound and drove slowly around, looking at all the homes for any sign of our missing stuff. What were we thinking? We were lucky we weren’t pulled from the vehicle and beaten up. Eventually we crawled back home (Jim limped since he had no shoes) with only our egos bruised (actually not mine—I didn’t lose any-thing—ha ha!).
"Another time Jim, Kurt, Freaky Celia, and I went to San Felipe, Mexico, which was past (south of) Ensenada (this trip was when we were in junior college). When we went there it was a small, sleepy little fishing village with a single main street down the middle. We got there on a hot, languid afternoon. There were a lot of young Americans moving about the town. We went down to the water and went in, Celia without her top. The water was bath tub warm, and it was pleasant if not refreshing in the 90 degree heat.
"Later we went into a bar, again full of Americans, only the place was still and quiet and hot. We ordered a beer, and then I approached the juke box, rolled in a couple of coins, and played some Deep Purple: “Smoke On the Water.” Celia and I got up and danced. Soon the whole place came alive, and everyone was dancing. My second song came on and we danced some more. We sat down and finished our beers, and when we got up to move on down the sidewalk, the place had already returned to the quiet, bored atmosphere we had first encountered."
So, yeah, I might be up for a trip to the steamy parts of northern Mexico....
Jb
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