An unexpected reminder of the transitory nature of life and flight
An immensity of space
And into the woods
and out again
I have never walked across frozen sand before
through a watercolour world
of frozen waters
The only thing missing, a great flock of salmon pink flamingos glowing against the dark cliffs and snowy peaks, being herded by Tilda Swinton back into her exotic aviary. It did start raining by the time we got back to Nairn to wait for our train.
Still.
We are five miles south of Ensenada…ex-ejido Chapultepec. Cars drive up and down every now and then outside the hotel. There is no other sound here, and no wireless networks at all.
If you keep walking west down the paved road you come to Faro beach quite quickly…Faro beach and trailer park. You can rent rooms there with kitchens, a space for a tent, a place to park. And welcome to chuntilandia! There are lines of washing. There is the smell of carne asada. There are ice-chests with beer, and radios playing rancheras and banda. Grandparents sit on folding chairs with their hard-faced tatted children and their children’s children in masses. The kids are lined up at the little store buying candy and snacks. You walk down the steps to the small stretch of beach and find it filled with more families; many of them are swimming in their clothes. To your left as your stare out over the ocean are broken down horses that you can rent for an hour’s worth of riding, and a wall that once bore a sign now half washed away saying the area is unsafe for swimming because of riptides. The remnants of what looks like a rather grand sea wall curve around with fisherman sat up on top. Before you get too far there is a fence, a guard, the other side is Estero beach resort. The people fishing on the other side are all white tourists. At least we are on the right side of the fence.
If you walk the other way you come to another dead end quite quickly, but you can climb up onto the wall’s ruin and follow it around past a new wall topped with barbed wire to the dirt road running to the houses behind the tents and short-term rentals.
The houses there are a crazy mix of anything that can be thrown together, the most common being a trailer entombed in a house, or a house built around a trailer…some feel more like one than the other. In one lot stood two toilets waiting patiently on a concrete foundation for their house to be built around them.
We passed Mario & Cookie’s house of love, un vato y su ruca on the sign and wedding pictures in the windows. There are a number of little houses here that are loved. But more that look empty, more that are abandoned and broken-windowed and falling apart quickly. Over a third are for sale.
In fact a huge amount of this whole town is for sale, or it feels that way. It feels as though it has lost its heart…or did it ever have one? I wonder if it is just an older prototype of what is springing up everywhere between TJ and Ensenada…the pockets of luxury play-homes, advertised by a line of billboards entirely in English showing the ocean, gleaming white houses with cool and modern interiors, beautiful women in bikinis. Mario at the bar said the resort has been there sixty-nine years and started out as almost nothing, a collection of trailers…some of the people in the restaurant had practically grown up there. They weren’t speaking Spanish. They were so obviously American in every visible way. I don’t understand how such a thing could be, but it obviously is.
Bev, Jose and I walked back to the hotel as it grew dark, and I attracted the attention of an old one-eyed cholo carrying a plastic cup of beer that was clearly not his first of the day. Like others before him he was taking no hints, to show off he had words with Jose about what neighborhood he was from, before it escalated the hotel owner kicked him out of the little courtyard…so that was exciting. We came in and watched anime until the coast was clear to go to the little bar next door for some bohemias.
I’ve enjoyed the adventure but…tomorrow we are getting the hell out of dodge for the day and look for another spot. Prepaid reservations now, that’s a dilemma.
Every now and then I remember that I live in a city beside the ocean…I love the ocean, but to reach a piece of it that is wild and beautiful and untouched by people requires a very long drive from the heart of Chinatown. I especially love an empty beach at night when you are surrounded by waves and darkness and the world stretches out in front of you forever.
Janice and I went to the beach yesterday, and though both of us prefer beaches with no one on them, we somehow ended up in Santa Monica on a hot Sunday afternoon. First stop was the surf liquour for snacks!
Some juice, salt and vinegar chips, cheese puffs, and chocolate chip cookies later, we headed west to where the land ends and the sea begins…and met not only the ocean, but an astonishing overwhelming number of sunburned people. It was a bit frightening in fact
There’s the pier off in the distance…And the people go on for miles packed thick under multicolored umbrellas…I suppose it is a uniquely LA scene, but I do think once was enough for me! Still, nothing like swimming in the ocean, and I finished most of the crossword, hung out with Janice and friends, and did some quality people watching. First, everyone next to us was Russian, that was somewhat astonishing. I almost got the courage up to ask them what a five letter word for soviet cooperative might be, but in the end my courage failed me. Second, were these two lovely ladies…
Yes, indeed it’s true they are wearing matching bikinis, straw cowboy hats (cleverly trimmed with leopard skin print to perfectly accesorize), haircuts AND haircolor, and though I did not photograph them from the front (not wanting to be rude you understand), I do believe they had very large and matching silicone breasts. I might miss ridiculous shit like this when I leave.
