The difference between traveling and vacationing is not always apparent. In fact, what he always thought was simple; the idea of movement, is only one aspect of travel; think of riding a bus on old folk tours. Travel involves exploration, and that cannot be done staying in one spot, he always thought anyway. But trips below the imaginary line dividing the lower half of North America, have shown him things in a different light. It appears to be about experiencing both sides of the life and lives before your eyes. Looking under the rocks and straying off beaten paths, that allow the dark sides to receive due acknowledgment.
Busy doing the good work needed down on an orphanage in central Baja, this notion surfaced most profoundly for him. From the time when the morning bell tolled signaling breakfast for his brother, himself, and 80 or so Indian children, till the sun set on the dusty old buildings, the light shone brightly on hard work, common goals, and the bonds that bound likeminded people.
The first reminder to look deeper came early in the morning hours. Difficulty sleeping found him outside observing a daily ritual that was unnoticed by the other volunteers, as it occurred before the rooster did his thing. The migrant workers would gather at the crossroads outside the orphanage, in the cold and dark they would huddle together around a small fire. He stood with them, none speaking a word, until the truck pulled up and into the back they climbed. They would not return till long after dark, only to leave again hours later, rarely seeing the family they struggled to support. He would kick road dust over the embers, and listen for that breakfast bell.
When that bell did ring, it was all over in a matter of minutes. Hunger has a way of forcing habits, and breakfast was so important that little time was wasted. This was learned by us as well, as strolling in late, was just that, too late. The days brought thought and labor. They were respected and the results of the technical work completed were appreciated. There was much singing in the church and cleanly drawn lines among those doing the work of the righteous.
And although this was all good and fine, and might have been enough for most, he and his brother had a need for some color, yes, a need to see below the surface, to look into the dark side of life. This is where the tour bus idles and travel begins.
And although this was all good and fine, and might have been enough for most, he and his brother had a need for some color, yes, a need to see below the surface, to look into the dark side of life. This is where the tour bus idles and travel begins.
Late that night, after lights out, they headed for town. Once away from the wooded gate of the orphanage there was a distinctly different feel. Most noticeable was the reality that none of the homes (wooden shacks, constructed of an assortment of materials really) had electricity and the dusty road to town (a mile or so) was completely dark. The only way we knew to walk straight, were the deep ruts in the road, the haunting howls of stray dogs, and the beacon of light atop a pole in the center of town.
The rickety steps up to the cantina were not intended to welcome anyone, much less gringos on a night out. It was quiet and empty, and the barkeep was asleep. Waking and seeing us, he stumbled out mumbling something, leaving us sitting at the bar staring at dusty bottles of tequila. Upon his return, our new friend had brought a sack with somewhat cold beer inside. All the commotion caused a previously unseen patron to wake up from the end of the bar. He wiped his chin clean from the drool and joined the unexpected party.
