intro/ not going to mexican prison
Qué onda amigos!
So first things first, I haven't been on social media for quite some time and some of you are probably wondering, "Do you think that Caleb is dead yet?" And the answer to that question is, thankfully, "no." This blog isn't intended to fill in all the gaps, but rather hit some major points to allow me to share some of my stories with friends and family who care to listen.
Now I understand that some people who may end up reading this blog haven't seen or heard from me since high school – maybe longer, who knows? So here's how things are looking as of October 2019:
My name is Caleb and I am currently living in Barra De Navidad, Jalisco, Mexico. Things are really looking good in my life right now! I am currently unemployed ((by choice (don't worry, Mom, it'll be ok.)) I have a lot of mental, physical and spiritual goals for this year. But this blog probably won't get too deep; just touch on some of the sick things that I have been privileged to experience. So here we go, I guess. Here is a little happening from a week or so ago.
Waking up in a tent beside a historic lighthouse in Mexico is never a bad way to start the day – that is unless you are slightly hung-over from a night out with the entirety of a small Mexican city AND your wake-up call is a bunch of local fishermen firing up the 'ole "lanchas" promptly at 6:30 in the morning. Then it can be kinda rough I guess. But regardless of the droning headache thriving behind my eyebrows, I was still pumped! I was in Mexico with a pocket-full of change and traveling with some of the coolest cats I know. Dani and I had recently met a young Frenchman who had been traveling through Mexico for the past year. Thibaud is his name and – let me tell you – this guy is mellllllllow. Thibaud's favorite activities include living out of the back of his Mexican-plated Ford Expedition while circumnavigating the borders of this beautiful country. I'm not really sure how we decided to start traveling as a little gringo convoy, but it just ended up happening. We were all mellow people on a very relaxed schedule and were all ready to jump into some warmer waters.
Thibaud seemed to have an easier time sleeping through the aquatic rodeo that happened to be taking place next to our campsite, but thankfully he didn't sleep in too late and we were still able to squeeze in some MUCH needed showers and grocery shopping in town before hitting the road. Before we climbed into the cockpit of my very used, and artistically built '93 Toyota 1-Ton Pickup Truck.
This is a crucial junction in the story.
Our new friend Thibaud popped on over to ride and asked one of the nicest questions one man could ask another: "Wanna roll yourself a joint?" At this point I was still getting used to the French accent, and everything Thibaud said caused me to grin a little bit, but the subject of the question admittedly caused me to grin a little larger. I figured, "why the hell not?", we hadn't had any issues with local police and all the military checkpoints that we had crossed all waved us on through – no problem. Besides, who knew when the next time this opportunity would come up, right? So after just a moments hesitation, I snatched the nug from his hand, mixed in a little tobacco, and made myself an afternoon treat – safely storing it in my fanny-pack, right behind some loose pesos and a couple of crumbled US dollars. And just like that – we were off!
With the windows down, (the lack of A/C in the truck leaves us with like option) we cruised behind Thibaud down the highway. A couple fun facts about Thibaud: the man likes to cruise at least five mph under the speed-limit, while also completely under the impression that stop-signs are optional.
It really is incredible how quickly the temperature can rise as soon as you leave the coast of Baja. Driving in a single cab pickup with the windows down is a lot like riding a motorcycle, in terms of getting to experience another dimension of surroundings as you cross a country. Sweat was rolling down my back and pooling up around the waist-band of my shorts. Looking over to my right, I felt my privilege really settle in – at least I was on the shady side of the truck. Dani often looked like Lawrence of Arabia; outfitted with a shirt on her head and dust around the brims of her sunglasses.
That's when I saw it.
"ALTO TODO PUESTO DE CONTOL MILITAR"
Dani and I fumbled for our seatbelts just in time to be waved off the shoulder of the road behind Thibaud's navy-blue Expedition. Two men approached the truck. One federal police officer and a military officer, clipboard in hand. I didn't even have time ask if the men spoke english before their flash of Spanish questions came through the driver-side window. Thankfully I was able to answer their questions – although it seems harder to speak in Spanish when your truck is being surrounded by a bunch of hombres with machine guns. After the first wave of simple questions the men asked us to step out of the car. The sun in central Baja California is very hot. Let. Me. Tell. You. I stood in the sun next to the police officer as the military man systematically started looking through every nook-and-cranny of my over-stuffed cab.
"Este es tu amigo?" The cop asked, pointing over to my new companion who also stood on the road watching some guy sporting a very large gun looking through his rig.
"Sí." At this point I became thankful for the blistering sun as I was sweating like ... well ... a hippie-gringo standing with a Mexican cop, on the side of the road, in Mexico, with a doobie in his pocket.
I turned back to see Thibaud climbing back into his monstrous V8-equipped Expedition and give me a smiling thumbs-up. We made it. It was going to be OK. Just as I was settling out of my anxiety, the cop gestured towards my fanny pack and asked me to place it on the drivers seat. I swallowed hard.
After I unbuckled my sportmans' utility bag and placed it on the seat, I stepped back next to the cop; never taking my eye off the hip, practical, but widely overused, bag sitting on the seat.
The cop gestured towards the bag again – "Abrelo." Are you freaking kidding me! This is it. I unzipped the main pocket of the bag and stepped back in to my footing beside the officer again. The cop seemed to rummage through the bag for only a second, but slowly raised up my bag of tobacco and rolling papers, "Qué es?"
"Solo es tobacco." I don't think my throat had ever been so dry in my life. The cop curiously opened the bag and took a big sniff.
The cop replaced the tobacco and held the bag towards me, "Tome su dinero." I stuck my hand into the bag and pulled out the crumpled bills revealing the crudely-rolled spliff resting in the bottom of my worn-out gringo man-purse. As the cop lifted the doob to his nose and sniffed, I think I may have actually seen my life flash before my eyes.
The cop put my belongings back into the fanny-pack and handed it to me. "Pasale." He nodded in the direction of my truck.
I took the bag and was barely able to mumble, "Gracias."
The keys slipped into the ignition and, without hesitation, the little Toyota came to life. After a thumbs-up to Thibaud, he also cranked over his big V8 and we rolled on down the highway. I honestly don't remember the next hour or so – my face went numb as I stared out the dirty windshield.
Thibaud still managed to run every stop sign we could find before we pulled up to a nice little cove on the Sea of Cortez. We had a chill evening after that. Set up some hammocks. Cooked a little dinner on the camp stove. Smoked that crinkled up little spliff. Not even the rumbling of more "lanchas" could wake me up the next morning. No worries.
So first things first, I haven't been on social media for quite some time and some of you are probably wondering, "Do you think that Caleb is dead yet?" And the answer to that question is, thankfully, "no." This blog isn't intended to fill in all the gaps, but rather hit some major points to allow me to share some of my stories with friends and family who care to listen.
 |
| J-Trees be wack -- Cool pic by Dani |
My name is Caleb and I am currently living in Barra De Navidad, Jalisco, Mexico. Things are really looking good in my life right now! I am currently unemployed ((by choice (don't worry, Mom, it'll be ok.)) I have a lot of mental, physical and spiritual goals for this year. But this blog probably won't get too deep; just touch on some of the sick things that I have been privileged to experience. So here we go, I guess. Here is a little happening from a week or so ago.
Waking up in a tent beside a historic lighthouse in Mexico is never a bad way to start the day – that is unless you are slightly hung-over from a night out with the entirety of a small Mexican city AND your wake-up call is a bunch of local fishermen firing up the 'ole "lanchas" promptly at 6:30 in the morning. Then it can be kinda rough I guess. But regardless of the droning headache thriving behind my eyebrows, I was still pumped! I was in Mexico with a pocket-full of change and traveling with some of the coolest cats I know. Dani and I had recently met a young Frenchman who had been traveling through Mexico for the past year. Thibaud is his name and – let me tell you – this guy is mellllllllow. Thibaud's favorite activities include living out of the back of his Mexican-plated Ford Expedition while circumnavigating the borders of this beautiful country. I'm not really sure how we decided to start traveling as a little gringo convoy, but it just ended up happening. We were all mellow people on a very relaxed schedule and were all ready to jump into some warmer waters.
Thibaud seemed to have an easier time sleeping through the aquatic rodeo that happened to be taking place next to our campsite, but thankfully he didn't sleep in too late and we were still able to squeeze in some MUCH needed showers and grocery shopping in town before hitting the road. Before we climbed into the cockpit of my very used, and artistically built '93 Toyota 1-Ton Pickup Truck.
This is a crucial junction in the story.
Our new friend Thibaud popped on over to ride and asked one of the nicest questions one man could ask another: "Wanna roll yourself a joint?" At this point I was still getting used to the French accent, and everything Thibaud said caused me to grin a little bit, but the subject of the question admittedly caused me to grin a little larger. I figured, "why the hell not?", we hadn't had any issues with local police and all the military checkpoints that we had crossed all waved us on through – no problem. Besides, who knew when the next time this opportunity would come up, right? So after just a moments hesitation, I snatched the nug from his hand, mixed in a little tobacco, and made myself an afternoon treat – safely storing it in my fanny-pack, right behind some loose pesos and a couple of crumbled US dollars. And just like that – we were off!
 |
| God Bless Toyota |
It really is incredible how quickly the temperature can rise as soon as you leave the coast of Baja. Driving in a single cab pickup with the windows down is a lot like riding a motorcycle, in terms of getting to experience another dimension of surroundings as you cross a country. Sweat was rolling down my back and pooling up around the waist-band of my shorts. Looking over to my right, I felt my privilege really settle in – at least I was on the shady side of the truck. Dani often looked like Lawrence of Arabia; outfitted with a shirt on her head and dust around the brims of her sunglasses.
That's when I saw it.
"ALTO TODO PUESTO DE CONTOL MILITAR"
Dani and I fumbled for our seatbelts just in time to be waved off the shoulder of the road behind Thibaud's navy-blue Expedition. Two men approached the truck. One federal police officer and a military officer, clipboard in hand. I didn't even have time ask if the men spoke english before their flash of Spanish questions came through the driver-side window. Thankfully I was able to answer their questions – although it seems harder to speak in Spanish when your truck is being surrounded by a bunch of hombres with machine guns. After the first wave of simple questions the men asked us to step out of the car. The sun in central Baja California is very hot. Let. Me. Tell. You. I stood in the sun next to the police officer as the military man systematically started looking through every nook-and-cranny of my over-stuffed cab.
"Este es tu amigo?" The cop asked, pointing over to my new companion who also stood on the road watching some guy sporting a very large gun looking through his rig.
"Sí." At this point I became thankful for the blistering sun as I was sweating like ... well ... a hippie-gringo standing with a Mexican cop, on the side of the road, in Mexico, with a doobie in his pocket.
I turned back to see Thibaud climbing back into his monstrous V8-equipped Expedition and give me a smiling thumbs-up. We made it. It was going to be OK. Just as I was settling out of my anxiety, the cop gestured towards my fanny pack and asked me to place it on the drivers seat. I swallowed hard.
After I unbuckled my sportmans' utility bag and placed it on the seat, I stepped back next to the cop; never taking my eye off the hip, practical, but widely overused, bag sitting on the seat.
The cop gestured towards the bag again – "Abrelo." Are you freaking kidding me! This is it. I unzipped the main pocket of the bag and stepped back in to my footing beside the officer again. The cop seemed to rummage through the bag for only a second, but slowly raised up my bag of tobacco and rolling papers, "Qué es?"
"Solo es tobacco." I don't think my throat had ever been so dry in my life. The cop curiously opened the bag and took a big sniff.
The cop replaced the tobacco and held the bag towards me, "Tome su dinero." I stuck my hand into the bag and pulled out the crumpled bills revealing the crudely-rolled spliff resting in the bottom of my worn-out gringo man-purse. As the cop lifted the doob to his nose and sniffed, I think I may have actually seen my life flash before my eyes.
The cop put my belongings back into the fanny-pack and handed it to me. "Pasale." He nodded in the direction of my truck.
I took the bag and was barely able to mumble, "Gracias."
The keys slipped into the ignition and, without hesitation, the little Toyota came to life. After a thumbs-up to Thibaud, he also cranked over his big V8 and we rolled on down the highway. I honestly don't remember the next hour or so – my face went numb as I stared out the dirty windshield.
Thibaud still managed to run every stop sign we could find before we pulled up to a nice little cove on the Sea of Cortez. We had a chill evening after that. Set up some hammocks. Cooked a little dinner on the camp stove. Smoked that crinkled up little spliff. Not even the rumbling of more "lanchas" could wake me up the next morning. No worries.
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