Form, Function and Chicanado

Chicanado?  The first and only time I ever heard that term was on one of our first trips to Baja. We were staying in a neighborhood of Los Barrilles know as Spa Buena Vista and had summoned our landlady when the shower head quit working. Our landlady managed the rental as part of her real estate business and in a few hours appeared in our casita dressed professionally right down to high heels.  At the time, she spoke about as much English as I did Spanish so we began our usual method of communication trying piece together meaning between the two languages.  Soon, she and her high heels were standing our shower.  She examined the showerhead, pulled a bobby-pin from her hair and with that as her only tool, she had the shower working. She turned to me, smiled and snapped her fingers saying, "Chicanado!"  Seeing my puzzled expression she soon explained that is how Mexicans fix things, with whatever is at hand: chicanado.

I've thought of that word several times in our travels, like the time we bought grapefruit right out of the tree. The owner fetched his picker, a large empty tin can with just the right crimp in the edge and nailed to a long straight stick. With this tool he picked the fruit from the highest branches. Often we see signs hand painted on the lids of now defunct plastic tubs. Sheet goods like plywood and chip board are nearly non-existent here. Then there are the dog dishes fashioned from the bottoms of large plastic bottles. Whatever is on hand is used to solve the need.

Homemade dustpan (Chicanado style)

Since dimensional lumber is scarce down here, the rules of chicanado dictate that most of the buildings are made of cement and cinder block. We once watched a construction artist at work. He deftly placed and punched perfectly round holes in exactly the right place of the block. (I later examined his blocks to see if they came with perforated holes; they didn't).  He wielded trowel and mortar handily, lining the block's edges with mortar as easily as a baker frosts a cake. Often, even the roof is made of cement making these buildings nearly impervious to the ravages of a hurricane.

Surprisingly durable and unique to Baja are the versital palapas: thatched roofs made of palapa palm fronds. Palapas vary from standing on a solitary center post providing shade on a beach to a complete structure or even a complicated roof complete with dormers.  The neighborhood yoga studio is a palapa

As is the roof on our house:

A view from the inside hints at the construction method

Now, can you tell which type of palm is 

used for Palapas?

And the final Mexican form that serves many architectural functions is the palo de arco.   This shrub grows everywhere and produces many branches about the diameter of a person's thumb.  Mexican builders know how to incorporate its harvested branches into attractive fences, walls or shade-providing roofs for outdoor decks. The shrub is easily recognized by its yellow blossoms. 

The walls of our house are made of palo de arco sticks woven into an attractive pattern. 

More often, the sticks are intertwined to form a fence or a shade

And most often of all, the sticks are simply woven into a barbe. d wire fence to create a barrier. 

Those three commonly sourced building materials are used in 90% of the structures we see around here and define the urban scenery: cement, palms and palo de arco. 

Town Time

The nights cool easily here and hold their coolness until just after the sun peeks over the interior mountains east of us. That is the perfect time to begin our hike to town: when night's evening chill drops away and before the heat of the morning builds.

We decided to walk the road closest to the arroyo as we'd not been on it yet this trip.  To get to it we walk along the beach. The surf cabanas look empty this year, and the surf camp has migrated away from the point; some of the camps are now at the mouth of the arroyo, South of the point.  Makes me wonder if the surf break has migrated south as well..

We turn up the road grateful for the new footpaths that have emerged connecting beach to road, making it easier to get there.  The large new houses we watched under construction last year are now complete and appear unoccupied.  I am happy to note that their  cement pools remain empty.  As the road bends away from the arroyo it gives way to large farmlands. Workers the field of basil take advantage of the cool morning air.  They've started their labor long before us As the farm hands toil we freely enjoy their release of the sweet basil's  scent.  We have chosen this road for the novelty and for the purview of the year's changes. We also know will arrive at a spot in the highway very near the agricultural cooperative where organic local produce is sold. The co-op raises its own giant strawberries and beautiful mixed salad greens. We've not found these prizes anywhere else in Pescadero. It's worth the short walk along the highway to fill our bag with tastey tomatoes and cilantro in addition to the strawberries and lettuce.

Finished at the co-op we walk along the Transpennisular highway which stretches the entire length of  Baja . It is four lanes wide and traffic moves along swiftly. Apparently many of those traveling too fast are not local. Both the life-sized cardboard police cruiser "parked" along the shoulder and the cardboard mule poised to cross at the other end of town either slow down traffic somewhat or are a nod to the Mexican sense of humor.  Either way, it gives us a chuckle as we, like the proverbial chicken, cross the road.

On the other side we are grateful for the wide grassy shoulder despite its plethora of  litter .There is a two track dirt road we can walk along. Soon we are passing the spot where Fidel had his vegetable stand last year. We visited him so often during previous Baja visits that we felt like he was a friend.  We even exchanged gifts with him a few times. This year, another favorite stop, "the barbecued chicken guy," has moved his grill to Fidel"s spot.  Apparently the city chased Fidel away because he didn't have the proper licenses.  We miss his happy presence.

We stop at the bus station and check the schedule for Todos Santos, a town 20 minutes north, for there is the closest cash machine.  It helps to know ahead of time when the buses might run. We also stop in the tiny grocery store where we buy limes, fresh tortillas and what seems to be a locally made cheese. It sits in a case, on a tray and we ask for the quantity we want.  It's so good and melts so nicely in a quesadilla.

Back to our side of the highway we stop at Oxxo which seems to be the Mexican version of our Town Pumps: gas station and convenience store. We were surprised when we learned that it is the cheapest place to refresh our El Jimedor (tequila) supply!

Shopping complete we head back toward home on our usual road. We've decided to try a new cafe about halfway between our place and town. But wait!  There they are in the Oxxo parking lot: two women selling fresh tamales out of the back of their truck!  My favorite. Nothing will do but to buy two and try to wait until lunchtime to savor the yummy things. Knowing a new breakfast spot awaits makes it easier to resist eating the tamales on the spot.  In another 3/4 mile we arrive at the new cafe.  I order a cheese omelette which, surprisingly comes with refried beans ladled over the top. It tastes good and as we finish our walk I feel my tummy fairly purring with contentment.  Something about that combo sits well on a person's tummy.

We make it the last 3/4 mile to home and find that Rosa has left the place sparkling clean with fresh sheets on the bed.  Feels like such a luxury!  After emptying our bags of produce we head to the beach before the heat gets too brutal. So comfortable to rest on our backs in warm relaxing sand after our nearly five mile walk. And the sun warming our topside is something I can't seem to get enough of. We cool down at our own private happy hour on the porch. Neighbor Peter stops by to invite us to their house for happy hour tomorrow at their place.  Peter and his wife hail from Canada and Peter always has an intetesting perspective to share on local (Pescadero) current happenings in the neighborhood. It's also fun to seek his opinion on American politics and education.

After our friend's visit we have time for an early dinner and a trip back to the beach (which is basically in our front yard) for sunset.  A town day down here, even without a car, really isn't too bad .

Morning Pescadero Walk

Happy to have lugged binoculars in a second-hand carry-on, I turn to study the rosy colored bird sunning himself on the roof of our bungalow. Two steps out of our drive already brings a reward to a morning's wandering .  Later, my battered old bird book reveals a simple name for the cheery visitor: house finch.

The pulverized dirt of the Pescadero road feels soft on my feet; sun warms my shoulders and another Baja day begins living up to its promise of beauty and ease.  Down a narrow footpath I hear the approaching steps of an early surfer. The tardy surfers man their chosen observation point judging the break of the surf. Those who have already made their decision hurry along the path or are already perched in the sea like a flock of pelicans just past the breakline.

The surfers' eagerness mocks my idle wonderings.  I wonder whatever happened to Dr Roberts?  His normally warmly inhabited vacation oasis sits strangely quiet, a chain across the drive and two unused vehicles guard the grounds . My gaze, usually answered by Dr. Robert's gregariously hollered greetings falls on freshly painted, empty buildings.

A solitary wave cracks above the rest and calls my attention. I use the surfers' path to the beach. The high tide crests the beach's ridge wetting my feet. Tumultuous shore waves dare me to enter and answer the call to play amongst them. But I, who know the current's treacherous ways have already made my decision to turn a deafened ear to their call.

I watch a solitary line of pelicans skimming the water's surface. Like the surfers, they eye each wave's crest; are they fishing, or merely playing " who can get closest without wetting a wing"?

As they turn
rising above the horizon,  .

I see words on the page
of a single haiku