Stay-Cations

Gasoline has topped $4.00 a gallon and continues to rise. The economy sucks and inflation is eating away at discretionary money. Food is becoming more expensive. Businesses are closing. Housing prices have plummeted to a 20 year low. We are still working long and hard (unless we lost our jobs), yet we seem to have less and less every day.

Our hardworking souls still need breaks and vacations, but where do we go? I get about 4 weeks of vacation per year, but last year I only took two weeks. My company, in all of their wisdom, paid me out for my unused vacation, so I had to pay taxes on it! Not only was I not able to carry over those vacation hours, I ended up paying for them in the long run. Not this year; I am taking every hour of accumulated vacation. Uncle Sam is not going to get it.

We have (had) three trips planned this year. The first one was driving to Loreto, Baja, Mexico to deliver some children's clothes to some disadvantaged children. We completed this mission. This was good for the heart; bad for the wallet. The price of gas (significantly reduced when you heavily load your truck), 3,000 miles of desert driving with the air conditioner on, lots of pit stops, and accommodations - it would have been less expensive to fly. However, we could not have taken those needed clothes.

My wife and I had also planned on our first trip to mainland Europe (on saved frequent flyer miles!) for our anniversary. Since snaring one of those precious seats on an international flight is not the easiest thing to do, I was elated to get some wonderful connections for this long flight. It took me many years to convince my wife (a white-knuckle flyer) that it was now safe to go. We were all set. We even had our Rick Steves backpack bags. We were going with another couple who have been to Europe many times. We had planned on sharing the rental car and fuel. If you think $4.00 or more a gallon is high here, this is about the price of a liter in Europe! Along with the devaluation of the dollar against the Euro, this was going to be another trip that cost a lot more than we anticipated. Unfortunately, we canceled the trip. One of our dear friends and traveling companions was just diagnosed with lymphoma. It started as a simple lump in the neck; now she is undergoing about six months of chemotherapy. While the prognosis is excellent, we decided that we would postpone our trip until we can ALL go together; perhaps next year or the year after.

Finally, we had a family trip (about five days) planned for August. A friend of mine bought an old church camp near Yosemite years ago and has renovated it for family reunions, and of course, church groups. When she offered to give it to our family for a week, we jumped at it. When twenty or so extended family and friends arrive, we will sleep in bunk beds, share in the cooking, and spend some quality time being a family again. And, more importantly, we are close to home; only a few hours drive. This will be our Stay-cation this year.

We really have a great mountain home with a beautiful view, lots of trees, and lots of quiet. We have a place that really is a vacation spot, yet we always seem to find other places to go. Yesterday, my wife and I sat under our three year old cherry tree that produced extra fruit for the first time. Not wanted to share any more with the birds, we picked ALL of the cherries, sat under the tree, and ate 'em. We ate an entire tree (albeit, a small tree) of cherries. It was nice.

We also have a hot tub where we can soak and relax. We can see planes flying overhead heading for the airport about 40 miles away. Those people are tired and weary; we are relaxed and enjoying each other's company. Why do we only find time to do this about once a month? The frogs use our hot tub more than we do.

I have a hammock. It is in the garage, not under a nice tree where I can read and fall asleep.

We have a boat that we have not used in two years. It sits in our garage, taking up space, gathering dust, and developing mechanical problems due to the fact that it is not being used. When we make the effort to haul it to the lakes or rivers, we have a great time. Why don't we stay home and do it?

We love to kayak. There are dozens of places within a stone's throw of our house to kayak, so why don't we plan a day trip and just kayak? Why do we have to go "somewhere"? We are already here.

We like camping. We have a new tent that we bought three years ago on sale. It is still in the box. We could actually camp in our yard, or drive about 10 miles to a beautiful camping area. We don't even go on picnics anymore. The Pacific Ocean is only a few hours away; walking on the beach is free.

We like to fish. We have all of the equipment and dozens of lakes and rivers teaming with fish. We don't go. We buy our fish at the grocery store.

There are places near us that we have yet to visit. The Amtrak terminal is a few miles away and it is relatively inexpensive to take a rail trip to San Francisco for the day (or the weekend), or any of California's wonderful recreational areas. We have always planned to take the grandchildren on this venture, but we have not.

My wife is going to be 62; I am 57 (she wanted a younger man). We both work full-time in our clinical practices; 12-hour intensive shifts. We plan on working for about eight more years. Many of our friends and family members are already retired and are starting to gloat about it. My brother calls me from his sailboat when I am on my way to work. Our friends invite us to a cabin they have rented, but we have to work. This torture will continue for eight more years, so I better get used to it.

Learning to relax and not work so much is not an easy task. If we do stay home, we find some work to do around the house. I am not sure we know how to kick back, but I do know we need to have more Stay-cations. I think that several four-day mini-vacations close to home (or home) would probably serve us better in the long run than an exhausting and expensive trip to Europe.

I suspect that more people will be rediscovering their local treasures. Stay-cations are definitely in our future plans. I suspect they will be in yours as well. There is nothing wrong with having a vacation at or near home. Not only is it less expensive and less stressful, it helps feed OUR economy.

By the way, we did use some of those frequent flyer miles to make a trip to see my brother and sister-in-law in Maryland. I now live vicariously through his retirement. I will be able to go out on his boat for the first time and also spend a few days in Washington, DC. I know this isn't really a Stay-cation, but we are getting closer. And, it's going to be better than Europe.

Related Topics:

• What's Your Vacationing Style?
• Summer Travel Tips for Health

Technorati Tags: vacation, stay-cation, travel, health and wellness

American Idle - My National Fitness Test

There is nothing that reminds you more that you are getting old as when you look at your aging friends. We had a little reception over the weekend for an "old" friend who took a new administrative position at the university, so we invited many of the old faculty that we have not seen in years. Everyone is getting older - looking older and feeling older.

I turned 57 this year, and at one time I was the youngest member of the faculty. At least half of the faculty has retired (sort of). One of the husbands of a faculty member said that his wife ran a clever scam. She had a retirement party, accepted going away gifts, and then promptly re-joined the faculty a short time later to work part-time. How devious.

I am five years younger than my wife, but she looks five years younger. Perhaps it is because I have white hair and she does not. I often take a startled look when I see some old man walk by the mirror. I have my daily aches and pains related to arthritis (a family legacy). I take blood pressure medicine (another genetic family "gift"). And, sadly, I am overweight by about 35 pounds. I never thought this would happen to me, but apparently there is a Fat Fairy - an aging, disgruntled Tooth Fairy that enjoys adding a few pounds from time to time as you sleep. Since we have no way of putting lost pounds under our pillow to get money, this, too, is a clever scam. This is my theory and I am sticking to it.

My colleagues at WebMD recently asked me to take the National Fitness Test and blog about it. Jog a mile? I get exhausted driving a mile to get the newspaper. I suspect the WebMD staff saw my picture on my recent Baja Blogs and decided I need a fitness test. They denied it, but I have my suspicions.

No one wants to take a test they know they will fail. When I was 18, I had to take two language skill tests for one university entrance exam. Since I only took one language in high school (French), I was still required to test in a language I did not speak. Since my ancestors were German immigrants in 1790, I picked German. I could have just as easily picked Swahili. I didn't do well. I might have done better if I could have read the German instructions.

Okay, I will admit it. I am not in the best of shape. I make those classic, old man noises when I get out of the chair - a noise that is a cross between a mournful moan and constipated grunt. I have hypertension, arthritis, back pain, neck pain, allergies, prostatic hypertrophy, and I had one bout of kidney stones. I get leg cramps. I snore and have a bit of sleep apnea. I catch my share of diseases from my patients. My vision is terrible and I wear some potent corrective lens. I do not formally exercise. I like my ugly reclining chair. I like to cook interesting food...and, of course, eat it. I lose my car keys, but I still have enough aging brain to know what those keys are for.

On the good side, I have never smoked (except poison oak). I do not drink alcohol. Much to the disappointment of the Tooth Fairy, I have all of my teeth (except for the two in front that were knocked out in 5th grade). I have all of my hair. As a matter of fact, I have considerably more hair than most humans - not a good thing to have with global warming. I work three, 12-hour, very demanding medical shifts per week; the other four days. I work my butt off maintaining our mountain home. Right now, my neighbor and I digging a half-mile long ditch, down a steep hillside to lay a new irrigation line. I am not sedentary.

I completed my Fitness Test today. America voted, and my overall score was 41%. I did score above average on 2 out of the 4 elements, but not enough to make the Final Twelve.

The bad news: As I suspected, my aerobic fitness is dismal. Since I live in a very hilly area, my overall time may have been altered a bit. That, of course, and the fact that I stopped and rested! My resting heart rate has always been high, so my heart rate after the walk was a bit scary. I didn’t check my blood pressure, but I bet it was higher, too. If I had encountered a rabid coyote on the one mile walk, he would have easily caught up and bit me. Being chased by a wild animal may have motivated me to walk a little faster.

My body composition brought my score down, too. I knew I was gaining weight when I noticed that it didn't take as much water to fill up the bath tub anymore, and that my jeans seemed to shrink after repeat washings. I also broke a belt a few days ago! This is another definite warning sign.

The good news: My muscle strength and flexibility is good (for an old man). I lift some pretty big rocks and I can still dig a mean ditch, chop firewood, and I choose to mow an acre of a lawn without a riding mower. I can still touch the floor; which is good, since I drop a lot of stuff. I discovered that it is not that difficult to do push-ups when your stomach is real close to the ground. Had the coyote caught me, I would have had a relatively good chance of kicking his ass. I could have beaten him senseless with my broken belt.

I need to walk more, and not just between exam rooms. With the price of gasoline hitting over $4.00, we all may be walking more. I need to lose some weight. With the price of food going up proportionately to the price of fuel, that may also be a given. And, I need to buy a new belt, or maybe I will join that gang of geezers that hang out in the park and buy me a pair of those cool, versatile suspenders. No...not yet.

Related Topics:

• WebMD Video: Fitness Centers Geared Toward the Over-40 Crowd
• Fitness After 50: The Gym Goes Gray

Technorati Tags: National Fitness Test, healthy aging

Kids Playing with Fire

Every year, thousands of children die or are permanently disfigured from fires, some that they start themselves. Like the early cavemen (and modern-day men at the barbecue), children are fascinated by fire. From little fires, like candles on birthday cakes, to bigger campfires - where you see smoke and flames, you will see likely see kids (or men).

My mother and my step-father smoked, so there were matches lying around everywhere, or if we were lucky, a big lighter (the metal ones that held lighter fluid). Most of the books of matches came free with each pack of cigarettes, or you could buy a block of 50 packages for about ten cents. I know; we bought a lot of them. Kitchen matches were different. Kitchen matches were wood and had a double tip; one red and one white. The white tip (phosphorous, I believe) created the spark that would light the match if stuck on any rough surface, like a brick wall.

As a child in small-town Appalachia, having a book of matches was equivalent to having a weapon. You could randomly strike them and flip 'em at your friends, light an outdoor trash can that seemed to need burning, or incinerate one of your brother's plastic toys. While sitting in the back yard with my best friend, Terry one day, I decided to ignite a toy plastic truck. As a huge cloud of noxious, black smoke billowed from the burning toy, my step-father yelled from the house.

"What's all that smoke?"

"What smoke?" I replied. It was always best to plead ignorance, not matter how obvious it is that you are guilty.

Carrying around kitchen matches was a bit more risky. My friend, Jim, discovered that one day when he had a pocket full of kitchen matches. Forgetting that he had matches in his pocket, Jim tried to brush off some dirt. Suddenly, flames and smoke shot out of his front pocket. Jim began to dance like he had never danced before, madly attempting to remove his jeans. The incident burned a good sized hole in his pants and his upper leg, just inches from his developing manhood.

One of our more inventive friends discovered that if you put kitchen matches in the end of a BB-gun, you could fire them out. They would ignite if they struck a hard-enough object. Kitchen matches can also be lit simply by flicking them with your fingernails. We also discovered that if you twisted off the heads of thousands (yes, thousands!) of book matches, you could create a flame thrower. You just stuff them into a long tube, sealed at one end, and light the other. We were so successful at creating these flame-throwers, that we formed a club called the Fire Bombers.

The Fire Bombers ruled for one summer. We had to disband after discharging one of our carefully-made weapons at one of our nerdy rivals, Gregory. I can still see him running down the alley next to our house, fleeing from a shower of ignited match heads.

"I'm calling the cops! You guys have dynamite!" (Our town only had one policeman, so I am not sure who else he was going to call).

"Go ahead!" Unfortunately, he did.

We were busily making an even bigger flame-thrower when Officer Lohr interrupted our assembly line of match-head twisters. He was pleased that we did not really have dynamite, but that did give us some ideas. Today, we would have been considered terrorists.

In 7th grade, we discovered model rockets. We would build them for hours in our basement and then triumphantly fire them off. Since model rocket engines cost about thirty cents each, we did not do this very often. Occasionally, we would "modify" the rockets. Officer Lohr had mentioned "dynamite". The closest thing we could come to that was black powder. Since many of our family members were hunters, it wasn't very difficult to get some black powder to load into those model rockets. We actually wanted to pack the rockets with match heads, but the local store had been forewarned not to sell us any more matches.

We learned two things:

1. It is possible to create a missile that will explode in the air with a huge bang.
2. Black powder is heavy, so those missiles do not go up very high.

If you have seen the movie, Stand by Me, you will better appreciate my rural childhood. We would often camp-out for days during the hot summer months. It was too hot and stuffy in our non-air conditioned homes, and besides, it was more fun to sneak around in the middle of the night when parents were asleep. Campfires were mandatory, even though we rarely had the need for warmth or food that required cooking. There is just something about a campfire. It was also fun to pee on it. Ahhh...the smell of sizzling urine.

Campfires led to lighting sticks. Lit sticks, when thrown into the air, could be used to create a shower of sparks - a poor child's fireworks. Hot coals can also be thrown into the air or at each other. Model rockets could be fired into the night sky. Illegal fireworks, obtained for the 4th of July, were always readily available for a price. We were typical boys. We had fun; dangerous fun, of course, but fun nonetheless. Any peripheral fire that we started was quickly extinguished by our tennis shoes. As far as we know, our parents were oblivious to our homemade pyrotechnics.

Knowing my own boyhood fascination (and close calls) with fire, we really watched as our kids grew up. Since we did not smoke, there were rarely any matches in the house. It was even a challenge to find a way of lighting birthday candles. In spite of our diligence, three of our boys once set their backyard playhouse on fire, under the watchful (albeit, closed) eyes of a babysitter. As my wife drove up to the house, she could easily see smoke coming from the backyard. She ran into the house; passed the babysitter watching soap operas, and headed for the backyard. She arrived just in time to put out the recently-ignited playhouse with the hose. This was the babysitter's last day of employment, as you might imagine.

So, please, parents, keep matches and lighters away from the curious hands of children (especially boys). Wives please watch your husband and don't let him dump a can of charcoal lighter on the barbecue and jump back. Have a fire escape plan for your home. Check those smoke detectors regularly. Be especially careful if you are camping to avoid the spread of a campfire.

Today, the air is dry and there is a wind - perfect conditions for an out-of-control fire. I scan the horizon for signs of smoke. I smell the air.

Related Topics:

• Fire Safety Measures
• It's a Great Weekend for a Barbecue...And Some Cookout Safety Tips!

Technorati Tags: fire safety, matches, playing with fire, health and wellness

Kids NOT in Car Seats

This morning on my way to work, I was driving next to a big SUV. In the front passenger seat...standing...was a little girl with ribbon in her hair; about two years old. The mother was busy talking to her and not paying much attention to the traffic around her. About the time I was trying to get behind her to jot down the license plate number, she turned off. My intention was to call the local police to see if they could nail that irresponsible woman (the mother?) with a big, fat ticket.

I spend a great deal of time in traffic and I see unrestrained kids quite often jumping around in the back seat. Or, I will see part of a little tiny head sitting in the front. The only more dangerous place for a child would be sitting on the top rack.

When my son (now 28) was an infant, my wife was broadsided by a car at an intersection. The car rolled over twice, breaking all of the windows. My seat-belted wife and car-seated son were uninjured. The Volvo station wagon (another reason why they were not hurt) was totaled.

Last night on the local news it was reported that a nine month old child was killed in a motor vehicle accident. He was in a car seat, but the car seat was just sitting on the backseat - not attached. The mother, restrained in her seatbelt, was not seriously injured...just in her heart. The pain of losing a child due to your own negligence is something she will live with every day of her life.

I grew up in the 1950's. Our cars did not have seatbelts. To make matters worse, we had hard steel dashboard, no head rests, and lots of sharp metal objects in the car to be impaled upon. I can vividly remember not only standing on the front seat as a five year old or lying in the back window. When I was 7 or 8 years old, I was permitted to sit on the top of the back seat of a convertible with the top open, while my parents happily sped down the road. I sometimes wonder if this was some sort of devious plan to get rid of me. Somehow, I survived my childhood and adolescence without ever using a seatbelt.

The first time that I even saw seatbelts in a care was in 1970 when I got my first used car. They were an "option" and had to be installed. Those old Volkswagens were like tin cans, so seatbelts were sort of a moot point if you were in a major accident. My first new car had seatbelts, but no shoulder restraints. This is the car that nearly killed me.

I was sitting in commuter traffic, having to stop relatively quickly. The things on my front seat fell on the passenger side floor. Since I was not moving, I decided to unbuckle and retrieve my papers. Seconds after I unbuckled, I was rear-ended at high speed by a bigger car. The impact slammed my little car into the car in front. In the blink of an eye, I was ejected through the front windshield onto the hood. I sustained some neck injuries (obviously, since my face went through the windshield first) and lots of cuts.

Several days after this accident, I went over to my friend's house to borrow his extra car. When he saw my cut up face, he asked me to wait. He went down the hall, woke up his teenage daughter and brought her out to see me.

"See what happens when you don't wear seat belts? Now, go back to bed." I was pleased that my bad example could be used for something good.

Our five children were always strapped in the best car seats we could buy. As infants, they looked like they were getting ready to be launched into space, or be transported around like Hannibal Lector. Using a seatbelt became so automatic for them, they did it thoughtlessly. I rarely had to remind them to buckle up. This example continued into the next generation - our grandchildren do this, too.

The number one cause of death in children is motor vehicle accidents - not cancer, not AIDS. Since children do not drive, it is up to the parents to set a good example, protect them in the best car seats, and always check and double-check that they are properly restrained. You never know when that drunk driver is going to swerve into your lane, or when that front tire will have a blow-out.

Related Topics:

• Safest Spot for Baby's Car Seat?
• Booster Seats Until 57 (Inches, That Is)

Technorati Tags: car seats, seat belts, car safety, health and wellness

Baja Adventure - The Trip Home

We wanted to get an early start for our 13 hour drive to Ensenada. We planned on leaving about 6 AM so that we would not have to drive in the dark. Cows, goats, and coyotes like to hang out on the road at those times. Since the road does not have a shoulder, just an abrupt drop off that would easily roll over your car, you need to stay alert at all times.

At 5 AM, the Mexican music started, at concert levels. It was coming from one of the only shade trees on the beach in front of the place we were renting. Apparently, the occupants of the car wanted the entire neighborhood to share in their choice of Sunday morning music. By the time we hit the shower; the police had paid them a visit and asked them to turn it down. They lowered the volume to where we were about to talk without shouting. It is really not helpful to be confrontational in these situations since they know where you live.

It is extra beautiful in the morning, with the sun rising over the mountains on the mainland. We had a full tank of gas (about half the cost of gas in the U.S. - go figure). My wife was on cow-watch. We arrived at the first of a half-dozen military checkpoints on our trip north. The federal troops, although intimidating with their machine guns and sandbag bunkers, are very respectful and surprisingly young. I am guessing most were teenagers. We found it easier not to speak our elementary Spanish - it helped convince them that we are just dumb tourists and not drug or gun-runners. They routinely tap on all of the door panels, top rack, etc. looking for hidden contraband. They only looked in the back of the heavily loaded camper shell once.

As you might imagine, traffic was light through the desert. The most frightening and sudden encounters are with huge trucks barreling down the road, taking up most of it. One really hates to make those decisions like "hit an 18-wheeler" or "fly over the thousand foot drop-off". Your butt tightens when you need to pass a slower vehicle, but truckers routinely signal when it is safe to pass by putting on their left turn signal. Once you learn to trust the signal, it makes it easier. I don't recommend Baja driving for the fearful.

There are dangerous and bad drivers everywhere. Mexico is no exception. I did not see one infant or child strapped in a car seat. An idiot in a truck; wife and a lap child in front seat, passed me on a blind curve and nearly hit another car head-on. He wanted to get one car closer in the upcoming military checkpoint. He ended up passing me at high-speed later on down the road.

Off in the distance, I spotted a plume of black smoke. Oncoming cars were flashing their hazard lights. There was trouble ahead, for sure. Knowing that a dozen or more drug dealers were killed the day before in Tijuana and the increasing presence of the Mexican military, all made us very uneasy. A van was burning along side of the road. There were no people (or bodies) around. Like the other drivers that slowed, we drove on. It was not clear when the accident occurred or if the car was just torched. Our brains were flooded with scenarios. At least it wasn't that truck with the baby.

We were advised NOT to stop and help stranded motorists, since they may be setting you up for a car-jacking. My plan was to quickly drive beyond the stranded motorist (assuming they looked safe); stop with the motor running, and leave bottles of water and/or food. I would indicate that we would send help from the next town. Fortunately, we did not have to make any of those very difficult decisions.

For whatever reason, we decided to stay back at the noisy Joker Motel (again) in Ensenada. From miles away, we could see a large fire burning on the hillsides. I wanted to drive to the U.S., but it was now dark. There were three rooms left, so we were put back in the room we had used one week prior - perhaps it was the Gringo Room. The other ninety-seven rooms of this motel were being occupied by the military as a bivouac. (This picture was taken from our window.) We were either going to be very safe, or a target for this ongoing war with the drug lords. It was quieter this time. We did not go out to have dinner. Too bad; it was my birthday.

The next morning; our last in Mexico, we drove to Rosarito to do some quick shopping. We love the pottery and iron work done by the local artists. While looking for a rusty metal lizard for a friend, we admired a huge metal gazebo. It was ornately welded with hundreds of vines and grape leaves and stood about twenty feet high; about 12 feet in diameter. It was supported by four metal posts, also ornately decorated with vines and leaves. To make a long story a bit more interesting, I bought it for $350 when the artist agreed to cut it into four manageable pieces that could be reassembled, and would fit on top of my truck. We looked like someone moving, or heading for a junkyard. If I had a mattress and a few barrels tied on the top, we would have really looked Third World. (That white-haired man with the matching white legs is me.)

"Did you purchase anything while you were in Mexico?" said the Border Agent as his eyes gazed at the contraption tied to my truck.

I smiled and said, "No." He laughed and waved me through.

We made it home safely, gazebo and all. Now, I have one more day-off project on my endless list.

It is good to be home.

• Traveling Baja
• Travel Woes
• News from Baja
• Baja - The Adventure Continues
• Sergio - Bueno Pirro
• My Pescado - Eating from the Sea of Cortez
• The Poor Side of Town

Related Topics:

• Travel Health Risks You Can - and Can't - Avoid
• Travel Immunizations

Technorati Tags: Baja, Mexico, travel

The Poor Side of Town

The area is called Miramar - a dry, dusty arroyo that just happens to be the home for hundreds of impoverished Mexicans; mostly children. This area is the town dump where vultures fight over discarded fish heads, a perpetual fire burns with noxious fumes, and the stench of rotting garbage assaults your nostrils with each breath. Off in the distance, there is a clear view of the azure blue Sea of Cortez; beaches lined with multimillion dollar haciendas owned by wealthy Americans and Canadians. A Holland America cruise ship can be seen in the distance, discharging elderly passengers for a day of shopping.

Picking through the trash, looking for morsels to eat, you will find barefoot children of all ages. The children live in one of the many, tiny shacks lining the dirt pathway. The shacks are made with found materials, such as automobile hoods, cardboard, old mattresses, sticks, and wooden crates. Many have make-shift fences and stacks of objects found at the dump, that someday, may have a use. There is fine dust everywhere that clogs your nose and lungs.

Most of the children do not attend school. They must have a uniform and shoes in order to be enrolled. A uniform costs $10 and five dollars will buy them a pair of shoes. Transportation is not a problem - people walk everywhere in Loreto.

We chose Miramar as a place to personally distribute the children's clothes that we brought 1500 miles from home. Packed tightly in four suitcases, we were able to bring hundreds of outfits - donated by the families in our medical practice. Among the hundreds of rambling shacks, there were children that desperately needed them.

As we drove down the dusty pathway in our four-wheel drive truck, we were silent; perhaps in shock by what we were seeing. We spotted a few children digging in a trash heap, so we stopped. A woman in her early twenties was collecting items nearby; she had another baby on her back. After exchanging a few words in Spanish, she approached our truck. By this time, we had opened the tailgate and lined up a series of boxes filled with clothing; sorted by size and sex. Quietly and graciously, she accepted dozens of clothing items for her children.

Three teenage women and thirteen children were sharing the next "house" which was not much bigger than an American bathroom. The children squealed with delight as we handed out t-shirts with Thomas the Train and Spiderman. The little girls were easily fitted with shoes and socks, since they were all barefoot. We had a full suitcase with women's clothes and shoes as well. We had no men's clothes, much to the disappointment of the one elderly man that came out with the children.

After making one delivery after another, we came to one of the last cardboard homes before the road became impassible. Standing alone, next to a pile of rubble, was a little blond girl I estimate to be seven or eight years old. Her mother came out shortly carrying a 15-month-old boy. She thought we were selling the clothes and told us she had no money. We told her that all of the clothing was free (gratis). We started piling cute little outfits on her outstretched arms. She and her mother had beautiful smiles; the 15-month-old was whining in Spanish. A local authority said that her blond daughter was most likely fathered by a gringo. She may have been a prostitute at the local brothel at one time - one of the ways that desperate mothers get money to feed their children.

Our friends, who live in Loreto, were looking for the home of a woman with five children. She was able to feed them with the milk of her only goat; that is until someone stole it. They plan on buying her another goat if they can find her. Her place looked abandoned now, so she must have moved on.

It was 5 PM now, and many of the men were walking down the road from day jobs or fishing. Most will earn only $10 a day for hard labor. There are plenty of construction jobs in Loreto for men willing and able to work. The women who work at the brothel earn more; up to $120 per day minus the $20 a day room rental and 10% commission for the brothel owner. We were told that the brothel is owned by the family of a prominent local politician.

My friend's daughter, Kim, visiting Mexico for the first time, was crying from what she had seen. We did not sleep well in our clean bed last night. We were not hungry, either. Those children had no beds and they may not be eating for a different reason. They did not have running water, plumbing, or electricity. The babies do not have diapers...or toys. They do not have milk to drink because they have no way to keep it cold.

I dreamed about Miramar and other ways that we can help the people of Miramar. If I skip lunch...for just one day...I can send $15 to Loreto so that one Miramar child can go to school.

My wife and I plan on skipping a lot of lunches.

• Traveling Baja
• Travel Woes
• News from Baja
• Baja - The Adventure Continues
• Sergio - Bueno Pirro
• My Pescado - Eating from the Sea of Cortez

Related Topics:

• The Greatest Threat to Children's Well-Being
• The Science of Good Deeds

Technorati Tags: Loreto, Baja, Mexico, poverty, children, health and wellness

My Pescado - Eating from the Sea of Cortez

The Sea of Cortez is teaming with fish; perhaps not as abundant during Steinbeck's adventures, but they are still here. You can see them under the crystal blue water. They jump into the air to tease the fisherman. Each morning, a fleet of Mexican fishermen in their tiny pangas and American sports fishermen in their fast boats head out toward the rising sun. Later in the afternoon, they return with their catch in time for the dinner hour.

Photo Credit: Rod Moser

The day we arrived in Loreto, my friend Randy brought in two large yellowtails (see picture). He quickly filleted them and took them to a local restaurant for tonight's meal - Mita Gourmet, owned by Juan Carlos Cortes. For about five dollars per person, the chef prepared a gourmet feast for eight people out of those two fish.

The first course of ceviche, a Mexican dish of raw fish marinated in lime juice, chiles, and ? I love ceviche and this was the best that I have ever eaten. The next course was some tuna "fish sticks" to dip in some type of sauce - another winner. The main course was the yellowtail prepared in three different ways, from Veracruz style to grilled with spicy, dried chiles. There was no salad; no rice and beans - just those four types of prepared fish. We left the restaurant stuffed, but still had room for some homemade Mexican ice cream on the plaza.

So far, we have eaten our share of camarones (shrimp), squid, lobster, and clams. We went out fishing once and didn't catch anything. Of course, the people around us were pulling them in right and left. We had originally thought that we would be fishing from our kayak, but once you get a look at the size of some of those fish, I could see us being pulled out to sea by a huge sailfish; never to be seen again. Visions of Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea streamed through my head.

We did kayak a bit, including using an electric trolling motor that I mounted to it. I love paddling a kayak, but I could really get used to the motor. It quietly propelled us about five miles along the coast. Since the motor was blocked by my body and and I steer with my feet, I wonder what the people on shore were thinking as we went zipping by a few miles per hour? I should of put my hands over the side, pretending to paddle.

In the afternoon, there is quite a breeze that blows across the Sea of Cortez. It is good for small craft people - like the two of us - to be on shore when that happens. We wanted to paddle out (or motor!) to out to our favorite seafood restaurant, LaPicazon (means "the feeding frenzy"), located about 8 km north of Loreto. This open palapa-style restaurant is owned by Alejandro and Imelda Igartua and their sons. Alejandro is the host and palapa-builder, and the person in charge of ferrying in the people who arrive by boat. Since Alejandro does not have a boat dock, he wades out and piggy-backs the people into shore to they won't get their feet wet. I have a great picture of him hauling my wife to shore last year. Imelda is the chef and prepares whatever her sons catch that day by spear-fishing. We decided on the house specialty - large shrimp baked in a pineapple. I am sure the boys didn't spear-fish the shrimp, but I can say this is one of the best meals that I have ever eaten. The ambiance is incredible, too - sitting in an open palapa with only the Sea of Cortez as your window.

We are going to LaPicazon today. I suspect my friends are preparing an early birthday celebration for me since they asked me what kind of cake that I liked. I can already taste those pineapple shrimp.

This blog entry is like a restaurant review, but in Loreto, eating seafood is a noble pastime. I was reluctant to even brag about the food and this little town for fear that people would be coming in droves. Loreto is changing, unfortunately. It will not be a sleepy village of 15,000 people for very long. The cruise ships have found it and so have retirees. There are hundreds of Americans and Canadians that own homes here. They are systematically eating all of the fish...MY fish.

Related Topics:

• The Great Fish Cook-Off
• Nothing Fishy About These Fish!

Technorati Tags: Loreto, Baja, Mexico, Sea of Cortez, fish, yellowtail, seafood

Sergio - Bueno Pirro

There was a scratch at our door. It was Sergio, a short-legged, white (sort of) bilingual dog with a hernia that lives here. Unlike the mangy, skinny, street dogs that you see wandering the streets of Loreto, Sergio is quite ample. He is really not my friend's dog; he belongs to neighbor, but for the last few years, he has chosen to live here. My friend, Randy and his wife, pay his vet bills and make sure that he has Advantix flea treatments on a regular basis. People are nice to him; they don't throw rocks at him, and most importantly, he is being fed...often and very well. What more would a dog want?

When we opened the door, Sergio came in, walked over to the foot of the couch, and went to sleep for his afternoon siesta. He stayed for several hours; we put him back out at bedtime. Sergio works the night shift; keeping away other dogs by barking and growling periodically. Sergio is not unlike my new dog, Lexi, who barks with the same alarm and enthusiasm when an axe murderer is sneaking around outside, or a leaf falls from a tree.

There are a lot of dogs in Loreto. Just the way the Flying Samaritans volunteer their time and money caring for some of Mexico's disadvantaged people, there actually veterinarians that fly down from the States do do spay and neuter clinics. Not only does this provide a service to people that could never afford this luxury, it definitely helps keep the dog population in check. Left to their own, dogs would quickly take over this tiny hamlet, run for public office, and get rid of the people that abuse them...and cats, of course. I have not seen ONE cat since I arrived. Sergio, with his mild, laid-back demeanor would be a shoe-in for mayor.

We can judge how civilized a population is by how well they treat their dogs. I once saw a Discovery Channel story about a group in Africa that has many dogs. Each year, during a special ceremony when boys become men, they select and butcher a dog to eat. How cruel, I thought, but one could clearly see that the man crying as he did this mournful task. In Southeast Asia, dogs are part of the menu. Travelers are often horrified to see them hanging in the butcher shop windows. In China, not only are dogs eaten, dog fur is used to adorn the coats that Americans wear in the winter, that is until people were outraged and rose up against this famous "Coat Factory" (I won't say the name, since they no longer accept dog-fur trimmed coats for sale.) In a world that is often sparse in protein, I can understand how poor people may need to eat dogs. It is still sad, since dogs really love and trust people. I have no problem with people eating rats and snakes.

When we were handing out children's clothes in Miramar, there were dozens of dogs. Even people who can barely feed themselves, make room in their hearts for dogs. The dogs seemed to be doing fine with what little food scraps they get. Sadly, dogs learn to pick through the trash for morsels to eat; not unlike the people that live in this very impoverished area -- just a day or so drive from San Diego.

Sergio was once taken by another Loreto resident several years ago; someone that liked him and decided just to take him. He was gone for several months and it was feared he was dead. People actually went out looking for him in various places where dogs hang out. Sergio is not neutered and has been known to wander. He has needs. No one could find him for weeks.

Then, out the of clear blue sky, he showed up at Randy's door, checked out his now empty dog bowl, and went to sleep in his usual location - in front of the door where we are renting. Right now, he is sleeping by my wife's feet. His legs are moving; a common occurrence when dogs are dreaming. I suspect he dreams in Spanish - his native dog language.

I miss my own dogs, back home in Northern California. They are well-cared for by our house-sitter, but I still miss them. Sergio does not replace Lexi and Maggie, but he is a close second -- Sergio is a good dog. There can never be too many good dogs in the World. If you have a dog, please go pet them, scratch them in that sweet spot, and give them something nice to eat. Dogs always appreciate that, and they ask for little.

And, while you are at it. Hug your kids, too.

Related Topics:

• The Dog (and Cat) Days of Summer
• WebMD Video: Dogs That Help Patients

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