home | day one | two | three | three-four | five | six | seven-eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen-fourteen | fifteen

Day 11, March 5, 2001

San Quintin to Rancho Meling
(77 miles, 31 dirt; 2.5 hours)

An old buckboard at the ranchIt's a truly rustic placeFrankie chewing on wood from the crate outside my room

I started the day with a hot shower at the La Pinta, and it was a spectacular day on the Pacific Ocean. You really couldn't ask for anything more, except maybe fresh fruit, which was finally available for breakfast. Jose let me use the phone at the reception desk to try to check my email. I got a connection, but for some reason couldn't access my email. Que sera, sera. I also tried to check the Macromedia stock price (I know it's sick, and it's not like I could become rich with the amount of stock I own. But there's a lot going on with Macromedia right now, including a merger, and soft sales that would seem to indicate layoffs.) But I guess I am supposed to relax and enjoy this vacation and not think about my "real life." The website I usually use to check stocks was not available, either. At 12 pesos a minute, I just gave up.

We fueled up in San Quintin, and then reached the dirt road that marks a national park and the turnoff to Meling. We climbed about 2,300 feet through some breathtaking scenery. The mountains are green and lush from the storms that dogged us for so long. The horses and cattle that we see almost everywhere look fat and happy, which is not usually the case down here. I'm used to seeing ribs on Baja horses and cows. Lovely wildflowers are blooming by the road, including yellow and orange poppies. I spotted another cactus in bloom, and we stopped to photograph it. I couldn't believe how pretty the yellow flower was. I had always heard that cactus bloom brilliantly, and now I'm a believer. I'd love to see them all in bloom.

I'm writing this as I sit on the bench outside my room at Rancho Meling. Driving into the ranch was like driving into a dream. Nothing has changed, except the people. Aida is dead now, and so is her grandson, Ted. I remember Ted as a boy about my age with blonde hair, a little shy but nice. I had a huge crush on him. I still have a picture of him riding in the back of a big brown Ford pickup truck, and I can see that same truck from where I sit now. It's been at least 20 years since I have been here. Aida's cousin, Octavio Meling, greeted us when we arrived. He seems unfamiliar with Aida's side of the family. He could tell me only that Aida's grandson killed himself here.

The family cemetery tells the story of the ranch better than Octavio or I can. The names are Mexican, American, Swiss, and others whose descent I don't recognize. Smith, Novotny, Barre, Johnson, Meling. A few "Salvador" first names. Many of those buried in the cemetery up on the hill, past the pasture with the two cows and their newborn calves, were born in the 1800s. Ted is buried there. His headstone says he died at the age of 25, which gives me a chill. We were about the same age when we met here.

I'm trying to have a serious moment here, contemplating this peaceful, rustic, unchanged view, and the dogs are humping incessantly all around the little veranda. They're bumping into me and Dad and Jess. Dad is taking pictures of them, and he and Jesse are cracking up like little kids. The brown dog just won't leave the female dog alone. I guess that's how life persists here on a ranch in the mountains of a desert. With much persistence. As Dad says, most of the success we get in life comes from simply showing up.

We ate a delicious lunch of rice, beans, tortillas, salsa, applesauce, and beef burritos (I passed on the burritos, of course, but Dad and Jess said they were great). We met the cook, Jesse, and Octavio's son, Christian. Octavio and Christian both work on the ranch, and apparently Aida's daughter, Duane, still runs the 10,000-acre cattle ranch. It seems from the guest book that the ranch closed from '96 to 2000. Aida died in '98. When it reopened it looks like Aida's older daughter Sonia ran the ranch, because everyone is thanking her in the guest book, but now her younger daughter Duane appears to be in charge. Octavio's English was about the same as our Spanish, so it was hard to exchange information. It would be neat to find an old guest book that we had signed. This one dated back to 1994.

My best birthday ever was my ninth, when Dad brought me here. It was just him and me. We both loved flying and we both loved Mexico. This place is so special for me. I loved being with Dad, and nothing could beat riding horses. My favorite horse in the world was Chester, and I rode him every time I came here. Dad took a lot of pictures of me with Chester, and me riding him (in this picture I'm riding with Elvita, the daughter of one of the former ranch employees, who is now all grown up and has four children). I feel so lucky to be able to return to a place out of my past, and have it be the same. It is richer still to have Dad and Jess here, too, helping me create new memories.

The rooms still have all the charm that I recall. My bed and dresser are a rustic Spanish mission style that I love, with a bell shape carved out of the head and footboards. I've got a real oil lamp and a little pot-bellied stove in my room, and a crate of firewood just outside the door. (The dogs love taking pieces of wood out of the crate and chewing on them.) There appears to be electricity, but the generator hasn't cranked up since we got here around noon, and it's 5 p.m. Electricity sucks up diesel, and gas is scarce on this peninsula. The sign outside Meling Ranch says "No gas!" There's also a road that passes by the ranch which heads up to an observatory. That sign also warns that there is no gas ahead, and if you don't have enough for the return trip, to "refrain from continuing."

We rode horses this afternoon with Christian. It was wonderful for me. I love the smell of the horses and the leather, and it is so clean and beautiful up here. Recent rains have turned the hills green. The dogs followed us, chasing abundant doves and quail and romping through pools of water. All you can hear is the sound of birds singing, cows mooing, roosters crowing, horses whinnying, and now our little generator humming. The generator is recharging my laptop as I write this, and also the batteries for my digital camera. Tomorrow I'll photograph everything, but today I've just been enjoying the memories, even though it's a little like going back to a ghost town for me. I hope Duane comes home soon, so that we'll have a link to the past we enjoyed so much here.

Aida's grave in the cemetery is right in front, and is made of concrete and stone, but it's marked with a simple white wooden cross and plaque. The words were painted on, and now are almost too faint to read. There are steel rods that look like they might be waiting for a real headstone. I hope they don't leave Aida with such a humble remembrance of her life. Several of the other graves have nice marble headstones, though there are some very old ones marked only by a pile of large stones and wooden crosses with no names. Candles and flowers show that all the dead buried here are still remembered by someone, though.

Dad lit the oil lamp in his room, and is starting a fire in the stove, and I should go do the same. Cows are mooing the day goodbye, and there's a peacock standing guard on top of the shed housing the old brown Ford pickup. I wonder if he's waiting for a glimpse of the sunset. What a place, with its wooden corrals and fences, and old adobe buildings. I could live somewhere like this. Christian, who told Dad he is 31, already asked if I'm married. It seems to be the first thing Mexican men ask me. He told me he is not married. He also asked me if I liked it here, and of course I told him I love it in Baja, and that I would like to live here someday. I'm not sure what kind of message I was sending. It's hard to communicate fully with cultural and language barriers.

The day was warm and sunny, but the sun has dropped below the horizon and the temperature is dropping, too. I've got a fire in my stove and I'm going to head over to the dining room, where new friends and a fireplace await.