Shannon "Chica" Schmidt, aka Fish Head

She came for five weeks and took over our couch. She washed dishes, made margaritas, laughed with "relish", read five books, helped with maps, stole my new blanket, learned some Spanish, barfed in our sink, didn't change diapers, ate a lot of bread, knit a wash cloth and played with the boys, a lot! We miss you Chica! How will I know when Sally needs feeding? Una besa para tu.

An Invitation

We are losing the last of our houseguests tomorrow in the magic school bus. If anyone wants to escape the cold and dreary winter of el norte, we've got room and can even do p/u's at airports. Grab your passaporte and hop on a plane. Mexico City until March or fly to Cancun around April. Please come! ...plan on doing dishes.

Ahh, mornings

We were sitting in a plaza overlooking three different churches during morning rush hour. The light on the stucco walls was orange, yellow, pinks and greys. We sat in the sun as it was cold if you weren’t in it and watched as people came and went, buying drinks and tamales from a stand nearby. I could see the steam coming from the hot drinks they bought. My curiosity finally got the best of me and I had to buy one.
I approached the cart and did what I usually do which is observe what other people are buying and try to figure out what it is. The woman in front of me bought a black drink in a clear plastic cup. I asked her in Spanish if it was sweet. She said yes and walked away without anymore information offered. I told the woman behind the cart I wanted the same. I asked her if it was from frijoles wherein she laughed at me. She tells me it is “near chocolate”. Embarrassed, I then have to explain that in Guatemala they drink the juice from black beans mixed with sugar and milk. She laughed and said, no aqui, not here.
I returned to Shannon with my black steaming hot drink. When I say black, I mean black, not dark brown coffee color, but black like tar. Thick black, like tar. I took a sip and immediately didn’t like it. It was corn, thick corn liquid with probably a little chocolate added and sugar. Mayans are freaks for corn. I tried to cough it down but it was overpowering and I could not make any headway on it. I left it on a nearby garbage can hoping that one of the many local people without resources would find it much to their surprise and hopefully, delight.
I returned to the cart, ready for a new discovery that would hopefully be a little more pleasant to my early morning palette. I asked the woman what each drink is wherein she quite kindly showed me hot chocolate (with corn), hot milk with rice and my favorite, a caramel flavored milk. I ordered the caramel drink which we decided tasted like a pastry in a cup. It was fantastic. I’m sure it had some more of the corn tar in it but the caramel flavor was lovely mixed in it.
During this time in the plaza, there were many people setting up easels to catch the early sun on the churches. They stared through their hands, trying to find the best boundaries for their canvas. There were students rushing off to classes, people catching buses to work and old men and women, warming their bodies with hot drinks and early sunlight. The men were wearing cowboy hats, button down shirts and jeans with belts. The women wore long skirts with black socks and shoes, aprons and large shawls around their heads and shoulders. Their skin was dark brown and leathery with braids down their backs and gold filigree earrings.
One particular woman sitting near us had quite an intericate tamale chocolate drink situation going on. She opened her morning tamale and then proceeded to slowly pick it into pieces and feed it to the pigeons. She carefully peeled every bit of corn from the husk for the gathering group of birds. She took her time drinking her hot chocolate looking as if she quite enjoyed every sip. She noticed nobody around her except the birds and she herself concentrated solely on her own tasks.
When she reached the bottom of her cup, she began to pour small amounts of it into the palm of her hand and drink from it as if it was a spoon. We could only guess that she either wanted to prolong the drink experience or sift through something sitting on the bottom of the cup. I tried to picture myself at a coffee shop in Portland pouring bits of tea into the palm of my hand and then slurping it up slowly, while people watched. It would be fun to do, just to mess with people.
Eventually we left the plaza and went onto another plaza to watch teenagers in courtship, newspaper salespeople yell out the latest headlines and men sell ice cream flavors like mango and lime. We spent the morning like this, wandering the cobblestone streets, sitting in plazas and enjoying the day to day activities as simple as a warm cup of corn tar Joe.

Uphill/Downhill

Once again, I’m sitting in the sun, in winter. Shannon is learning to knit, Casey is sitting on Steve’s lap eating tortilla chips and the boys are reading comic books in the bus. We could be anywhere right now and yet we’re in Mexico. I can tell by the noise and smells. The birds are louder and have different songs. Tropical sounding songs. The trucks honking down the road are melodic, talking to eachother about which way they’re turning or stopping. The air smells like chicken and tires burning. The temperature is a lovely seventy degree something as we sit soaking in the morning rays.
We left the beaches and headed up into the mountains to get a little closer to Mexican culture and away from the leatherbacks – retired Canadians with “leather backs” from sitting in the sun. They are up and down the Mexican coast, taking over every RV park with their 5th wheelers and diesel trucks. None of them speak Spanish and they sit together for days on end eating frozen lasagnas they bought in the States and spend their evenings watching golf on satellite TV’s. It was hard to leave the beaches as the boys had so much fun in the sand but we were going a little crazy trying to find “Mexico”.
San Miguel is adorable – the Santa Fe of Mexico they call it.

The buildings are painted beautiful shades of tierra and everyone prides themselves on intricately carved doors and metal door knockers in shapes of corn, gargoyles and fireworks. It’s filled with museums, galleries, libraries and craft shops. The plaza Jardin in the main square and overlooks an incredibly beautiful church surrounded by churro and chocolate shops as well as food carts with BBQ corn on the cob, fruit cups and colorful handmade sodas.


The plan is to stay here for over a month while I take Spanish courses and Steve volunteers somewhere with the kids. We’ve come up with a list of projects the kids can do such as map out the central market, take photos of all the doors and hang out at the coolest public library I’ve ever seen. The surrounding area has villages known for things like silver smithing and wall murals that we all can take day trips to. There will be a lot to do in the next month, for sure.
The adventure to get to this village is almost undescribable. We left Teacoupan, a beach just south of Mazatlan around one o’clock in the afternoon and drove until it was dark. We spent the evening in a semi campground behind a gas station. It’s common here for trucks to sleep behind the state run gas stations. It was clean and secure and if we paid the gas station attendant 100 pesos, he would let us stay there. Ugh, I think they’re free I told him. He laughed and said no, I said 100 pesos, not 100 dollars. I told him I would be happy to discuss it with the attendant in the morning and if it was still 100 pesos, I would pay it then. He then asked us to simply fill up with gas and we’d be fine. It’s common that there are hidden charges in our daily life. Knowing ahead of time what you’re willing to pay, stand your ground and you’ll usually get to the bottom of the true price fairly quickly.
Our next day of travel was a day to never ever forget in our life of travel. We entered into a city looking for signs for a small village to the north. We turned when we found it and headed directly into the heart of a tiny cobblestone central area. We realized immediately we were in trouble but we thought there would quickly be a turnoff onto a highway towards this other village we were looking for.
We discovered instead that the road jogged to another side street which required Steve to turn to the left and immediately make another right within about ten feet. There was another bus sitting on the corner in our way. It wouldn’t move. Steve took the turn and the back of the bus swung into the sitting parked bus. The thud was noticeable. Everyone on the street started screaming for Steve to stop.
I jumped out of the bus to help Steve around the corner. The other bus driver came out and told us we would need to pay for hitting his mirror. I ignored him and helped Steve go around the jog. The bus driver stood in the way of our bus and started yelling for the police. A man walking down the street came over and asked us if we needed help. Obviously we did. He worked for the bus company and told the other bus driver to see if he could fix the mirror himself. The police showed up and asked us if we wanted an escort out of town. At this point we didn’t know how many more streets we would need to turn and figured they wanted us out of there, they would help us get out. The helpful man jumped on our bus to help guide us out of town as well. All was well with the bus we hit and off we went. By this time, I was a little shaky about our chances of getting out of this maze. The roads was getting thinner and the balconies were at about the top of our bus level.
Finally, we could see the end of the street. We would just need to pass a full size pick-up truck. Steve slowly squeeked by while I hid my head in my hands. Then another clunk and scrape sound. Oh god, we just hit the truck. I panicked and tried to figure out where we had put our Mexican insurance and my hands began to shake. Then Steve said he didn’t hit the car, only the truck’s tire and it broke off the lid to our black tank, holding our shit from the bathroom. He said there is piss and crap flowing out of the tube, onto the little cobblestone street we were traveling on. With people watching. The smell was um, kind of bad.
Steve wanted me to go outside and pick-up the pieces of tubing that had broken off. Now picture this. There’s a tiny street maybe 10 feet wide with a four foot wide patch of pee and poop flowing down it. In the middle of it, is a lid cap that needs to be retrieved by me, while people walking down the street are watching. Yes, I grabbed it and asked for a plastic bag from inside the bus. Shannon hands me a tiny ziploc bag and I yell for a bigger one. My hands are shaking so bad at this point that I couldn’t open the bag she hands me to get the parts in it. The entire moment was so ridiculous. I hop back on the bus crying from stress and fear of hitting another car or building. We had one more major turn to do that somehow Steve made look easy and we were now out of the maze.
Once out of town, we pulled over and assessed our mental and physical damage. Only the pooper cap broke off and Steve was able to instantly fix it.
What we didn’t expect to find though is the massive dent and scrape on the side of the bus. The bus we initially hit probably had a lot more damage than either we or that bus driver had seen. Steve thought he had hit it harder than just pushing a mirror but we weren’t going to argue with the bus driver anymore than we had to. We eventually took off after Shannon made me a margarita and managed to get to our destination about five hours later, a little bruised but now with a good story.
Now we rest. It’s pleasant here sitting in the sun with my family. We are more than happy to not drive anymore for awhile. We’ll take some day trips around the area on chicken buses and head back to the beach next month for more boogie boarding and sunsets with leatherbacks. For now though, it’s good to be in Mexico in January listening to birds and eating chips and salsa in the sun.

Mazatlan

1/16/10


I’m sitting on an old cement rooftop overlooking the ocean and two miles of Mazatlan coastline. We parked here in the wee hours of the morning, knowing there would be few cars parked on the beach. All day we expected La Policia to tell us we had to move since we were in some prime real estate.
Our bus windows look out over water, resort buildings, islands and the Promenade. Actually, our door opens up onto the promenade which is a three mile walkway with art, restaurants and exercise stations. It’s very similar to the Venice Beach/Santa Monica promenade.
Yesterday we convinced some carpenters working on a house next to us to let us fill up our water tanks. We have two fifty gallon tanks with water we use for washing and two five gallon water bottles of agua pura for drinking. I thankfully bought, at the 24th hour, a pump that attaches to the top of the drinking bottles to fill our water glasses from.

Since we have been doing so much free camping on this trip, finding water to fill up the big tanks with, has been difficult. We have done it at campgrounds for a nominal fee and have most definately scouted for water spickets. We carry a hundred foot hose just for these situations. It took the whole hose to get from the house to the bus without losing our golden position on the beach. We tipped the construction crew three bucks for the hassle and enjoyed some much needed showers.
Mazatlan is surprisingly cute for a big bustling Mexican city. There is the common resort feeling on the north side of town with t-shirt shops and taxis yelling at sunburnt tourists clutching tightly to their purses and wearing hats that say Minnesotans Do It With Relish?

Farther south along the promenade is the historical district that has recently gotten a facelift and is enjoying a bit of a rennaisance. Old colonial buildings line cobblestone carriage roads. As you wander around them you come across tiny plazas with musicians and bouganvilla covered restaurants.


Near the historical district is a beautiful indoor market. Shannon and I went there yesterday and bought giant shrimp, guavas, mangos and finger bananas. I introduced Shannon to horchata and Casey and I gulped down fresh guava juice. The woman that sold me shrimp also had crab meat,octopus and scallops, all caught within eight hours.
The only casualty of our Mazatlan adventure is that we had our stroller stolen. It was a big loss as we speciically brought an all terrain one to handle sand, cobblestones and broken concrete. Last night as we were eating dinner, I chatted with a local street vendor about our missing stroller. I told him if he saw the people with it, be sure to tell them I’ll give a reward for its safe return. Maybe it’ll help, maybe not. If we don’t get it back though, our long walks through villages will become impossible with Casey.
Right now I’m watching Ryder watching the ocean. He watches as the waves run into the building we sit on. He’s watching for the tide to go out so he can boogie board again. Now that we are in the land of warm water, their Christmas presents from Aunt Connie are coming in handy.

Phelan lost his voice last night after a day spent screaming in delight riding the warm waves. Ryder learned from the local teenagers to duck under waves and wait for the good ones. I have a feeling, in a couple of weeks, he’ll be spinning cirlces on his board and thinking about dreadlocks.
Mazatlan finally feels like Mexico. Up until now Mexico felt more like a latin flavored retirement villge. When we drive now we see men on horses pulling wooden carts, giant fields of corn and clay bricks being made by hand, drying in the sun. Gone are the endless taco stands, dune buggies for rent and shrimp sellers.
We are heading inland soon, towards Mexico City. We hope to find a small village in the mountains to spend a month or more so that we can find kids for the boys to play with and I can work on my Spanish. The bus is working great and the kids are happy to have their “things”. Thanks to all, again, for all of your support and generosity in getting us here, 2600 miles from Portland.

A Beach, Mexico

We'll get back to you soon, we're kinda busy

The Journey of Discovery

The tide is going out. I can hear it only as it is dark outside and I’m sitting on a picnic bench awaiting the moonrise. It will be almost a full one tonight. Everytime I see the moon reflected on the Sea of Cortez, I cannot help but sing that “it’s a fabulous night for a moondance”.
Nine days ago we were in Portland opening Christmas gifts with our family. It seems like a year ago honestly. We are now in a warm climate with outside living. We BBQ daily, ride our bikes and eat mangos and avocados. It took us three days of driving and a lot of tolerance, but we all made it, happy and really glad to now be here.
Our first day of driving involved a previous night’s sleep in a mall parking lot. It was 25 degrees outside and we all slept in sleeping bags under wool blankets despite the fact we also had a propane heater going all night. As we awoke in the dark the next morning, we could not wait to get on the freeway despite the fact we would be driving all day long. The sun came up somewhere around Eugene which was covered with frost and a low fog. The kids got excited near Ashland when they saw snow remembering last Christmas when Portland was covered in a thick blanket of powder. In Redding we could really feel the temperature change in the bus and the windows no longer fogged up as we drove. We arrived at my parents house in Sacramento tired but ready to embrace our second Christmas dinner and gift giving.
My mother made her potato salad knowing it is my favorite. There was also ham, rolls, bean salad and sherry wine cake. It was the Christmas of my childhood. I was relieved after days at Steve’s parents house eating traditional German food such as Oyster stew and bag pudding with sausage and plums.
We went to bed very early as we had another long day ahead of us. We crammed in quick showers in the morning and were guided out of the “suburbs for seniors” by my parents in their golf cart. My Mom brought out all the neighbors for photos and rides in the school bus. It took awhile but everyone was in good spirits. Finally, two hours later, we found our comfortable position in the slow lane on I5 heading south again.
The evenings camping had not been planned out in advance. I simply thought we would find an easy place to bunk down for the night around San Diego. We did. About an hour north, we found a scenic overlook. Despite the close proximity to I5, none of us cared so we put up the curtains and fell quickly asleep.
During these two days of travels, we ate very well. I practiced cooking while driving. I baked sourdough bread, popped kettle corn, cooked beans in a pressure cooker and made hummus in my mini food processor. No fast food or sandwiches for our group. Although the pressure cooker was the most difficult to do, the split pea soup was fantastic with the fresh bread.
Sometime during these two days, we realized we were beginning to have a few battery issues. We seemed to be losing battery power in the bus and driving wasn’t refilling them. Somewhere along the road, we also realized it was actually our fridge draining it while we drove. Our fridge was supposed to be working off of propane but for some reason, it wasn’t. We would now need to find a repair shop before we could cross the border. An unexpected detour on what we were now calling the Journey of Discovery.
Our third day of travel had been planned a month before. Our group of nine would head to Sea World for the day.

We decided the fridge and batteries would have to wait as the kids deserved a day of frolicking. We saw the shows, aquariums and went on rides. At lunchtime we all headed to the bus and BBQ’d chicken. Late that evening, despite being tired, we drove to a nearby Home Depot and parked in the parking lot for the night. The adults stayed up late in the bus drinking beers and rum surrounded by oil lanterns. In the morning, we would get the last of our needed items before leaving.
After doing a little early morning shopping, we were off to an RV repair shop where our little group played in the parking lot across the street while our fridge got fixed.
We unloaded balls and bikes and had a picnic at lunchtime. We were trying to decide if we should rush the border before it got dark. The fridge was done in the early afternoon and we probably could make it. We decided to go for it since we had driven this stretch to San Felipe two times before and we knew exactly where we were going once we got to town. That and my birthday was the next day.
Of course we didn’t expect to get denied entrance to Mexico. Calexico is about 100 miles east of San Diego on the California side of Baja. We stood in a long line of cars waiting to cross through evening traffic. It probably took us 45 minutes to get four blocks. When it was finally our turn, we were waved into a separate lane for larger vehicles. The agent asked where we were going and then began to move the barriers. To cross into Mexico, you usually do not need to show your paperwork. It is only upon leaving Mexico that you need a passport.
While the officer began to move the barrier, a man yelled across the lanes to stop. He was obviously a superior. He approached our bus and I opened the door. He asked for our papers. I asked him if he wanted our insurance papers and he said no. I got our title and registration. He then asked for our commercial papers. I told him we didn’t have any. He said we needed them since we were driving a commercial vehicle. I invited him inside to see it wasn’t a commercial vehicle and he didn’t. He seemed quite angry at us. He told us to go back to the U.S. and ask them for the papers. At this point, we had no other options. Especially because he was kind of a jerk to begin with and obviously in charge.
Then he ordered the craziest thing. They stopped every person from driving through the border and had Steve turn the bus around right there. He turned across five lanes. He barely made it. There were multiple people involved getting cars out of the way, low hanging wires and one-way traffic. We ended up on a side street with a U.S. border agent.
The American agent asked for our passports and put the dogs on the bus for inspection. He told us to try another border nine miles down the road. He said that sometimes they just won’t let buses go through but there doesn’t seem to be any particular reason why. We headed down the road to the other border where we were searched and sent on through quite quickly. We all looked at eachother in awe and cheered that we had finally gotten the Blue Daisy all the way to Mexico in one piece.
Now I sit here, five days later feeling like Christmas was a lifetime ago. We’ve done nothing but read, eat and play on the beach since we’ve arrived. There are quite a few empty tequilla and beer bottles sitting around the bus, some sunburnt faces and sandcastle skeletons. The stresses are gone, the cold is gone and we are beginning to fall into a familiar rhythm.

Tomorrow we leave San Felipe and head down to new territory. Our six months in Mexico has now officially begun.

Cooking in the Bus

We have been eating VERY WELL...

For my birthday we had
Fresh BBQ'd giant prawns
Rice & beans
BBQ'd peppers

New Year's Eve
Grilled chicken tacos
Fresh coleslaw

Ben's last night dinner
Ceviche with avocado slices on crackers
Fried chayote

We just finished off a bowl of freshly chopped salsa plus guacamole and chicharrones!

Benjamin Copstead

He traveled with us for 8 days
He never once lost his cool
He smiled through border police, crying babies, freezing buses and questionable chicken. He supervised the death of 15 flies, became Steve's underboss, never changed a diaper, played the opposite game with Ryder and took the garbage out. You will be missed.