Baja Peninsula 5

Back in La Paz after our kayak trip, I got a haircut. The barber gave me two options: normal or short. I asked for short. The walls, mirrors, and windows, were plastered with dated photos of the barber and his clients. And photos of Jesus, who really looked like he could use a haircut. 

Inside the barber shop.

This was my first time going to a barber in years. Typically I do it myself. I cut it all the same length with some secondhand clippers. This works fine. The barber is slower and more expensive. But clearly people get more value from the barber shop than just shorter hair. It's a social hub. My grampa on my dad's side died while I was getting my hair cut. He was 88 years old and lived an impressive life, and had been in hospice care for months. It was not a tragic death. It wasn't unnatural or surprising. In fact it was the opposite; the most natural, expected thing someone can do. I think I'll cry about it nevertheless. 

That afternoon, my Dad and I explored La Paz on foot. 

My dad in front of nice produce market in La Paz. 

The next day, I set out towards Todos Santos, a town on the Pacific side of the peninsula. I met four workers, harvesting dead trees of a specific variety, to be used as barbed-wire fence posts. They suggested a campsite where I would be safe from snakes and scorpions. We chatted in broken Spanglish for a while, and they invited me back to a ranch called Los Brasiles, which is owned by one of their parents. The mother fed us and we hung out under the palapa.

Quesadilla, beans, chips, salsa, avocado. Thank you. 

I slept under the palapa at their ranch, Los Brasiles. 

Their ranch was a lush nursery, much variety of vibrant flora. 

The ranch.

The ranch overlooked a jungle-like arroyo. The word arroyo seems to mean a stream or a dry streambed. Deserts streambeds are often dry. 

The next morning, I hiked up the arroyo, in search of a waterfall they had mentioned. 

Along the wet arroyo, jungle met desert.

I found the waterfall. 

Last summer, on my way from Oregon to Virginia, I met a father-son duo in southern Illinois. They were cycling from Detroit to New Orleans. The father Fred and his wife, Jenny, own a house in Todos Santos, BCS. So I visited them. 

Fred and Jenny, looking at their white house among the palms.

I stayed in this room. They had a pool and a very nice kitchen. The tap water was filtered and high pressure. I thought a lot about how people use their money and how I want to use my money. 

Fred and Jenny were gracious hosts. Fred took me on a tour of some nearby singletrack trails. 

This gravestone is also a concrete backhoe. My grandpa owned a backhoe, but I don't think he'll get a gravestone like this.