We could have stayed another week at our Baja paradise with Camilo and Jimmy taking care of us, but we found ourselves on the last day. Vacations always end. It's not right!
Camilo was proud of his motorcycle, and he really wanted to take me for a spin. Jimmy pushed him out of the courtyard and we went on the world's most careful pass around the block. We barely had enough momentum to make it over the lip of a pothole, so it was a good speed for a scaredy cat in a foreign country without a helmet.
Jimmy had nicknames for everyone. He caught Ruby one night concentrating on trying to understand the Spanish conversation. He asked her why she was so serious, and called her "La Seria" from then on. He'd call out, "La Seeeeeria! Que pasa!" His nickname for Freestone was Chepi. I've looked at a bunch of lists of common Mexican nicknames, and I can't find Chepi anywhere, so maybe Jimmy made it up when he couldn't pronounce Freestone. In France a couple of years ago, the Turkish crepe guys called Freestone "Christophe." Nodoby can say "Freestone!" Ha ha. So Chepi it was. Or more specifically, "Cheeeeeeppppiiiiiii! What happen, Cheeeppppiiii?"
Here is the Airbnb link to the house we stayed in.
We would definitely stay there again. There were several separate apartments, so we got to meet some other people. The last night, a guy came to see if there was a room available. He was a regular; he came every other weekend to Tijuana for chemotherapy for his dog. Yes, he did. Evidently, he knew the Mexican way, because the transaction for a place to sleep worked in his favor. The conversation:
Hey, Jimmy, do you have a room for tonight?
No, there are no rooms.
Huh.
.
.
.
So, there are no rooms?
No rooms.
A bed?
No beds.
Huh.
{Wait ten minutes}
No beds. Huh.
Then Jimmy said, "You can have my bed."
He gave the kid his bed, which is a mattress in a van in the garage, and didn't even charge him for it. I don't know where Jimmy slept between the time we all went to bed after midnight and the time the guy left at 3 am to get across the border quickly, but Jimmy was full of pure, unbridled generosity.
The chemo dog guy and Jimmy walked with us to the beach for our last supper. I was glad the chemo guy was there (I can't remember his name) because he pointed out a restaurant. I said, "That looks a little pricey. I was thinking a taco stand." The guy opened the menu and pointed to the bottom of the last column. Tacos, 75 cents. Some of the dishes were expensive, but for those in the know, you could dine like kings for pesos. The restaurant had a big patio overlooking the ocean, shaped like a pirate ship. We felt like millionaires ordering food. "We'll take 9 fish tacos, 9 shrimp tacos, a pitcher of horchata, 2 plates of fries..." At which point, Jimmy chimed in, "una cerveza..." (Even though he'd brought a small bottle of champagne with him.)
The whole bill was $29. For nine people at a nice beachfront restaurant. We couldn't even finish all the tacos, they were so big.
During our after-dinner beach stroll, Freestone saw this mess and quipped, "Safety first!" Part of me loved that nobody was alarmed by this hazard.
Jimmy joked that he was going across the wall.What would it be like to live with a wall in your face? A wall you can't cross because of the economic disparities between two countries. Nobody should ever forget that they did nothing to deserve the privilege of being on the north side of this wall, and nothing to deserve the restrictions of being on the south side. Accidents of birth.
Our last Mexican evening was drenched in sunlight, happiness and warmth.
Jimmy was playful and happy. He threw several of us in the ocean. Otherwise, we would have sat there being boring. Jimmy knew how to play!
Seaweed jump rope.
The others went back to the house with Jimmy, and Araceli and I watched the sunset. Girls and guys in fancy formalwear strolled by. Families bought elotes and churros. Children giggled and couples embraced. When we're in Imperial Beach, we always make it a point to watch the magnificent sunsets. Araceli commented, it looks just like and Imperial Beach sunset.
Of course it did; we were only four miles south.
Camilo was proud of his motorcycle, and he really wanted to take me for a spin. Jimmy pushed him out of the courtyard and we went on the world's most careful pass around the block. We barely had enough momentum to make it over the lip of a pothole, so it was a good speed for a scaredy cat in a foreign country without a helmet.
Jimmy had nicknames for everyone. He caught Ruby one night concentrating on trying to understand the Spanish conversation. He asked her why she was so serious, and called her "La Seria" from then on. He'd call out, "La Seeeeeria! Que pasa!" His nickname for Freestone was Chepi. I've looked at a bunch of lists of common Mexican nicknames, and I can't find Chepi anywhere, so maybe Jimmy made it up when he couldn't pronounce Freestone. In France a couple of years ago, the Turkish crepe guys called Freestone "Christophe." Nodoby can say "Freestone!" Ha ha. So Chepi it was. Or more specifically, "Cheeeeeeppppiiiiiii! What happen, Cheeeppppiiii?"
Here is the Airbnb link to the house we stayed in.
We would definitely stay there again. There were several separate apartments, so we got to meet some other people. The last night, a guy came to see if there was a room available. He was a regular; he came every other weekend to Tijuana for chemotherapy for his dog. Yes, he did. Evidently, he knew the Mexican way, because the transaction for a place to sleep worked in his favor. The conversation:
Hey, Jimmy, do you have a room for tonight?
No, there are no rooms.
Huh.
.
.
.
So, there are no rooms?
No rooms.
A bed?
No beds.
Huh.
{Wait ten minutes}
No beds. Huh.
Then Jimmy said, "You can have my bed."
He gave the kid his bed, which is a mattress in a van in the garage, and didn't even charge him for it. I don't know where Jimmy slept between the time we all went to bed after midnight and the time the guy left at 3 am to get across the border quickly, but Jimmy was full of pure, unbridled generosity.
The chemo dog guy and Jimmy walked with us to the beach for our last supper. I was glad the chemo guy was there (I can't remember his name) because he pointed out a restaurant. I said, "That looks a little pricey. I was thinking a taco stand." The guy opened the menu and pointed to the bottom of the last column. Tacos, 75 cents. Some of the dishes were expensive, but for those in the know, you could dine like kings for pesos. The restaurant had a big patio overlooking the ocean, shaped like a pirate ship. We felt like millionaires ordering food. "We'll take 9 fish tacos, 9 shrimp tacos, a pitcher of horchata, 2 plates of fries..." At which point, Jimmy chimed in, "una cerveza..." (Even though he'd brought a small bottle of champagne with him.)
The whole bill was $29. For nine people at a nice beachfront restaurant. We couldn't even finish all the tacos, they were so big.
During our after-dinner beach stroll, Freestone saw this mess and quipped, "Safety first!" Part of me loved that nobody was alarmed by this hazard.
Jimmy joked that he was going across the wall.What would it be like to live with a wall in your face? A wall you can't cross because of the economic disparities between two countries. Nobody should ever forget that they did nothing to deserve the privilege of being on the north side of this wall, and nothing to deserve the restrictions of being on the south side. Accidents of birth.
Our last Mexican evening was drenched in sunlight, happiness and warmth.
Jimmy was playful and happy. He threw several of us in the ocean. Otherwise, we would have sat there being boring. Jimmy knew how to play!
Seaweed jump rope.
The others went back to the house with Jimmy, and Araceli and I watched the sunset. Girls and guys in fancy formalwear strolled by. Families bought elotes and churros. Children giggled and couples embraced. When we're in Imperial Beach, we always make it a point to watch the magnificent sunsets. Araceli commented, it looks just like and Imperial Beach sunset.
Of course it did; we were only four miles south.
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