Doña

Pococito de Sur from Panama Red on Vimeo.

It has been a few days since I returned from a long weekend in Mexico with 1/4 of the Kiwi Hippies. I already miss her like crazy.   It's hard to describe how different it is just by crossing the boarder and driving thirty miles south.  People are a lot more friendlier, their is much more space, less development, barking dogs and this browness to the land that reminds me of the old west.  Mexico is and will always be the wild, wild west in my opinion.  That sense of security and safety that we have in The States, whether it is real or not, does not exist in Mexico.  It's just you, your buds and whatever you have in the back of your car. 

But I've always enjoyed that sense of being "un-secure".  Maybe I'm just an insecure person and my brain is mapped out to feel comfortable in those types of spaces.  Or maybe I just like looking over the edge and jumping just for the thrill to feel alive.  Maybe it goes back to moving around a lot as a child.  But security, for all it's shackles and freedom, doesn't bode well with me.  And that's why I love Mexico. There is an adventure after every toll plaza. 

Take my favorite cafeteria in the Rosaritio region.  I don't know it's real name, but the name we gave it was "Doña's".  It's half restaurant, half convenient store in the back of her home.  It only sits about 8 people max.  And it has steel bars around each window and door.   Tattered on her walls and windows are stickers from all over the world.  People leaving their mark, wanting to be remembered.  Or maybe it's a way Doña can remember them.  

 

When I sit down at Doña's (that is what we call the chef, out of respect and love) and she get's behind the counter and on her stove, she treats me like her grandson and feeds me like a son.  Her husband catches fresh fish everyday which she fries and puts on a homemade tortilla with fresh vegetables, salsa and if your lucky, homemade ceviche on the house.  She doesn't speak English, but she'll talk to you as if you understand every bit of Spanish that flies out of her beautiful soul.  And all of her ingredients, vegetables, her fresh fish and meat is stored in a  refrigerator to the left of her kitchen in tupperware, just like my mother and grandmother did.  I enjoy watching her from behind the bar, in her element, cooking for all her 'sons'.  Her nest will never go empty.  And the small T.V. in the right hand corner with the Mexican soap operas are a plus.  It never gets old watching a Padre get down with a hot chick. 

There is nothing like a carne asada taco in Mexico.  If you know me, you know that I love my Mission style carne asada burrito or taco in San Francisco.  I by far think that the Mission style carne asada cannot be out done, especially at Pancho Villa's Taqueria (I know that place turned hipster, but it was a damn good lunch spot for the ten plus years when I was a customer) & that taco truck on 22nd and Van Ness.   But once you cross the boarder, and you see that dark, burnt grill being heated by real wood & unfueled charcoal, you know it's going to be good.  Panama Red and I hit a really good taco stand up during our night out in Tijuana.  Russ and Ricky from Robert's were our chaperones and they didn't let us down.  That spot made tacos extra special, with marinated meat and super tasty sauce.  If either of us got kidnapped or banged over the head with a steel pipe that night, eating at that taco stand would have been the best last meal.  But than again, El Swayze makes the best carne asada tacos in National City.  But his family's roots are in T.J.  So sorry bro, your tacos are counted as south of the border too.  

And there is nothing like experiencing the sun in Mexico.  It always shines a little brighter and sings a little louder.  I know that it's strange for me to say that the sun has a voice, but it does to me.  I can hear it sing everyday.  And in Mexico, maybe because the vibe is more laid back and time is a bit slower (folks call that Mexican time), our internal ears can hear more of what's around us that counts.  Panama Red enjoyed the sun in the picture above as it sang it's last tune of the day.  We were practically the last one's out, surfing the point, three buddies that include ol' Don Corleone, carving three to four feet waves as the sun fell off the deep end of the horizon.  Memories para siempre.  

The Bearded Bandito came out on this trip.  He fit in right away.  It was an anonymous decision when we took the vote to induct him into the infamous Kiwi Hippies.  Good man.  Very good man.  He will only make our crew better.  

One real Kiwi (Ricky) with a transplant Kiwi.

One rule that I have learned over the last eight months of surfing and traveling through Mexico solo is this:  Never pay before, always pay after.  This is just the Mexican way of keeping a business honest.  If someone makes you pay first, than something is off.  Run.  Don't look back.  And make sure you still have your wallet. 

ándale from Kookingitup on Vimeo.

Mexico, most of the time, is honest.  She doesn't beat around the bush and try and be your best friend when she actually wants to be the complete opposite.  She's not two faced, She is who she is and stands by it.  She loves the sun, let's stray dogs wonder her hills and has military check points every fifty miles.  She get's lonely when no one visits because the blood on the streets out weigh the salsa verde in her taqureias.  She is the Doña just across the San Ysidro who will offer you a good, handcrafted meal and a simple bed.  She's organized in her own way and unwilling to compromise her core values.  Yeah, Mexico isn't all sun, good vibes and waves.  She has her faults like The States, it's just that her faults aren't hidden or ignored.  She let's you know where she stands and where you stand.  And that is what I love about her.