Sounds of the City

Sounds of the City
As I child, I grew up in rural America, just about as rural as one can get. Still today cell phone service is almost nonexistent, and internet is found only at the fire station. There was lots of open space and a very low population density, like 250 people in our entire county. The cattle, horses, and oil rigs still vastly outnumber the people. Hi way 16 is listed as paved on all the maps but the locals know better, they also know there are no bridges over the Cannonball and you never cross the Cannonball after a rain. There was no high school or hospital in our county, no golden arches and very few paved roads. Nights were dark without the ambient light of cities and cars, only the moon depending on the phase and the stars to shed light. And there was quiet, the absence of sound, which has been so lacking in my life these last few months. The older I get, the further away from this place life has taken me. I was raised and attended college in North Dakota. I spent most of my adult life and raised my children in Montana and then moved to Washington to prepare for the next adventure. At first when we moved to Washington we were quite taken by Seattle, it was so vibrant and chaotic and so different from where we came from. In Montana and North Dakota, I was surrounded by families with lots of Scandinavian genes in their heritage, lots of blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin. In Seattle there are people of every nationality and skin tone you could imagine. Hundreds of different languages are spoken there. Millions of people live, work, and drive there, everyone rushing, rushing but all too often going nowhere sitting in traffic, sitting in meetings, sitting in coffee shops glued to their cell phone. I loved Seattle and hated it at the same time. It was so alive and exciting, but at the same time it was exhausting and overwhelming. It turned out that is was OK to visit but when we moved out there, I knew I would never be able to live there. We chose to live out on the Olympic Peninsula. Living out on the peninsula while we transitioned to boat life had a safe rural feel that could easily be interrupted with visits to Seattle. I had wanted the experience of living in a city but knew in my heart that I would never survive in that environment so it was a nice compromise. We spent 5 years learning about life aboard a boat, learning to sail, and learning how to live together in a small space. The day came though when we needed to take the next step. We had met so many in marinas who prepare each year but invariably something comes up and they never seem to manage to cut the dock line and the years march slowly by, life happens and soon they simply aren’t able. They spend less time on the boat and slowly it falls into disrepair as do their dreams. I did not want to be that couple. I wanted to at least try, if it didn’t work out or if I hated it at least I knew that I did have the courage to cut the lines and imagine the possibilities. It was our turn to choose between cutting the lines or remaining a dock princess. We took that leap.
We sailed down the Straits of Juan de Fuco, out into the Pacific Ocean and away from the quiet idyllic maritime villages that dot the PNW. As we continued down the coast we were leaving the peace and quiet of village and marina life behind and moving towards some of the largest metropolitan areas in the United States. We harbor hopped down the Pacific Coast and stayed a few days here and there but when we got to San Diego there were some circumstances that caused us to stay a bit longer. San Diego was good to us. We saw one of the most stunning sunrises I have ever seen with colors I have only seen on a paint pallet. The sunsets were equally breathtaking. We spent time with friends and made new friends. Our new friends Gene and Kathy are on the lovely Tabula Rasa and they share a dream similar to ours. We started this adventure on our own and while I am fine with solitude, I had become lonely. I missed the girls and I missed my friends. It has been so nice to find someone to share our experiences with. People who understand the highs and lows of boat life and do know what 25-foot seas and 41knot winds feel like in a small boat. Dave and I explored all the different districts of the city. By far our favorite was Little Italy, it had a community feel to it rather than a destination vibe and the Farmers Market was not to be missed. We enjoyed Balboa Park, Sea Port Village, and the Gas Lamp District but at the end of the day we came back to Little Italy time and again. San Diego is home to huge military installations and the power of the US military surrounded us. It was also my first exposure to the desert with the huge array of cactus and succulents. At first it was so exciting, these big cities literally hum day and night. There is an energy that vibrates out from them that is palpable, you can feel it all around you. I had always thought of that energy as progress or prosperity, but having spent the last 3 months immersed in it, I am not so sure. By the time we left, it inspired disappointment and sadness. It is so strange to me how you can be surrounded by millions of people and feel so alone. Cities are unforgiving, and they are so loud and noisy. There is the hum of traffic 24/7, airplanes, sirens, jackhammers, horns, bells, trains, dogs barking, people talking, music playing, tires screeching, and helicopters thumping. We were anchored very near the airport. The San Diego airport manages 560 planes landing or taking off each day, imagine living across the street from that which we did for nearly 2 months. My senses were assaulted, in addition to the sounds, there were smells good and bad; food cooking, grease, garlic and parmesan (we spent a lot of time in Little Italy) food rotting, urine from dogs and people, body odor, perfumes, smoke, incense, diesel, burning rubber, exhaust and seaweed. There were visual pollution as well bright lights, dim lights, flashing lights, neon lights, street lights and lots of grey. Dave always complained of the pervasive brown in Montana but in the cities for me it is the grey. Everything is paved over or built up…cement and glass everywhere you look. As I wandered the streets of San Diego, I was reminded of the kitten in Disney’s Oliver and Company when he was experiencing all of this and then Billy Joel softens the sharp edges of the city noise by putting it all to music. I tried to channel Billy Joel and turn my sensory overload into something beautiful or even tolerable but never seemed to succeed. The novelty of the city soon wore off and gradually became a source of agitation for me. Something else was happening that was affecting my perception of life around me. In Port Townsend, WA they live by the maritime trades, they understand liveaboards and accept their way of life. In Southern California they do not. People who live aboard their boats are perceived as homeless. I was startled when we were approached and invited to a Thanksgiving meal for the homeless. I don’t perceive myself as homeless and was shocked when it sunk in that there are people who do perceive me as being homeless. I am still trying to wrap my head around this new label that some in society have tagged me with. It doesn’t fit well and is very challenging after having spent decades wearing the label of a professional and now how easily society has cloaked me with the homeless label. We have had multiple encounters with the floating homeless. These are people who, in an effort to get off the street, salvage a boat that has been abandoned, move aboard and live on a boat that in many cases can’t even move under its own power. The floating homeless in San Diego are quite noticeable and if you are not in a marina or just passing through then I guess most people assume you are part of that group. We do not fall into that category; our Magic Dragon is beautiful and well maintained and has all the comforts of my land based home except for an abundance of square footage floor space. The homeless population in San Diego is huge and in our daily ventures into the city, we had to negotiate through large numbers of people who were truly homeless. Why does this matter in a sailing blog? It matters because earlier I spoke of progress and prosperity and it seems like as the size of the city increases and becomes more prosperous there are some many that get trampled and thrown aside all in the name of progress. The daily local news is peppered with shootings and killings, just like in Seattle. A barrel was recovered in the bay with a body stuffed inside and since San Diego is a border town there is human trafficking. Prior to my San Diego experience, human trafficking was something that I was aware of but not a concept that I readily grasped. It became very real when I heard the call go out to the Coast Guard, which we were anchored next to, about bodies in the water. I had thought it was surfers caught in a rip tide or tourists trapped by a tide change. I learned later that a “Coyote”, a trafficker, had given 6 people a single boogie board to share, dropped them in the water and told them they were close enough to swim. Only one person survived. In the 3 months that we spent in southern California I became very disillusioned with the trappings of progress. It seemed like the bigger the city, the wider the chasm between those that enjoy the benefits of progress and those that are paved over by it. In the end I couldn’t wait to leave.
Now here we are in Ensenada. We checked into our first foreign nation. Thank goodness for the staff at Baja Naval. She filled out all our paperwork and made all the necessary copies. We only had to appear at the various offices in the order she outlined for us and hand over the paperwork in the order she stacked it. We did some exploring, had to find a bank, a laundromat, a Walmart (yes it pains me greatly to say that, but we were desperate to establish some sort of communication and were hoping that our Walmart phones could be fit with a Mexican sim card) food and grocery stores. The first street up from the marina is clearly controlled or managed by the cruise ship lines. The streets beyond seemed more authentic and less touristy. The poverty is evident, but everyone seemed busy and no one was begging. The eateries were amazing. There were some that were able to seat large amounts of people but for the most part they were little shacks with maybe one or two tables and a counter that seated 4or 5. The most that we paid for a meal was $14 which included drinks. The laundromat was a hoot. The cooler for the restaurant next door was in the front just inside the door. There was a couch that had seen way better days and I really didn’t want to sit on it, but someone gave up their spot for me and I didn’t want to be rude. The cats and dogs strolled through. The building itself looked like it was about to fall at any minute or start on fire with cords running here and there but everyone was friendly, and the manager spoke excellent English. The grocery store was mind boggling. The fresh produce was without waxes or chemicals. The size of most of the fruits was much smaller than one might see at an Albertson’s. The fruit in the states now reminds me of some steroid laden super fruit compared to what I bought. The lemons I bought were about the size of a ping pong ball or a large walnut, but the flavor is so intense. That is what I notice the most about the fruits and vegetables here. The colors are much flatter, the size smaller and the flavor far more intense. The biggest shock though was the meat department. Most of the time when I walk into a grocery store, I can smell the meat department. It is a nauseating smell to me but there was no smell when we walked in. I almost thought there wasn’t a meat department until we stumbled across it. Nothing prepackaged, nothing behind glass, just piles of different cuts of meat in bins. Even the chicken, chicken parts and pieces tossed into a big bin and you grab the cuts that you want. No odor, no flies, and minimal refrigeration. It was crazy, I couldn’t bring myself to buy chicken, it is going to take some deprograming before that is going to happen. It seems ironic that in the US we have all these cleaners and antibacterial agents and chemicals that we are constantly wiping ourselves and everything around us down with. The bad stuff is being forced to mutate while our bodies and immune system is being exposed to less. It seems like our way of doing things is making the bad stuff stronger while weakening our immune systems. Unintended consequences and the brewing of a perfect storm it would seem. I am sure to come back to this topic am still blown away by the way meat is displayed and am wondering if my immune system will be able to adjust.
Only 60 miles away from San Diego which bills itself as the 8th largest city in the US but it could be 1000 miles away for how different life is here. I feel like I can breathe again. I sense moments of peace, there is much less light. People interact with each other and not their phones. There is laughter and music. Every night strolling along the boardwalk are couples walking hand in hand without phones, young families with children coming down to watch the fountain display again without phones. Yes, there is poverty, yes, the buildings are not grand, there is not a level sidewalk in the city, but the people are friendly, the pace is slow, and the food and service are amazing. You might be able to measure Southern California’s wealth with dollar signs, but I am not so sure they are rich in the things that really matter. I am definitely looking forward to exploring more of Mexico, it’s people, the culture and all that it has to offer.