Town Again

We’d spent a lovely three weeks in our reclusive retreat. I’d wallowed in an orgy of creative energies, both with my shells and my pen. Marcia, in a similar fashion, worked at her mastering our newest technological gadgetry; her scanning and reprinting my “Agua Verde Chronicles.” (Something, that after my re-reading, I’ll now start to rework...get it ready for this Web site.)

We’d a stayed in this lovely seclusion longer if we weren’t running out of essential provisions. Our veggie martinis were less and less filled with goodies. There came a day we ran out of olives! Our drinking water supply, too, was getting quite low.

Because a morning high-tide wouldn’t permit us driving out early from our camp, I’d decided to move pickup over to Restaurante San Cosme, park it there, walk back. So far this year we’ve had to walk out every go-to-town morning. Good early A.M. exercise. No big deal.

I drive the rancho road till I get to Saul’s “false” parcel, that Scorched-Earth, zone of destruction. I go through this sad looking plot's north gate, which was down and pulled to the side. I’m not anticipating confrontation at opposite side gate-way but as I pull to it I can’t help but detect that it’s locked! Right away I suffered an attitude change. Naturally, I stopped, got out, walked up and examined. Shit. I tried unhooking top and bottom wire, checking to see if there was enough slack in locked chain to lay gate down so Marcia’s truck could roll over it. Had I of been driving my own truck I’d never backed away from that approach.

At Trojillo’s work camp, a miserable mess of a thing, I spotted human form in motion. It was easily within hollering range so I hollered for the “portero” with key. One guy, him seeming pretty much a mope, he stumbles towards me some, then hollered back that he hadn’t one. This, immediately, had effect of infuriating me further. I spun round and headed directly for my tool box in back of pickup. From it I grabbed cutters that would definitely solve that immediate problem. As I advanced upon my target this worker yells at me to wait. He runs in the assemblage to tarps and metal framing that’s their “roughing it on the Baja” quarters; comes back out quickly jangling an assortment of keys.

Being somewhat legitimate (forget the fact that his parcel is illegit and he’s on Historic Carrizalito, which we claim), the big gorilla could lock that gate - providing he has someone right there, on site, able to open it promptly upon request. None of the keys tried by this gentleman fit that lock. He backed away from me stating that one of the others there must have the right one. He pointed off toward hot pool beach, him telling me that soon this other would be right back.

“Right back!” I barked out at this essentially innocent victim. In the middle of shouting that if that gate was locked there had to be someone right there! And at all times! he points to two bodies coming over close by rise. And then he hollers to lead gent that that key was needed!

This lead gent doesn’t quicken his pace in any detectable fashion. He’s got the slow, lazy pace of someone half drunk, which he normally is; full drunk whenever he gets his hands on enough. For years already I witnessed his derelict act. “I’m in a hurry!” I throw out angrily, him keepin’ that pace...till he’s back behind some of that canvas, and then comin’ back out with right key. On approach he points down into small arroyo and states that “there” another different gate was unlocked.

Saul had had his work force construct a rough path that was diversion of this historic roadway, this without any authority or asking anyone if they were for or against this. “No,” I came on, “this is the historic road and your boss has not got the power to change it, to block it off! If you lock this historic road gate, you had better be here with the key. The next time this happens, if you’re not right here, I’m going to tear down that gate!” And I did mean it, too.

That gate gets opened...I pull through and over that then exposed pass...away from there.

I got asked at Restaurante about locked gate; this by some Americans who’d, by that, gotten confused. They were used to the old “free passage” roadway, saw the lock and turned around. Hardly could they believe it. Everything they’d seen over there had left them very sad.

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So when we get to Roberto’s the next mid morning, besides all the other stuff I’ve got him working on, I throw this gate problem in. Just as I’m nearly through this, here comes our Sr. Yee, him in his almost always serious manner, through the glass sliding door. I was glad to bump into him right there. Two birds with a stone.

Right away I start questioning Tony as to what’s happening in regards to the proper authorities coming down on our antagonist. About a week before, by cell phone, Roberto told me that “PROFEPA,” the environmental agency here, had got the go ahead from LaPaz to jump on this clown.

Marcia and I, rather then spreading rumor of emanate attack, took position of “just wait and see”; seeing being believing, ya know.

Tony assures me that things are definitely moving in our preferred direction. He’d talked to the “Marine Park” people, and they definitely were going to go on the attack. I didn’t press him for any firm date....

Roberto cuts in here and starts telling our lawyer what I’d just related to him about this latest gate incident. I like listening to Roberto’s rapid-fire Spanish when I know just what he’s talking about. It’s been really good for my getting-better grasp of this tongue. Roberto finishes by asking Tony what remedy could be best applied to this thing?

In a thoughtful manner, Tony mulls this around for a moment, then states, “El Presidante,” which, too, comes out of Roberto’s lips at about same time.

Immediately I said that I agreed that a meeting with the Presidante De Municipal was a very good idea! I’d been contemplating just such a meeting with the local political leadership, this mostly in regards to the value to Loreto of keeping this major stretch of coastline, from Carrizalito to Ensenada Blanca, an undeveloped zone. Certainly I was going to use Saul as harbinger of things to come (the best bad example I could possibly find)...if Ejido San Jose De La Noria got their way, kiss a good part of the eco tourism that Loreto’s trying to attract “good-bye”. Plus, sound eco credentials for the Marine Reserve, should the shorelines cradling this be allowed to get trashed, would be very difficult to claim. The winner of the past Febuary’s Presidante De Municipal race campaigned on a platform which rested on a pledge to work towards an increase in eco-tourism. I certainly wanted to talk to him about that. So. Yes! I was all for going that direction...if Roberto and Tony, sometime in near future, could arrange such a thing.

Roberto literally snaps up his cordless phone, punches in the right numbers, announces himself so ultra politely when answered, quickly questions as to possibility of hole in El Presidante’s busy schedule, him making assurance that this matter will only chew up just a very few moments, then looks right at me and asks if 1 P.M. was all right?

I’m not sure but I think I responded, “Ya mean, today?” I know, at least, that that’s what I was thinking.

“Yes! Today!” Roberto shoots me back, and only after moments considering of this (shoot! us practicing “Is Riders” being as unscheduled as we try to be), both Marcia and I stated, “Heck, yes!” We could certainly fit it in.

So that's the way things laid. We'd scamper around on our essential few errands, meet up with Roberto at Municipal Palace at 1 P.M. sharp. Just a little bit, we all joked about 1 P.M. sharp there in Loreto, Mexico.

We're there ten minutes early. We scout the place out (it's not all that unfamiliar to us), while at same time scouting for either Sr. Yee or Roberto. Neither of us expecting to see either of them there, early, like us. Almost exactly to the moment, Marcia spots Roberto, on a trot, right to us there where we stood outside front door in cool breeze and shade. Through the lower building and up the long flight of stairs then, we followed our guide.

Roberto greets all there behind long reception counter in a very familiar, first or nick-name fashion. There was no way anyone was going to miss the fact that we were there, and that we'd be patiently waiting. Obvious to me right off was that it looked like there were others there who seemed to be waiting, ahead of us. I'd a been mildly surprised if we'd have hit a clean opening precisely on time. This outer office/waiting room was big, high ceilinged and filled with desks of outer-office personnel. There was the hustle and bustle of events there at the center of things. I didn't think a wait there would be in the least bit boring. Not for me...anyway.

We get comfortable, Roberto and Marcia taking seats, me standing. That damn sciatic nerve, all that sitting in that pickup already, I didn't even want to think about that positioning. I'd been assuming that we were going in to talk with the newly elected Presidante. I saw faces there from the old administration, though, and this got me questioning Roberto.

No. We were going in to see the departing one. May 1st, that's when things switched. Right away this blows the song-and-dance routine that I'd been rehearsing, over and over and in Spanish, there in my head. Shucks. I suffered minor deflation. Leaving-power administrations, in my admittedly limited experiential bank, I'd found to be less than effective.

This led me into questioning as to what the personnel rollover there would be like when this power shift indeed did occur. Roberto gave me a good run down on how an out-going presidante can protect key people around him, mostly for insulation purposes. A shift in job description brought these favored ones into a unionized category. Because that union was so powerful, these people became essentially unfireable. He indicated there were those of that stripe in that hub of seeming official activity right there before us. "See that one over there," Roberto directs my attention over to this relatively attractive woman's desk, her seemingly busy behind computer. "She just plays around on the Internet all day. Almost nothing more." He indicated other's there engrossed behind their machines that he felt were dead weight, also. Marcia, this whole time Roberto's giving me the low down on the internal workings of municipal machine there, is keepin herself well entertained in conversation with a Mexican gent who sat down beside her. I couldn't help overhear this very active jabbering, all in Spanish, which she'll do now just about anywhere. Just before we finally did get signaled into Presidante's inner office, the electricity went off. You should have heard the collective groan.

O.K. We're finally, maybe 45 minutes of time well spent, later, ushered inside. Roberto'd told me that guy we're going in to see goes by name of Tony, also. (Our Tony was tied up in court.) Though we'd never been introduced to this Tony we immediately recognize one another. He's seen my mug numerous times over the years, me his, likewise. I admitted to having been hanging around in the area for quite a string of years by then. Loreto's a small town. As I'd expected, Roberto was completely comfortable in this inner-office routine.

The Presidante asks about problem we've come in with. Roberto lets me lead out with my best effort...gives me time to run on for a while, but then, as I've become accustom, he takes over and at more efficient speed.

Those Agua Verde parcels. Yes. The Presidante's well aware that, just like those of the Loreto ejido, they're simply not legitimate. Problems, problems. Roberto and him share an exchange about the tremendous problems that have now erupted in the Juncalito area. What a mess! A disaster.

This Tony doesn't look like he's not yet 45. He has short cropped dark hair and sports a starting-to-gray beard that's kept quite similar to mine. He's of medium build and comes off like on the energetic, almost hyper side. He's used to rapid fire action of phone bank that rests within his right hand's easy grasp. He grabs one receiver while we're talking and gives an order for so and so to be sent right in there. Roberto, by now, has gone through explanation of the "Historic Carrizalito" agreement the ejido made, the switches on the ejido Plano, etc.

So and so turns out to be one of the Municipal engineers who'd been sent out to check on this Carrizalito squabble last year. He was familiar with the rancho, knew where it belonged. In a very clean and clear manner, using his hand on the desktop, he flipped it over from where the rancho is, the reverse side being where the ejido was claiming it. He blamed it on the ejido's incorrect Plano.

Tony had habit of rapidly scribbling info down as it's coming at him. "What's the name of this rancho again?" He questions as he's reaching again for receiver.

"El Carrizalito," three of us answer in unison.

He asks other end to get him the Reforma Agraria in LaPaz. He fields several other hot calls in the short span required for desired contact. There's maybe 30 seconds then while he coos niceties to someone he's obviously well acquainted with; buddy and old pal political stuff.

He asks for information in regards to Carrizaltio, him first stating me as owner but he gets corrected quickly by Roberto and I. Dr. Ernesto Gonzalez. Our battle, Ernesto's name, is famous within this establishment there in the Capital. Tony had reached the Delagada. She didn't have to go and search up any files.

"Si!" She was aware to this fight that she flatly stated that Ernesto Gonzalez was surely going to lose! Not only could I overhear her somewhat, but Tony has the habit of repeating what he's hearing as he's wildly scribbling notes down. He'd do this on one page in like his working diary. Box in what he's just penciled, shoot an arrow over to where the next scribble started, and chase these across to opposing page,and then maybe back again.

I know the Delagada: Tough broad. I knew what her lines were, and where she stacked up in this fight. It didn't surprise me in the least when Tony said, "Plano Definitivo." And then it didn't come as shock when he repeats what he's being told that "Definitivo is Definitivo and impossible to change." There came an added, "Impossible!"

Tony didn't need to reiterate but he did. I saw Roberto visibly slump in his chair. This was first time he'd been exposed to the Delagada's positioning. Getting back to that gate situation the Presidante washes his hands of all but that. O.K. He has the power to do something about problem. He'll call the Agua Verde Mayor. He'll tell him to make sure gateway stays open. Everybody stands. Hands are shook and thanks given. End of meeting.

I can tell that Roberto's mildly bummed out as we walk back to where our pickup is parked. I tried to cheer him some by what I knew of the Delagada: Old school P.R.I. Someone who hadn't got the word that Mexicans wanted a change. I threw in that she was a looker.

At truck we shook hands, firmed up how we'd try to make contact in Cd. Constitucion, next day; Ernesto's dental office some time near noon. He promised to have the short story I'd given him that morning, "The Teacher," translated for me by then. Great. Done there in Loreto, off to Cd. Constitucion we headed....

Seems like broken record. Again we arrive at Ernesto's casa at way tailend of siesta time, him still catching zees. We're in no hurry. We flip on TV, catch some CNN while clock works way toward martini time. Ernesto hangs with that siesta way longer than usual. Just about time we're clicking glasses he bounds out from bedroom all refreshed and ready for action.

Almost immediately I queston him in regards to that 3rd Ingeniro. Had he heard anything. Yes! He had. Our Lapaz lawyer had seen the report, before it was submitted to the Tribunal Agraria, and he'd been very pleased with it. Two Ingineros to one, we were ahead in the fight.

For the first time there I told him about my treatment of Cresencio. Without hesitation he said that that was right. We didn't want ejido people driving around on our rancho. I told him, too, of the ejido cheif and Trojillo's latest Pop-Gun attack. We share a few chuckels over this. I filled him in on what we'd been up to in Loreto with the Presidante, earlier that day. He could hardly believe that the Gorrilla was still playing gate games.

I told him of the Presidante's conversation with the Delagada, about her statement of "Impossible!" He thougth this over for several momonts before shaking his head, "No," him stating that our lawyers sure didn't think that. They'd done their homework, he assured me. They'd discovered all sorts of offical irregalarities. One of these is that the number of total hectars that the ejido is now claiming is considerably greater than what they were originally granted. Much of their increase could be explained by our chopped away rancho. Beltron. He'd told the lawyers where to look. This along with other things.

He tells me that we first have to wait until after this Tribunal Agraria thing before we could go on the attack. If we won at this level, well, we had lots of options.

"And if we don't win, for-what-ever crazy reason, this fight, we could appeal," he tells us. He goes on to say that the ejdio can appeal a verdict against them, also. There were appeals and appeals of appeals that could stretch years down the road ahead of us. Sooner or later, the ejido would run out of gas on this, that's what he predicted.

He was off to his practically non-existant dental practice. Our glasses drained to last drops, we headed for heart of town to down a taco meal at 24-Hour Taco Stand. We'd spend the night there at Ernesto's casa.

By noon the next day we've cleaned up all needing done there. Roberto had shown with translation just like he'd said he would. He'd liked it, he said, giving me a thumbs up. His wife, too, had read it and she'd liked it a lot. He's in a hurry but in the brief chat we share he tells me he's over the let-down of the day before. "I didn't tell you yesterday," he comes on, "but Tony, the Presendante, used to work in the Reforma Agraria. He'd been one of "them," wore the same spots.

It's mid afternoon and we're back at San Cosme. We stop and off load things Guadalupe had requested we bring back for her. Tide's out and we easily cross back towards rancho. We get to Trojillo's gate and again it's locked. Marcia leans on horn. I get out and holler but it seems there's no one around. With my hammer then I pull fence staples holding locked chain. Eaisly problem is sloved. At other sides gateway that assemblage of wire and posts laid in roadway. "Just run over the damn thing I say ta my lady." Crunch! Snap! That's what she did.

Email: david@dondavidonbaja.com