Northbound
Tuesday, January 2, 2002 and time to head north. Kirk and Nabor tie the duffel bags, a milk-crate of spare gas and car tools, and a green cooler with wheels onto the top of the car, while I fill the birdbath and hummingbird feeders, cover the furniture, turn off the hot water heater, and lock all the doors. Kirk backs the car out onto Calle Misioneros and I lock the gates behind us. First stop is breakfast at Cafe Olé which is hearty and fast. At 8:30 when the bank opens, I run across the plaza to Bancomer to exchange dollars for pesos for the trip north. We will need cash on the road for food for six and for gas. The dogs' food is already packed in the car. By day after tomorrow as we get closer to the border we should be able to switch to plastic - VISA. Today's rate is 9.1 to the dollar, up from 8.9 last week. Our last stop is to say goodbye to 'Tía Annie y Juan Foster' on our way out of town. It is here under date palms planted by Jesuits more than a century ago, that we make the final adjustments to the interior of the car for the trip north. Marisol surprises us all when, of her own accord, she chooses to ride in the way-back with Dewey, the very dog she is afraid of. Is this because she is the youngest? The smallest? We will never know. Luis, Delia and Nabor sit in the back seat, shoulder to broad shoulder, and our 22-pound namesake street dog, Loreto, sits on a pillow on my lap in the front. Kirk drives. Nabor tells us he is wearing Tío Don's shoes. Tía Annie gave them to him when Don died, and they are very special. Now Don's shoes are going north on Nabor's feet.

Inside the car it is mostly quiet this morning, and everyone is settled comfortably. The terrain is familiar to all but Luis. Nabor, Delia and Marisol have been as far as Mulege twice before when she had her hearing tested at an Aeromedicos clinic. Luis went to Constitution once. Nabor has been to La Paz four times in his 39 years of life, always to go to the hospital. This year he had an emergency appendectomy in La Paz.

As we curve through the mountains north of Loreto, Nabor speaks. He tells us we saved his life. Kirk and I are puzzled until he explains: Last December (a year ago this week in fact) we gave Nabor 7000 pesos ($750 U.S.) when we left our annual camping trip to San Gregorio. We never asked how he used the money, but now we are told. He used the pesos to buy two years of health insurance for his family. Insurance costs 3500 pesos per year to cover himself, Delia and Marisol. Luis cannot be covered under the same policy because, at age 18, he is too old. Nabor said if he hadn't had insurance he wouldn't have gone to the hospital in La Paz when his appendix attack occurred. He would have suffered the pain. The doctors told him his appendix would have ruptured and he would have died. So that is how we saved his life. Later Kirk and I discuss the fact that it was Nabor who made the decision to buy insurance, rather than spend the money on extravagances.

In the car, Luis holds up his hand and shows us a tumor on his palm which has appeared over the last year and a half. It is about the size of a grape, all white, and hard. He hasn't gone to the doctor because he doesn't have insurance and he knows it will require an operation. Much to our surprise, we are told that in Baja there is no public health program, no free hospitals or doctors.

As we approach our first of several military checkpoints, Marisol shoots and imaginary pistol and wants to know what is wrong ahead. Pulling up to our first (U.S. funded) Military checkpoint, Dewey viciously attacks the soldiers through the car window and we are waived through. Everyone in the car laughs. The Higueras think it is pretty fine to be on the good side of a brave dog. I notice most of the young men are probably from mainland Mexico. They have finer features and darker skin than Bajaeños. A different gene pool.

As we pass the turn-off to San Nicolás on our right, Nabor tells us his patrón once sent him and a few others to San Nicolás to fish in the Sea of Cortéz. In two weeks they caught very little and had to eat most of what they caught. Their patrón was mad the trip wasn't profitable, and he didn't pay them. Every time Nabor speaks, he repeats what he has said in gestures to Marisol.

As we pass Punta Arena, Nabor tells us he knows someone who once fished at Punta Arena.
Next Chapter: Mulege