Originally published in Santa Cruz Waves Magazine.
Maybe I should bring a gun. The thought crashed through my mind without warning, dropping uncomfortably into the pit of my stomach. I glanced at my blue backpack and the fake yellow daisy tied to its strap. The idea of packing a gun into it, or more importantly, pulling a gun out of it, seemed ludicrous.
A week prior to my departure on the ferry from Mazatlan, Shannon and I made plans to meet at a Ley grocery store in Southern Baja and travel back to California together. The ferry was scheduled to arrive in La Paz at 9:00am. From there, I could catch a morning bus leaving at 9:30am, or alternatively, an afternoon bus at 1:00pm. We figured that the four-hour bus trip would put me at the store by 5:00pm at the latest. I neglected to account for the fact that I was dealing with Mexico time. When the ferry finally pulled into the dock at 12:30pm, three and a half hours late, I was concerned that I might miss the afternoon bus.
After I had recovered sufficiently from the most recent food poisoning debacle, I resumed heading north, stopping briefly in San Blas before continuing on to Mazatlan, where I planned to take the ferry to Baja in a few days time. With a plentiful selection of waves to choose from, and greater exposure to the south, I hoped I would find enough surf to tide me over until I reached Baja.
From Pascuales, I took a bus to Tecoman, and another bus to Manzanillo. Then a seven-hour bus ride to Puerto Vallarta. I arrived after midnight and set up camp on the floor of the incinerating bus station. To pass the time, I sat down at one of the station’s computers to check my email and inserted a 10 peso coin into the slot. The computer came to life, but there was no internet, which meant it was basically useless. I complained to the cashier at the adjacent store, who informed me that it was not her problem and refused to refund my money. So I complained to the bus line attendants and security guard, who directed me back to the cashier in the store. Though I had spent less than $1 USD, it was the principle that infuriated me. I pulled out my pocketknife, cut the zip ties holding the wires of the computer components together, and tore out the mouse. Holding it up like a trophy, I waved it mockingly at the cashier. She shrugged.