Against the Wind Chapter 5

Chapter 5
A lot could be said about the city of Monterrey and Old Mexico as well. The journey I have embarked on has no itinerary, no special place to be or certain time to be there. A few days ago if someone had said I would be in the interior of Mexico today, I would not have believed them. That is the nature of the beast, this beast that is leading me now. I feel confident that when the time comes and the urge to keep moving relents, I will know it.
Come with me now as we re-visit the late sixties and early seventies. The hippie movement is pretty much framed in that slice of time. If you weren't around then perhaps too young to remember, surely you have known someone that was. There were no formal “changing of the guard” so to speak, when the “beat” generation, faded away, to the focus on a different generation. Peace and Love were the ideals we all sought after, dreaming mostly, of a Utopia that would usher in the new millennium.
The failure of the hippie movement was doomed from the beginning as there was no real foundation for it. Only a temporary consensus that everyone should just chill out and be happy. How do you describe happy? A good stash of primo weed and bota bag of good wine would be the ticket to the show. Add the constant sound of music of the day and it seemed to keep the world turning.
The two day trip up into the mountains was uneventful other than the punishing heat and sand. Speaking of punishing, I had never witnessed the catholic form of penance like it was practiced in this country. Along the side of the primitive dirt roads occasionally there would be someone crawling on their hands and knees, even though they were bleeding, they continued to pay the price the church had ordered for them to pay.
The road got smaller and more primitive as we neared the commune, the last portion being a path that would resemble nothing more than an animal trail.
Obscured by the trees, as we had climbed above the desert into the tree line and arrived at this idyllic setting, of a forest near a mountain lake. The commune had access to the lake to use a small portion of the beach there. The lake itself was beautiful but the atmosphere there was weird. It was about three miles long and maybe a mile wide, surrounded by large villas, or hacienda's. Giving the appearance of a hideaway of the rich and famous.
The surprise was that these fancy homes were actually provided to High ranking Russian officers as a reward for their service to the motherland. In the approximately four months I was there no contact was ever made with any of the local inhabitants. Like two worlds in one, they lived their lives behind stucco walls, and we enjoyed our space obscured by the small forest.
Inheriting the counterculture of the Beats (beatniks)
the hippie movement, derived from the term “hipster”, the name used to describe the beatniks that had moved mostly form New York City into the Haight/Ashbury district of San Francisco.
“Hip” and “Hep” came from the African American culture meaning “awareness”.
General characteristics of the hippies were; the embracing of the “sexual revolution”, listening to “psychedelic rock” music, and the popular use of “cannabis”, LSD (acid), “shrooms”, magical mushrooms used to explore alternate states of mind.
Hippies in Mexico, were called “jipitecas”, they formed “ La Onda”, spanish for The Wave. Following the student movements of 1968 which culminated in the “Tlatelolco” massacre in Mexico City.
In a single day life has changed from weary traveller to a domiciled hippie with one revolution of the planet, I have died and gone to heaven. At least for awhile it seemed like heaven. Laid back, listening to nature just coasting along. People come and go but the population seemed to remain around forty or fifty souls at any given time.
I never met everyone by their real name in the commune and most people only were known by their nick names. The guys mostly chose catchy names like “california kid”, “smokey joe”, etc and the girls, flowery names like “rose”, “rain” you know like these were the original “flower children” and the emphasis was on Peace, Love and if it feels good do it.
It felt good to be laid back and get high, just getting lost in the wave of carefree living. It was easy to fall into the lifestyle with the near perfect weather and the love thing was magical in itself, you could actually feel something in the air, unexplainable yet real.
Time passed quickly and months came and went like days. My friend Juan had met a girl and fallen in love, so when I began suggesting it was time to move on, he turned a deaf ear, “I am not ready to leave here man.”
I said my good byes and mounted one of the rental burros to make my trip back to civilisation.
It was near Christmas, I thought of home and the people there but my purpose had not yet been fulfilled in searching for whatever in the hell I was searching for.
I remembered a cousin of mine telling his son when he was going on about “I gotta find myself”, he told him “son, take both hands and grab your ass, that is where you are, right there” a wise attempt but it fell on deaf ears, the kid was actually hung up emotionally and living in total confusion. That was not so much the case with me, I just felt like I needed space, and plenty of it.
I felt like I was the wind itself, and if I didn't keep moving, I would cease to exist.
With my head clearing and the real world returning me to my senses, it was time to plot my next adventure.
I returned to the market place to stock up on provisions before heading back towards the states. I quickly caught a ride on the back of a truck that carried me to Reynosa, Mexico, a border town near McAllen, Texas. There was a check point about half way there, but the federales were only interested in the in bound traffic. Fortunately I made it back to the border without incidence.
Reynosa, a typical border town, full of tourist most of the time allowed me to pass over the border again with no problems. The officials on the Mexican side could care less about a “gringo” leaving Mexico and the Border Patrol on the United States side, checked my drivers license only to tell me that it had expired and to get them renewed as soon as possible.
I can't describe the feeling of being back on American soil, it is something we take for granted living in this wonderful country even with all our social ills, there is no place like it in the world.
The citrus harvest was under way so I quickly found work in one of the packing sheds preparing the fruit for shipping to a lot of places up north. The pay was per quota so the more you produced the more you made, not even minimum wage, but enough to survive and still stash some, for down the road.
Life was simple, and I liked it like that, just living from day to day, I could sense myself rising from the ashes and gradually restoring my self esteem and my willingness to move on with my life.
The shipping season was coming to an end, and the packing sheds had began laying of workers. It was still too wintery to head up north but there were other places to go within the warm climate.
Houston, Texas was a choice or move out west to California. But as fate would have it, a truckdriver at the docks overheard me talking about heading north and said I could hitch a ride with him up the road aways.
Sure, why not? I threw my bag in the sidebox of the truck and climbed aboard. Whoa, “what's in the case” I said, “are you a pool hustler?” It was a nice leather case but a bit large for a pool cue. “Nope, that's a double barrel 12 gauge Browning automatic shotgun. He said “the company I work for issues it to the trucks that haul whiskey from Kentucky to the border. Just a safety precaution in case we are followed or an attempt is made to hijack the load. I regularly haul either whiskey or cigarettes down here and fruit or vegetables back home.”
“If we see someone suspicious following us we're supposed to drive to the nearest police station or sherrif's office.”
“Have you ever had a situation like that?” “Nope, just been lucky I guess, but it happens once in a while.”
The highway leaving the Mexican border is a long narrow road and straight as an arrow for many miles, driving there is very monotonous it can be boring and dangerous if you let it lull you to sleep. Just miles of nothing but desert scrub and rabbits, and dark as hell on a moonless night.
After a couple of hours, the driver, asked me, “you ever drove a rig like this before?”
“No sir, I haven't just a deuce and a half in the army, a ten wheeler straight truck.” “Well, if you want to take a shot at it I'll pull it over down here aways.” “Sure, I would like that.” He showed me the shifting pattern and said” just keep it between the ditches with the shiny side up and the greasy side down.” He fell asleep, trusting his load and his life to me.
Little did I know at the time that somewhere in the future this new skill would be very nice to have. For a traveller to have his home with him, to travel like a gypsy would be better than riding trains. Food and shelter at all times, it just isn't like that riding the rails. There are days without food and long dreary nights filled with fear not to mention the elements. But for now the trains served the purpose for me just to keep moving.
There is a real paradox about riding in an empty boxcar. Sitting there looking out of that gaping hole there is something both intimate with and removed from, the outside world. Temporarily captive yet free as a bird.
The driver let me off at the edge of the city as he was cautious not to be seen with a hitchhiker by one of his fellow drivers, because if reported it would cost him his job.
On the outskirts of San Antonio, I caught an eastbound and by morning I was in Katy, Texas a suburb of Houston. I had built up my finances pretty well over the winter and finding work at this point was all but meaningless so I decided to take a bit of a detour and head down to the beach at Galveston Island.
I was not the only weary traveller on Galveston Island, the warm, sunny beach was like a magnet to the people that had fled the misery of the cold frozen North. There were people from all over the world actually.
Being a seaport, there was an array of sea going vessels from the fancy cruise ships to the rusty old freighters, they shared the port, as they all had something in common; life sustaining fuel and provisions regardless of their destination.
The instant the word 'destination' enters my mind it begins to swirl around and I picture the end of the road, or a final resting place, and if you can imagine someone constantly moving with no 'destination' in mind what a complex state of mind this can produce. According to Webster's dictionary, (the purpose for which something is destined) and Destined; to decree before hand or pre-determine. I personally do not believe in 'predestination' simply because there are too many variables in life. Even the weather can affect our lives, not to mention the long string of other lives that intermingle with ours.
Taking it one day at a time, I could easily become a beach bum. There is something about being on the waters edge but I cant really define it. Is it the being at the edge of the land and the beginning of the sea that suggests we have reached our boundry? A fine line between land and sea, where reality ends and the dream begins. It was exhilarating just to breath the nice fresh air, listening to the sea birds crying and walking barefoot in the wet sand.

Sunrise on the Beach (by the author)
Shades of pink paint the sky
gentle waves kiss my feet
return again to the sea
seagulls cry

Sun rises to bring the day
the dampness of the night
fading away
a new day

On the horizon specks of white
sail boats passing by
dolphins run alongside
unafraid

footprints in the sand
I am not alone
a kindred spirit
passed this way

seashells appear
driftwood too
remnants of the sea
treasures for me.

Pale red now the sky
the sun peeks
through the trees
bringing to life the beach

sea birds scurry around
their next meal to find
between each wave
is where their bounty lies

little diamonds dancing
sunlight on the sea
the beauty of it all
here for you and me.

As idyllic as it was, it was tempting to just stay

there indefinitely. But my restless heart was beating and

telling me to move on. With my fresh new tan and my spirit

rejuvenated I was ready to turn the page and continue the

journey.

C