It’s another beautiful day in paradise and after greeting the sunrise Art and I walk along the beach and turn up the second arroyo towards a friends vacation house. Art spent time with them last week and although they have returned home, Art suspects that their wireless is still on. We stand outside the house and Art checks his e-mail before we return back along the beach to our simple casita. One gets very creative when living off the grid.
It is Saturday and Dia de los Muertos. Every Saturday there is an organic farmers market in San Jose del Cabo and today’s market should be especially festive. I love going to the farmers market and we drive the bumpy road with anticipation.
It is as much a craft and music festival as it is an organic market and has a late 60’s vibe to it. We park in the dirt lot and walk into to the market following the sound of the music and the aromas of the food.
We make the familiar circuit, buying lemonade and organic tostadas and admiring the various craft displays. There are many jewelers and the displays remind me of how I started out in 1978. Beaded jewelry and leather wrist bands are pinned to draped table cloths with umbrellas or small canopies sheltering the vendors from the intense sun. Most of the sellers are young and many have children toddling behind their booths. The artists are a diverse lot; some indigenous indians with traditional crafts, infiltrated by a number of young American and European artists who have gravitated to this friendly and supportive artist community for the season.
I want to experience Dia de los Muertos and we have been advised to visit the cemetery. Although we have never been there, it is easy to find and it is abloom with “fresh” artificial flowers. This may sound like a contradiction but in the intense Baja sun, fresh flowers would wilt in a matter of hours. Today is the day that most families visit and pay remembrance to their departed loved ones. Each grave is freshly adorned with multiple bouquets of artificial flowers. The trash cans are overflowing with last years discarded and faded bouquets. Many families gather at graves but this celebration is mostly a private affair and after circling the main walkway we leave, not wanting to intrude.
Although we nibbled at the market, we are again hungry and Art drives us to an open air taco restaurant that he discovered last week during his “hitchhiking” adventure out to our house. I always enjoy being in the local’s district, away from the tourist part of town, but am not impressed by the food.
We always have odd errands to run when we are in town. The process of finding a specific screw or tool needed to repair or build something at our house seems to delight Art. We walk from lunch to a hardware store and Art passes a drawing of a screw that he needs to a man behind the counter. Art is motioned behind to a row of bins to do his own search, but the desired screw is not available and we leave empty handed.
It is 3:00 P.M. before we begin the drive back home along the coastal road, our car refueled and with 2 bags of ice and 2 x 5 gallons jugs of water.
As the sun dips low, Art and I walk the road to Zacs, inhaling the hot, dusty, and fragrant desert air. We choose a small table at the edge of the restaurant to catch whatever breeze might drift our way. We enjoy our usual libations and share a plate of shrimp as our dinner. This is a simple paradise.