travel preparation – On the Horizon Line

on the horizon line travel and sailling blog - gringo in baja california - feet

My Body is a Shellfish

My whole body feels a like the inside of a shellfish. My skin is like an oyster, tender and supple, elastic and thin. My feet are as soft and smooshy as a snail, while my hands are as delicate and smooth as a scallop.

My shell has been pulled off, exposing me to a harsh new world. After being sheltered by walls and roofs for so many years, the buffer of buildings is suddenly gone. I have no office or house to protect me from the elements. My soft shellfish body is laid bare to sun, and uncovered for wind and sand to scour.

Rather than being swallowed whole like an oyster, I will metamorphose. My tender skin is toasting slowly in the desert sun, stretching tighter over my bones and ligaments. My soft feet, abraded daily by sand and stickers, are growing their own impenetrable barrier to protect my roots. My delicate hands are getting stronger, forming calluses that allow me to lift, carry, sift and pull.

This transformation is not a painless process. But the discomfort is a fair price to pay to make my body my new shelter.

katie and brianna on the beach in baja california - on the horizon line travel blog - gringo shades

Community and Culture, Traveling

Shades of Gringo

The most noticeable thing about Baja (besides, of course, the stark beauty of the desert, the vast blue seas on either side of the mountains, the friendly people, awesome tacos and colorful culture) is the different shades of gringo.

On the light end of the gringo spectrum, you’ve got your rosy-cheeked young families on vacation, your fresh-off-the-plane northern retirees, and your honeymooners hiding under wide-brimmed hats. The darker varieties include the snowbirds who live here half the year, the college spring-breakers dedicated to tanning (and beer), and the ex-pats and mountain-cum-surfer vagabonds who are now Mexicans at heart. The shades of gringo hair vary inversely to the color of the skin: bleached and sun-streaked locks differentiate the long-timers from the Mexican newbies, with their darker and well-tamed hairdos.

Along with the amount of time spent in the country, the shade of the gringo can also indicate that particular foreigner’s willingness to meld with the culture, sink into Mexico’s rhythms, and embrace a new way of life. Or maybe the darker shade simply indicates the gringo’s willingness to shun the traditional 9-to-5-plus-2-weeks-vacation lifestyle favored by their lighter counterparts to the north.

Rob and me? I like to think we’re at the darker end of the gringo spectrum. We tend to embrace new customs quickly. We happily quit our 9-to-5 lifestyle. We are officially vagabonds. Unfortunately, our literal skin shade doesn’t match up … yet. It’s straight up white. Pasty, creamy, pale, translucent. Ghostly. Almost see-through.

I keep forgetting how white we are until I look down at my feet next to Katie’s, or see Rob standing next to our friends, Aldo and Bequia. In my mind, we’ve already transitioned into beach people, and the type of gringos who mingle with locals while throwing out Mexican slang. But in reality, we are the same shade as the tourists who sit under cabanas in Cabo.

I’m trying to be patient while my true shade of gringo slowly emerges. Sure, I want the bleached hair and tan skin that clearly define my place in the gringo spectrum. But I also don’t want skin cancer, and won’t roast myself on the sand like a turkey on a spit. We have the luxury of time, so I know it won’t be long before our bodies reflect the true nature of our vagabond souls.

13 interviews video - on the horizon line blog

Family and Friends, Sailing

13 Interviews – A Pennsylvania Perspective on Sailing Away

Today is the first day of our adventure. As we enter a new country, it seems fitting to reflect a bit on where we’re going, as well as reflect on what others think about our upcoming sailing voyage.

When we went back to visit Philadelphia in February, Bri and I interviewed 13 members of my family to ask them a few key questions about our trip. Check out their insights and advice below.

[framed_video column=”full-width”]13 Interviews – A Pennsylvania Perspective on Sailing Away [/framed_video]

handmade cards from kids - on the horizon line sailing blog

Family and Friends, Traveling

A Snapshot of Our Last Days in Missoula

Going away cards from our buddies, Jiah and Solan Grillo.

My last bike ride through Greenough Park along Rattlesnake Creek. It’s been a helluva lovely commute these past ten years!

The new neighborhood grocery store on our kitchen floor, post cupboard clean-out.

And the cupboards for the last few days … we practiced living on a boat by using one spoon, one bowl and one cup each.

Remember how everything has to fit in a 12′ x 12′ area in the back of our garage? Here’s about half that space. You can tell we like boots.

These favorites somehow didn’t make it into the book bin in time. Maybe because we wanted to read them until the very last minute?

My carry-ons tomorrow. We fly out of Missoula at 7am. (And, no, it’s not a weapon or a fishing tool … it’s my mini guitar in Rob’s homemade case.)

The sum total of Rob’s belongings for the next 2 years: 2 sweet dry bags + travel purse + big hat.

In between moving our own junk, we helped friends move a REALLY heavy clawfoot tub up their stairs. They fed us dinner in return.

We had a continuous “free” pile at the bottom of the driveway. Most of our stuff didn’t move very far: here’s our lawn chair just across the street, and I just spotted our shelves next door.

After selling both cars mid-week, we were lucky enough to borrow the Kesslers’ jeep. Rob had to pump up the leaking tire with a bike pump a couple of times.

Goodbye dinners have been the highlight of each day, as we took a break from packing and cleaning to share meals with our favorite people.

sunset over mount jumbo in missoula - on the horizon line blog

Traveling

My Place in Space and Time

Picture yourself right now. Close your eyes and visualize where you’re sitting, standing or lounging. Now zoom out. Do you have a map in your head of where you are located on this big, beautiful earth?

I do. I’m a visual learner, and I feel disoriented if I can’t picture my place in time and space. For instance, when Rob and I went to Philadelphia last month to visit his family, I had absolutely no visual map. I was in unfamiliar terrain with no landmarks to guide me, and couldn’t have found north if my life depended on it (good thing it didn’t!).

For the past decade, the map in my head has been framed by mountains and rivers. My place in space right this moment is bracketed by Stuart Peak to the north, Mount Jumbo to the east, the North Hills to the west, and Lolo Peak to the south. I follow Rattlesnake Creek as my north-south axis when I’m navigating from home to downtown Missoula. I’m guided by the Clark Fork River as I head west or east out of town. My body can sense which knobby ridge the sun kisses as it rises, and as it sets.

But my body is about to leave the ridge lines, rivers and creeks that create my central axis. My frame for pinpointing the cardinal directions will be fuzzy and out of focus as we shift between new horizons and new shores. I’m going to have to accept the fact that I won’t always have a map in my head of where, exactly, I am — physically or mentally. That feels overwhelming. Exhilarating. Terrifying. Liberating.

Luckily, I know we will always have a well-marked and special place waiting for us in Montana, nestled squarely between the hills and creeks that so clearly define space and time.