Vagabond Tales: Racing In The Baja 500 … In A Volvo Station Wagon

by Kyle Ellison on

One of the world’s most well-known and revered off-road racing events, the Baja 500 runs for approximately 440 miles through the deserts of Mexico’s Baja peninsula. Why it isn’t called the Baja 440 I don’t know, but then again, I just write on these sorts of things, not organize them.

A loop-course beginning and ending in the city of Ensenada, thousands of race participants and accompanying pit crews descend on the peninsula each June for a chance at calling themselves the fastest and dirtiest desert dogs on the entire peninsula. Over the course of the 42-year-old event some really big names with some really big money have gotten involved. Red Bull, Ford, Ducati – those sorts of guys.

The cash prizes can number over $300,000. There have been races with over 100,000 spectators. In case my point isn’t being made – this race is a big freaking deal.

With divisions ranging from motorcycles to trucks to ATV’s, professional teams backed with professional money descend on northern Baja towing trailers full of spare tires and some insanely rugged rides.

Surfers, on the other hand, do not usually drive tricked out off-road vehicles backed by thousands of dollars of corporate sponsorships. They drive whatever they can find. True, a lot of Baja surfers will invest in a sturdy 4×4 desert vehicle that has some high clearance and can power through the infamous Mexican moon dust, but nothing that can plow through 440 miles of dirt road washboard in 12 hours or less.

This is why it was so strange to find myself amongst a thunderous cloud of rally cars racing in the Baja 500 in a Volvo station wagon better suited for suburbia.Fresh off of a surf pilgrimage to southern Baja’s Scorpion Bay, our haggard troupe of Tecate-swilling, wave-hunting twenty-somethings opted to camp out for the night on a stretch of Baja coastline popular with American surfers. Not far from the fabled breaks of Punta Cabra and Punta San Jose, unbeknownst to us this stretch of coastline was also situated on the racecourse of the Baja 500.

And, of course, as it would just so happen, we found ourselves there on race day.

Strapped down with surfboards and sporting a clearance best suited for navigating suburban speedbumps, the silver Volvo station wagon was a far cry from your usual Baja vehicle. Laden with empty beer cans and with windows obscured by clouds of Mexican dirt, I haphazardly navigated the Volvo towards that night’s intended camp spot along the Pacific coast.

Driving due west late in the afternoon into a fiery and exceptionally bright sunset, the fourth-inch cloud of dust which had accumulated on the windshield reduced visibility to virtually zero.

In a move pulled directly out of the pages of “Ace Ventura: Pet Detective,” I strained to keep my right foot on the gas pedal while arching my head and neck out of driver’s side window in an effort to navigate the Volvo sans the use of the windshield. With a top speed of no more than 20 mph, this wasn’t exactly a NASCAR level performance.

Head now arched out the window with the grace of a slightly inebriated ostrich, it was during this time that we first became aware of the crowds of people beginning to populate the rural dirt road.

“Sure are a lot of people randomly standing on the road,” we deftly noticed. “Maybe there is some sort of festival going on.”

Although the Baja 500 draws tens of thousands of spectators and is staffed by hordes of support and pit crews, the rural stretch of road we happened to find ourselves upon wasn’t exactly close to either. Most of the spectators were gathering at the finish line towards Ensenada, and all of the pit crews were waiting at the nearest highway intersection.

Here on this stretch of rural coastline, however, there was only the race course, some local spectators and some unfathomably naive and unlucky surfers who were unknowingly driving down the main thoroughfare of the Baja 500 in an unbelievably pedestrian station wagon.

The scene was officially set for disaster.

As I navigated the Volvo with my head out the window there were an increased number of shouts coming in our direction.

“Cuidado!” shouted a Mexican woman in a flowing floral skirt. “Muevate!” demanded another, who simultaneously was operating a tamale stand for hungry residents and spectators.

Still monumentally aloof as to what was happening (having been in Mexico for two weeks and not having seen any pit crews, we were still utterly unaware that the Baja 500 was even happening), it came as a curious surprise as to why the local people were so hellbent on telling us to be careful driving and demanding that we pull off to the side of the road.

Intrigued but undeterred, I continued to navigate the Volvo around the dirt potholes and patches of dry sand with my head craned out the window in the hopes of reaching the campsite before nightfall.

That’s when the first Honda dirt bike came ripping from behind and passed within about three feet from my head.

Before the shock of the near-accident could even be analyzed, a tricked-out dunebuggy swerved around us to the left and enveloped the Volvo in a cloud of dust.

Between the flashing headlights in the rearview mirror and the chaotic screams of the spectators being chanted in our direction, the reality that something was entirely amiss was quickly becoming apparent.

Finally, the absurdity of the situation caught up with us.

“Oh my God,” offered my friend Jason. “We’re on the race course for the Baja 500. We’re in the middle of the race!”

The realization, however, was too little too late.

With local Mexicans screaming and the sound of mufflers resonating through the air the lead pack of trucks, motorcycles, dune buggies and ATV’s all started to swarm around our vehicle. There is big money in this race, and these racers would be damned if a poorly situated surfer’s station wagon would get in the way of their race progress.

With hearts racing and clouds of dust swirling amidst the vehicle, the option of pulling off on the side of the road had long since disappeared. Stopping entirely would likewise be a poor decision as it would make us a sitting duck for a rear-end, high-speed crash.

“Go!” the drunken passengers in the backseat would scream. “Drive! Drive! Holy…”

The off-road vehicles enveloped us with a vengeance as my foot depressed the Volvo to as fast as it could handle. Forward was seemingly our only option and there was literally no turning back.

The next seven to ten minutes were spent with me driving with my head out the side of a Volvo unable to see if there were little children crossing the road in front of us and getting honked at and flashed at by professional off-road drivers while hoping that we didn’t simply slam into the side of a hugely lifted truck.

With the red and orange sun slowly dipping below the Pacific horizon, the only thing left to do was simply hold on and pray.

Ten months later we would crash the Volvo into a stationary rock in southern Baja and be stranded in the middle of the desert with no cash, too many beers, and be forced to pay off both mechanics and the local military with old copies of nudist magazines.

That, however, is a different Vagabond Tale for a decidedly different time…

Want more travel stories? Read the rest of the “Vagabond Tales“ over here.

Airline Transports Herd of African Elephants (PHOTOS)

by Libby Zay on

Earlier this month, LAN Airlines transported an orphaned herd of nine African elephants between the ages of four and nine years old from Namibia to Mexico, where the animals will find their new home at the African Safari Zoo in Puebla.A statement from the airline says each elephant traveled with ample space and was under the constant care of veterinarians. Just like human passengers, the elephants traveled while awake during their trip on the Boeing 777 freighter, which has the capacity to transport up to 104 tons. Full-grown male African elephants weigh between 10,000 and 13,300 pounds, making them the largest living terrestrial animals on Earth.

According to the press release, LAN has also successfully transported giraffes, rhinos, lions and zebras from Africa, as well as wallabies, dolphins, bees, deer and horses (of which the airline once transported 45 in a single flight). Friday’s flight was the largest African elephant shipment the airline made in its 80-year history.

Images courtesy LAN Airlines.

Vagabond Tales: How To Pay Off The Police While Traveling

by Kyle Ellison on

Let’s face it: things happen while you’re traveling. Although many travels go off without a hitch, occasionally there are unforeseen hurdles, which simply need to be navigated. Sometimes this can be as minor as your bag ending up in Hamburg when it’s supposed to be in Berlin, as unlucky as contracting swine flu in Mexico, or as downright scary as ending up in a knife fight in a back alley in Spain (more on those stories another time).

Of all the travel inconveniences I’ve experienced over years of vagabonding, however, the one which happens with undoubtedly the most frequency is being cornered into paying off the police. Sometimes this is my fault, sometimes it’s someone else’s fault, and other times it’s nothing more than rampant corruption. Either way, I’ve paid off the police enough times while traveling to warrant mentioning it with some authority.

One thing I want to set straight, however, is that I have never intentionally bribed the police, because that, I believe, is illegal. In every situation where money has exchanged hands between myself and an officer of the law the idea was proposed to me without my offering it first. I don’t by any means condone corruption because it’s one of the largest social cancers plaguing much of the developing world. Nevertheless, when staring down the barrel of a sticky situation there is often too little time for letting your morals get the better of you.

It’s worthy of mentioning that all of these situations occurred while driving vehicles in Latin America. If the idea of confrontations with police officers doesn’t rank high on your list of travel plans, perhaps my number one rule of advice would be avoid operating vehicles in Latin America.

If your bucket list includes a surf safari across Central America or driving the length of Highway 1, however, I offer this mini-survival guide for navigating an awkward situation in places where the lines of justice and extortion are frequently blurred.Rule #1: Anticipate the scenario.

Just like you shouldn’t travel with any item you don’t fully expect to get stolen or lost, you should never drive in a foreign country and expect everything is going to be ok. One solution is to take a pre-determined amount of money, usually around $20-$40, and stick it in the glove box as a precautionary measure. In Mexico, this is officially known as “la mordida,” (the bite), and on about 50 percent of trips to Mexico I have found myself needing to pay off the police with the money stashed aside for just that reason. If you expect that you’re going to be hassled and plan accordingly you already have the upper hand.

Rule #2: Let them do the talking.

In situations like these, the issue of who is right and who is wrong is completely null and void. Arguing will get you nowhere except into a deeper hole.

Usually, what will happen is the police will lay out a long, difficult series of events, which need to take place in order for you to right your horrendous wrong. This often involves talk of following them to the police station, the arrangement of court dates, the confiscation of your passport, or your inability to leave the country now that you are a roadside criminal. Often times fear tactics are also employed in that they will most likely mention you are going to be arrested and potentially spend some time in jail.

Regardless of how scary the situation gets, however, just keep letting them talk because usually it’s building up to them offering you the easy way out.

Having been pulled over for “speeding” in a rural town in Costa Rica, the policeman even launched into a long-winded dialogue about how proceeds from traffic violations were now going to underprivileged Costa Rican children and how my wife and I would need to drive to the capital of San Jose immediately to pay our $240 fine at a specifically named bank. Then, as expected, the offer was laid out before us.

“Or, we could always just take care of it right here.”

One $20 bill and five minutes later, we were headed towards Playa Samara completely free and clear.

Rule #3: Only leave a small amount of cash in your wallet and hide the rest elsewhere.

In Uruguay, there is a law which mandates headlights must be turned on regardless of whether it’s day or night. Having just made a bathroom stop my wife and I had forgotten to turn the lights back on, and in the twelve seconds it took me to realize the mistake, police at a roadside checkpoint had already seized upon the opportunity.

I again endured the long-winded diatribe about how our passports would be seized, we’d miss our flight, have to appear in court in three weeks in Montevideo, etc. and so on. I was then made to step out of the car and follow the policeman towards the back of his vehicle.

Opening the passenger side door so as to block the line of sight for oncoming traffic, he threw me the much-anticipated olive branch.

“You want to make your flight right?”

“Yes sir.”

“You don’t want your wife to see you go to jail do you?”

“No sir.”

“2,000 Uruguayos.”

The equivalent of $100, I explained that I simply didn’t have that much on me. This, of course, was the truth, because I had only left $40 in my wallet for precisely this reason. The rest was in my backpack sitting safely in the backseat.

“It’s everything I have,” I explained, being sure to dramatically open my wallet and show its empty recesses.

Placing the green and red Uruguayo notes beneath a piece of paper on his clipboard I was allowed to swiftly return to my car and drive away.

Rule #4: Follow directions and you will be fine.

Of all the times I’ve been forced to pay the police, things really were looking pretty dire in Tijuana, Mexico. Having spotted empty beer cans in the front of our truck, a bicycle cop concluded that our sun-bleached pack of surf friends must have been drinking and driving. Though the cans were left over from our lunch in Ensenada, this was a point we had little way of proving. According to the policeman there was nothing we could do and we were all going to jail.

Seeing as the official judicial policy of Mexico is essentially “guilty until proven innocent,” the idea of spending the night in a Tijuana prison was beginning to appear more and more likely.

Then, as quickly as we had been pulled over, we just as quickly were told to leave. Before nervously pulling back into the border line, however, we received some very curious and detailed instructions.

“The cross. It costs $80. You will buy it under the bridge.”

In no mood to ask questions we resumed our spot in the border line more than a little shaken. Though we were back and moving and on the road, however, we couldn’t lose the feeling that this encounter wasn’t over.

Sure enough, a quarter mile up the road, while stopped in gridlock border traffic, a street vendor approached us with a faux-wood crucifix of Jesus. As had been prophesied by the policeman, he approached us while underneath a bridge. Knowing full well what to do, we handed the vendor the aforementioned $80. As a final slap in the face we weren’t even allowed to keep the cross.

I would later find out that in an effort to crack down on police corruption, cameras had been installed to monitor the shady dealings of roadside police. The cameras, as it would happen, are not able to see beneath the bridges.

So does the fact that you can get away with paying your way out of traffic violations mean I recommend reckless irresponsibility while abroad? Of course not. Preying on tourists who have laughably little rights may be a devious way to earn a buck, but unfortunately, with the depressed level of foreign wages and low government pay, it’s a twisted means towards making ends meet.

There are many whom will cry foul and claim that succumbing to “la mordida” is simply like feeding the bears in the woods – if you encourage bad habits they will cease to go away. Whether you choose to do so is ultimately up to you, but should you find yourself in a situation like those described above, may this long-winded log of my own personal bad decisions serve as an illicit road map for procuring your much-deserved freedom.

Want more travel stories? Read the rest of the “Vagabond Tales” here.

[Images courtesy of: blmurch, danielmvier.com, and tiffa130 on Flickr]

Cinco De Mayo: Five Fiesta-Worthy Foods To Make Or Try

by Laurel Miller on

In the United States, Cinco de Mayo (“fifth of May”) is essentially yet another excuse to get hammered. In the Mexican state of Puebla, however, the holiday commemorates the Mexican Army’s victory over the French at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862.

Cinco de Mayo is also celebrated in other regions of Mexico; as in the States, it’s a day of honoring Mexican pride and heritage. This year, instead of the standard chips and guacamole (and crippling hangover), try some beloved Mexican foods that are well suited to serve a crowd. They’re easily made, or purchased if you live in a community with a sizable Hispanic population. Buen provecho!

1. Flor de Calabaza (squash blossoms): Available now at your local farmers market or specialty produce shop, and a favorite of Mexican home cooks. Try sautéing them and tucking into quesadillas or dipping in batter and frying (stuff them with fresh goat cheese mixed with chopped herbs for a really special treat; click here for the recipe).

2. Elotes: Whether served as whole, grilled ears of corn or kernels-in-a-cup, these mayonnaise, lime, and chile-slathered street eats are worth every ripple of cellulite they produce. True, corn isn’t in season right now; see if your favorite local farm stand, market vendor, or specialty grocer has frozen kernels for sale.

3. Churros: Fried, sugary goodness in phallic form: what’s not to love? Uh, except maybe churros con cajeta (filled with caramelized goat milk).

4. Antojitos: Traditionally found in the fondas, or beer bars of Mexico City, these small, fried or griddled masa dough “cravings (antojos)” or “little whims” are now more commonly associated with street food, and have regional adaptations. The differences in shape and fillings are often subtle: a chalupa (not to be confused with the Taco Bell concoction) is a thin, fried cup with a slight depression for holding meat and/or beans, shredded cabbage, crumbled fresh cheese or crema, and avocado or guacamole, while a huarache is like a slightly thicker tortilla in the shape of a sandal (hence the name). In Oaxaca, regional antojitos such as tlacoyos (like a skinny huarache) and memelas (think round huarache) may be topped with black beans and complex salsas indigenous to the region. In a word, addictive.

5. Michelada: Forget margaritas. This refreshing beverage has hair-of-the-dog built right in, and indeed, it’s a traditional Mexican hangover helper (as is a steaming bowl of menudo). Combine one icy cold Mexican beer (My pick: Pacifico) with fresh-squeezed lime juice, tomato juice or Clamato, a dash of hot sauce and a pinch of kosher or celery salt. The variations are many, but this recipe from Food52 is a winner.

[Photo credit: Flickr user the queen of subtle]

Want more antojitos? Check out this assortment, below:
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7 Great Hotels Where You Can Cook Like a Local

by McLean Robbins on

One of the best parts about a vacation? The food. We love trying local delicacies and adding to our recipe books with tips and techniques learned from our travels. Immerse yourself in native cuisine with these seven great cooking experiences that combine luxury travel with fun, hands-on cooking classes.

Time to Thai in Bangkok
Learn traditional Thai cooking in Bangkok at Lebua. You’ll cook a five-course meal with a Thai chef in this three-hour class taught in both English and Thai for the exceptionally affordable rate of $160 per person. Combine it with an overnight at this all-suite luxury property for a true one-of-a-kind experience.

Game & Guinness in Ireland
Fish for wild trout and learn to make homemade chowder at the Guinness family’s 18th C estate-turned-hotel in Cong, Ireland.

Green Gardening in Jordan
Garden alongside locals at the bio-garden at Radisson Blu Tala Bay Resort in Aqaba Jordan, then learn to cook traditional Jordan dishes like Mansaff (roast lamb in a saffron yogurt sauce) using the fruits of your labor.

Shopping and Tapas in Barcelona
Shop Barcelona’s legendary Boqueria with Spanish Chef Roberto Holz, then prepare a Mediterranean lunch at Hotel Arts Barcelona.

Surf n’ Seafood in Nevis
“Dive and dine” for your own spiny lobster at Four Seasons Nevis, then prepare it at a traditional Caribbean barbecue.

Food Safari in Australia
Discovery the bounty of Australia’s Kangaroo Island at Southern Ocean Lodge. The hotel hosts an annual KI Food Safari. Activities during the six-day journey will include hands-on classes with the island’s purveyors, who operate on a mostly small scale, sustainable and personal basis while tasting the unique products straight from the source.

Say Olé in Mexico
Learn the secrets behind perfect salsa, ceviche and more at one or three-day cooking classes (shown in the photo, above) at the luxurious Capella Pedregal in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. We’d suggest the three-day class – it includes a trip to a local farmers market.