Holidays. Yippeeee. The prospect of a trip into BC’s interior for a raft trip down the Thompson and a back pack trip into the Stein. A quick check of the weather online and all looks amazing. Lets go my travel starved bones are yelling.

Something deep inside needed to move. It had been needing to move, to go south for a long time. The prospect of a two week break from the office job sparked a thought to get on a bus headed south. Yes, really. To the Baja by bus. Everybody said, don’t do it. But the burning [...]

Where do you go when you’ve been dumped by Greyhound in the Tijuana bus terminal at 4:00 am. Nowhere. That’s the stuffy truth to it.

Surely with my Greyhound ticket I must be one of the privileged. This thought is dashed soon after, when wading through the sleep deprived crowds, I realize I am but one of the minions.

Some time around 9:00 am I am awoken by commotion. I have fallen asleep sitting on my pack, head in hands. I stand up and look to the bus counter.

It’s 12:35 pm Tijuana time. I’ve been standing in this line for 8 hours now. For the last 3 hours I’ve been crushed up against the counter pleading my destination – Hermosillo, Hermosillo, Hermosillo – the capital of Sonora.

I’m traveling blind now, heading south into the full length of the Baja. The first hour of this trip, to Ensenada, the first kilometers south of Tijuana peaks my interest.

I am prepared for a long ride when I settle into my bus seat, but I am not prepared for 11 hours of action movies with the volume set a millimeter below distortion.

Saying good bye to Guerro Negro was not difficult. I am happy to be moving knowing that tomorrow is Christmas and travel would be impossible. I step on the bus and I look ahead to the 220 km of desert between the grey Pacific and the deep blue Sea of Cortez.

Veranda conversations keep me awake through the night and then wake me up Christmas morning. I hear English speakers and my ears are perked.