BOHEMIAN BEACH CHIROPRACTOR IN MEXICO SAVES A KAYAKER'S DAY

Camping in the Baja

If you've ever traveled to Mexico, you know with a little initiative and luck, you can find anything you need there—anything. And by the same token, anything can happen. Host Ira Glass brought that point home in an episode of This American Life a few weeks ago. The topic was A Day at the Beach, and Shane DuBow shared a hilarious memory about a beach in Mexico with producer Alex Plumber. It's a doozie. 

Shane recalled an incident that took place while on a Mexico kayaking trip in Baja, California. He and his friends were on a month-long vacation to go sea kayaking in the Gulf of California. They were smack dab in the middle of nowhere.

Shane painted a picture of early Baja before the tourists arrived like this: "There's the desolate road, little beach communities and a handful of small tourist centers. But mostly what we were doing was finding deserted open beaches for camping. Most of the time there was nobody else around.  

"There were six or seven in our party. Some wanted to fish, others wanted to hang out and play cards. Some snorkeled. We slept outside a lot and it felt like we were 12-years old again, pretending to be Robinson Crusoe, living off the land. We carried all our own water and food, camping supplies, tents, sleeping bags and cooking equipment.

"We're in Baja, a week or so into the trip, and we're on a layover which means we're just camped somewhere and not trying to kayak. We'd been clamming all day, and out of the blue, my neck locks up. I can't turn my head to one side. This is bad for lots of reasons, but when you're kayaking, you have to be able to paddle and you gotta be able to use both arms and turn your head side to side.

"I'd had this occasionally over the years—it just happened to me periodically, maybe six times a year. It'd last for three or four days. We'd run into a little expat community on a beach nearby to where we were camping. These folks lived in campers and had set up little cantinas made from a tarp staked up by poles where they'd serve beers, and in our case, showed us how to clam. Afterwards they made us a clam feast.

Baja's Desert and Ocean

"So we went back to the guy that had taught us clamming, stopped by his camper. I asked him if there were any chiropractors nearby. I know, I know. What a ridiculous question because there was absolutely nothing nearby. He gets this look in his eye, sort of wistful, and says no, there's no chiropractor but there is a guy who's considered an amateur chiropractor who helps some of the locals. He lives on a boat two coves over from where you're staying. And if you go to this man, the guy tells me, he may help you. He calls himself Dr. Johnny Tequila.

Empowered by the possibility, Shane asks, "How do I get there? I don't want to miss it." The guy tells him he won't miss it. He grabs a bar napkin and a pen and sketches a rough outline of the coast and puts an X, as in X marks the spot. "That's where to find Johnny Tequila, just two coves over," he tells me. None of my friends wanted to go with me. They're all chilling out, playing cards.

"With my neck ache getting worse by the minute I realize I'll have to kayak by myself if I want to see this guy. My friends had started to tease me about my paddle stroke which was by this time one-armed and half-crippled and they're calling me "chicken wing," because of my neck.

"So I chicken wing for two coves worth, maybe a mile paddle, right close to shore, with the beach on my right and the open ocean to the left. While I'm chicken winging, at one cove over I look down at my napkin and it's all wet, so my map is destroyed. But I keep paddling, and there, at the second cove is a boat in the middle of this otherwise empty cove. It's not a harbor of any kind, no dock or anything man-made. Nothing around. It's docked in the water about 30 yards from shore.

"As I paddle closer I see it has a cabin. The mast is up, but not any sails. As I get closer and closer I can see around the mast and lined up are empty Cuervo Gold tequila bottles, but kind of orderly. That was the weird thing," Shane said. "You don't usually associate empty tequila bottles with order but these had been meticulously lined up, ringing the mast.

"Weird, I think. And here I am paddling up on a boat in the middle of nowhere with no one else around. I don't even know how to start. But from some place deep within, the word ahoy comes to me. Which I've never used before in normal conversation.

"Ahoy, ahoy," I say. And from out of the cabin comes a completely naked woman. She looks American, blond hair, tanned so deeply, it's like the tan that goes to your liver. Tan all the way through. Real muscley— her shoulders looked like she was probably a rafting guide in Colorado.

"She's completely naked and totally unfazed about being naked and just greets me and talks to me as if she were wearing clothes. And she's above me so I'm looking up at her being naked from my kayak, holding onto the side of the boat.

"Here I am in my kayak, and I say, 'Is Johnny Tequila here?' She's very nice and she says that he went into town for supplies but should be back shortly and why don't I just wait until he comes back. Eventually we see him, Johnny Tequila, on the beach near us. He's got a little row boat and he rows over to us. He looks exactly like her. He's got on shorts and he's got that tan. He's kind of muscley in his shoulders and chest and they both have kind of wild, bleached-out blond hair and real scruffy, maybe 30s, but the sun can make people look older, so who knows?

"I tell him my story and he's like, yeah, of course I'll help you. He says to follow him to shore. I chicken wing over and we both pull our boats up to the beach.

"Follow me," he says. And now we're going into the jungle, but it's not real jungle—it's dense scrub with bushes all around. Baja has lots of cacti that grows in the middle of nowhere with nothing else for miles. I follow him down a path and we come on to a clearing.

"There in the clearing is a table exactly like a massage table or chiropractic table you'd see in a chiropractor's office, where you can put your face in that center part that's open, and the neck part articulates and comes up. The real deal.  And a life-sized human skeleton is hanging from a tree, which I assume is a replica, but it looks like a skeleton. I'm checking this all out and thinking, a table in a clearing in the middle of the desert in Mexico, with a skeleton.

"He asks me to lie on my back, and I'm looking up at his face and his crazy hair. He's shirtless. So my shirtless chiropractor puts his hands around my neck in the middle of Mexico in a clearing with a skeleton. My amateur chiropractor now has my neck in his hands, and he gives me a chiropractic exam that resembles every other chiropractic exam I've ever received.

"Then he does an adjustment that passes for any other chiro adjustment I've had before. So I tell Johnny Tequila thank you for adjusting my neck. Can I pay you. And he says, No, I just do this to help people. There'll be no payment but if you ever see me in a bar, you can buy me a shot of tequila."

Alex, the producer, asks Shane if his neck was better. Shane says it's possible, but initially he has to chicken wing it back, but then over the next few hours he starts to feel much, much better. And the neck is okay.

"So," Alex asks, "when you think back on Johnny Tequila, is he an argument for chucking it all and moving to some quiet beach in a distant land or is he an argument against it?"

Shane responds, "He's one hundred percent an argument for. I can't believe you asked me that. A simpler life—just crack people's necks, drink tequila, sing in the cantina and go home to my naked lady. Did I not tell the story to make it seem good? To me it seemed great!"

An aside: Thirty years later after turning to Dr. Tequila on a remote Mexican beach for chiropractic help, Shane tracked the man down in a remote part of southwest Utah where he lives with the same woman, Cindy, who first introduced herself to Shane way back when, totally naked. Johnny is now close to 80. He told Shane his nickname came from a time when he was playing music at open air parties in his twenties out near the hidden hot springs in Death Valley. And he sent him a photo.

You really can find anything you need in Mexico. You just have to look for it.

Johnny Tequila Photo Sent To Shane

And have a smidge of luck.

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

GRINGO HUNTERS TRACK AMERICAN FUGITIVES WHO FLED TO MEXICO TO AVOID CAPTURE

The Gringo Hunters (Photo Washington Post)

While living in Mexico, occasionally I heard about various unlawful actions performed by fellow gringos. And having a business, eventually everyone in our small town made it through my door, some with pretty tall tales to tell. I'm sure you've seen movies or read books where the protagonist or anti-hero's future looks so iffy that their only recourse is to run—to Mexico. Even the GPS on OJ's white Bronco was steering him to the Tijuana border until a parade of police cars following him called his bluff. 

The question screams to be answered: What makes Mexico so appealing to the criminal mind? Is it the desire to disappear in a country awash with bountiful beaches, tequila, and fewer identity checks? Or do those who cross the border to escape justice hope the Mexico legal system is less sophisticated than that across the border and they'll be able to simply disappear into the vast and rugged countryside?

Sierra Madre Mountains

AMERICANS MOST WANTED

Living south of the border, it was impossible to not hear about some over-the-top crimes that 'Americans' Most Wanted committed. The overall worst was the guy apprehended in 2002 at a campsite in bohemian Tulum, 60 miles south of Cancun. He'd murdered his wife and three children less than a month earlier in Oregon and his despicable crime had earned him face time on "America's Most Wanted" a mere week before his capture. A Canadian tourist saw the episode and reported him to a crime hotline. Within 48 hours he was arrested on a nearby beach by 20 Mexican law enforcement officers along with several FBI agents from the American Embassy in Mexico City.

INTERPOL AT WORK

Another incident took place in our pastoral pueblo, Puerto Morelos, in 2000 when a youngish computer techie, wanted by Interpol, was apprehended for spearheading a pornography ring using local underage kids. There were plenty of other incidents but these two stand out. The memories of these Interpol arrests came rushing back to me after reading an article in the Washington Post about a police unit in Baja California whose sole job is to apprehend unpunished criminals making their escape across the U.S. southern border. 

In Baja, the unit is made up of state police—ten men and two women—who are assigned to catch them. Their agency's official title is International Liaison Unit, but locally they have a catchier name—the Gringo Hunters.

ESCAPE TO BAJA

Home to "bad hombres?" But they're gringos, not Mexicans. With deserted beaches and sprawling cities that promise anonymity, "Escape to Baja" might sound like a sick idea for a tourist campaign aimed at criminals seeking cover. 

Central Pacific Coast

"Mexico appeals to those running from justice. Oftentimes it's just another guy who thinks he can create a new life in Mexico," says Ivan, a former bodyguard and now a member of the force. 

The unit catches an average of 14 Americans a month. Since it's formation in 2002, more than 1,600 criminals have been apprehended. Many of those suspects were inspired by one of America's oldest cliches: the troubled outlaw striding into Mexico in the hope of disappearing forever, explains Moises, who heads up the elite unit targeting wayward gringos.

BAD GUYS APLENTY

"Regular people don't know how many bad guys are out there," he told reporter Kevin Seiff. "We catch about 140 to 150 a year, and they just keep coming. It's like they all came on the same bus or something.

"You can find them everywhere," Moises continued. "On a beach, at night clubs, in cars with sex workers, in a Carl's Junior parking lot. Some have new identities, some have had plastic surgery, some were found dead. We've found amateur surfers to Playboy models on the run."

BLENDING IN? UNLIKELY

"It's like they think, I can go and hide there and the police will never find me. A lot of them are white guys who think they can blend in, but they can't. The way they dress, talk, express themselves. It's totally different from the locals. They stand out."

One of the two women on the team, Abigail, has her own strategy on outing gringo criminals. She makes numerous profiles on Facebook as a woman looking to hook-up and catfishes them. She says she puts herself out there because the stakes are so high. Gringos who've committed crimes come to Mexico and repeat the same crimes on her side of the border, making it less safe.

She told reporter Seiff about a sex offender who'd fled the U.S. after being charged. He skipped justice system preliminaries, escaped to Mexico, and parked himself in an apartment near an elementary grade school where he could duplicate his previous crimes.

LAYING LOW

The Gringo Hunters always work under cover. While Seiff was interviewing the unit, they were given a tip on the whereabouts of a fugitive murderer—a Mexican American from Fresno who had murdered someone at a traffic accident. They got a tip that he was cutting hair at a local Tijuana barber shop.

Seiff waited with Ivan and Abigail outside the shop, and finally, the man who fit the description walked out. Abigail approached him and Ivan cuffed him. He'd been on the run for two years.

Enroute to the border to hand him back over to U.S. police, Seiff asked Ivan if he could ask the fugitive some questions. Ivan agreed.

"Why didn't you go further into Mexico? Why stay so close to the border?"

"I was tired," the American fugitive told the reporter.

BORDER EXCHANGE

At the border, the Mexican unit walked the man across the border in front of the lines of people waiting to cross over to Mexico. As they approached the American police, they uncuffed the suspect and the Americans placed their handcuffs on the man. The Gringo Hunters had just apprehended an alleged murderer. A gringo back in gringo hands.

US-Mexico Border

Moises told Seiff later that sometimes when he's hanging out with friends who aren't cops, he gets the feeling regular people aren't aware how often they rub shoulders with marginal people. They don't know how scary it is to catch bad guys. But his final words to Seiff were these: "Sometimes when I see U.S. criminals all day, it shapes the way I see the States. We've caught an infinite number of Americans. It never ends.

"Chasing U.S. criminals makes it seem like everyone there is armed. I'm living next to a country where everyone has a gun. Unsafe."

How strange, Seiff thought. It was the same lament he heard so often from Americans, the way they talk about a lawless Mexico.

Imagine Television is developing a thriller drama series for Netflix based on Kevin Sieff's Washington Post story. Stay tuned.

If you enjoyed this post, check out  Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, on Amazon. My website is www.jeaninekitchel.com. Books one and two in my Mexico cartel trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown, are also on Amazon. And my journalistic overview of the Maya 2012 calendar phenomenon, Maya 2012 Revealed: Demystifying the Prophecy, is on Amazon.

 

HOW THE MARGARITA GOT ITS NAME

Was there a Margarita behind the Margarita? Of course. But contrary to what you may have imagined, this woman was not a Mexican beauty, but instead a fledgling Hollywood starlet. And though other Margarita namesakes have surfaced and vied for the distinction, this starlet has all the trappings of the real McCoy.

Years ago I heard a eulogy aired on NPR's All Things Considered for a man named Carlos "Danny" Herrera, who passed away at ninety in San Diego. Although the name rang no bells, he left a legacy known far and wide. He had created one of the world's most iconic cocktails, the Margarita. On a wistful note in respect of the man's passing, the host unraveled a tale of how Herrera came to invent the drink that is synonymous with Mexico. It was 1992, and San Diego was paying homage to Herrera who had been born and raised in Mexico City at the turn of the century and moved to Southern California five years before he died.

According to the San Diego Union-Tribune, Herrera had worked his way across Mexico as a young man, settling just south of Tijuana in 1929. He and his wife built their house in the rugged Baja California countryside. They added a bar in their home to entertain friends.

RANCHO LA GLORIA

More and more people dropped in so they decided to open for business, and a few years later, they added a restaurant. Then came ten hotel rooms and a pool along with a booming clientele from across the border. Rosarita Beach just down the road was becoming a fashionable getaway for the Hollywood crowd and Carlos' place was an easy pit stop for a quick refreshment on the dusty Baja road.

By 1935, traffic was heavy. Carlos was a friendly guy with a quick wit and his bar-restaurant, named Rancho La Gloria after his daughter, attracted stars and socialites who stopped in regularly before continuing south to Rosarita or Ensenada. 

A STARLET IS BORN

Among the bar's clientele was an actress named Marjorie King. While her friends took advantage of Carlos' talents as bartender, Ms. King did not partake in the afternoon revelry. She had an unusual problem. She was allergic, so the tale went, to all alcohol except tequila. 

What luck, Carlos cajoled. Tequila is the national drink of Mexico, he said as he poured the actress a straight shot of the clear, potent liquid, brought out a plate of fresh limes, and set a salt shaker on the bar in front of her. Marjorie wrinkled her pretty nose, gave Carlos a "not so fast" look, and informed him she hated the taste of it. 

What was a girl to do? In those wild and reckless days not long after Prohibition's last gasp, how could one sit idly by and not join in the fun? Herrera was determined to put an end to Ms. King's misery. He went to work. 

ULTIMATE CONCOCTION

Herrera decided he would create the ultimate concoction for the attractive actress. He started experimenting and came up with a winner: three parts white tequila, two parts triple sec, one part fresh lime juice, a pinch of sugar. As the day was hot, he added shaved ice and blended the mixture with a shaker. Ms. King liked the looks of the drink immediately, Herrera reportedly said. 

But how to serve it? Marjorie King was no ordinary gal, and Herrera wanted to pay tribute to her sense of style. Something special was needed. He grabbed a champagne glass, dipped its rim in lime juice, and twirled it in a bowl of salt. Re-shaking the contents, he then poured the frothy liquid into the champagne glass and presented it to the starlet. The result—the soon to be famous Margarita, shaken, not stirred. And by coincidence, the drink included all the ingredients of a traditional tequila shooter—tequila, lime and salt, but in a more appealing package. 

NAME RECOGNITION

How did the cocktail become known as a Margarita? Since Marjorie and her gang of friends often came to Rancho La Gloria, whenever their car caravan pulled up outside the bar, Carlos would spot the bunch, see Marjorie, and greet her with a hearty, "Margarita! Margarita!" the Spanish equivalent of her name. Then he'd start preparing her special drink.  

It was instant name recognition. What else could it be called? Margarita was the perfect name for this sexy new drink. Meanwhile Marjorie—aka Margarita—went back to the States where she hung out with all her swell friends and introduced the drink to bartenders at some of the finer dining establishments in Los Angeles and San Diego. When asked its name, she explained bartender Danny Herrera, the inventor of the cocktail, called it a Margarita. 

The name stuck and by the 1950s Margaritas were being served everywhere in Southern California. Soon after that, the Margarita began to make its way around the world as Marjorie's Hollywood friends were globe trotters and took their love of the cocktail with them wherever they went. So the next time you're taking a sip of that marvelous frothy concoction known as a Margarita, think back on a time when Baja California was just a rugged strip of sandy desert and Cancun didn't even exist. Think about a little bar with big views of the Pacific Ocean and thank Carlos "Danny" Herrera for paying homage to a Hollywood beauty by inventing a delightful drink to brighten up her day. Salud!

For more information on the Maya, Mexico and the Yucatan, check out my website, www.jeaninekitchel.com. My travel memoir, Where the Sky is Born: Living in the Land of the Maya, is available on Amazon.com. Also on Amazon, are books one and two in my Mexico cartel thriller trilogy, Wheels Up—A Novel of Drugs, Cartels and Survival, and Tulum Takedown. Subscribe to my blog above for my writings on Mexico and the Maya.

NEXT