My sense of direction was gnawing to go left instead of right, and so with a quick flip of the steering wheel, I leave my view of the coast and head up into the Guadalupe mountains of the Baja California Sur.
Before I know it, the tall cacti leave me and are replaced with lush vineyards and majestic mountains. Small, sleepy towns have men in rocking chairs that tip their cowboy hats in greeting as this gringo drives by. Little children stop playing for a moment to watch me as I pass.
I reach a particular summit, and see a weathered and broken bus stop bench next to a small shed. I stop for a moment to take in the view. The shed houses candles and Spanish momentos, which I believe are a catholic tradition to honor those that have past.
But I may be mistaken.
Singing can be heard from the town in the valley below, and it reaffirms my belief in the beauty of the Mexican people.
