7/27 My tool box.

Yesterday Bill spent most of the morning hauling diesel to our boat: 80 gallons in all via 5 gallon jerry jugs and a dock cart. The frustrating thing about this is there is a perfectly good fuel dock here in Santa Rosalia that we (and a couple dozen other cruisers) had been counting on for filling up our tanks before we head deep into the northern Sea. The closest alternative fueling is 80nm away in San Carlos (clear across the Sea on the mainland) or south again approximately 100nm away in Puerto Escondido which is where we were way back in April.

Just another example of how Mexico works. The fuel dock here does a big chunk of its yearly business just twice a year: now as the cruisers are heading north and again in November when the fleet heads south again. Essentially every boat passing through Santa Rosalia needs to fill their tanks in order to have fuel for the remaining thirteen or fourteen weeks of the season. But right now the Mexican Navy has three boats tied up at the fuel dock and they won’t let anyone come close. They also wouldn’t let anyone fill jerry jugs there forcing us to haul our diesel through town from the Pemex station (though as is typical they are now –at least for today-allowing boats to dinghy their cans to and from the fuel dock.) We tried to wait them out but the last we checked they said “call us back in two or three weeks.”

Yet even with the hassle of hauling, spilling and filling stinky slippery diesel for hours there was a very cool upside. When Bill went back for yet another trip with the dock cart he was approached by a guy who was soliciting donations for a group called CRREAD. As he talked with the fellow it turned out that CRREAD is a Mexican treatment program. They have thirty centers in eight states all over Mexico with one right here in Santa Rosalia. He went on to say they have meetings every night at 7pm and we were cordially invited.

When he told me I was excited but then a little apprehensive about trying to attend a non-English speaking meeting. Would it be a waste of time if I couldn’t understand anything? How would we possibly communicate? What would they think about having a couple of gringos invade their meeting? Would we even be able to find the meeting place?

Ever willing off we went. As we walked through town in the high humidity and 95 degree heat we were dripping wet and sticky but we had no difficulty finding the center in fact we arrived quite early. I saw a sign with a version of the AA symbol hanging from the corner of a building and knew we were in the right place. The sun was still high in the sky and shinning right into the centers open windows and balcony doors so we decided to find a couple of bottles of water before we went up to say hello.

Bottled water in hand we climbed the stairs to the CRREAD center but as we stepped inside there wasn’t anyone around. Looking around us we could see an electric range, a refrigerator and then a small desk and a wooden podium with the same AA-like symbol with the words Esperanza, Fe, and Servicio lining the three legs of the triangle: Faith, Hope and Service. We could see one closed door and one open door leading into a small office but no one around.

A moment later a young man came in heading for the fridge. He stopped and looked, said something in Spanish and then spun on his heels and went back through the closed door. In a moment a man of about 30 came back in the door smiling with an out stretched hand. He was the same man Bill had met while hauling fuel and he was obviously pleased to have visitors. He was followed by another English speaker who turned out to be the head of the center. While they welcomed us the handful of residents sort of surged out around us or peeked their heads out the door watching and wondering.

It was just passed 6:30 when he explained that the meeting would start at 7:00 but then there was a flurry of chairs and people and a couple of fans drug out from elsewhere in the center and suddenly the meeting was about to start. The insisted we take the only two decent chairs in the place, directed the fans our way and then rang a bell and started the meeting.

Just like home they started with the Serenity prayer and another prayer both of which were written in Spanish and hung on the wall behind the podium. I thought my Spanish was half passable but I was lost in the dust as I tried to follow along. The man who had welcomed us acted as secretary and asked for volunteers to tell their story. Over the course of the meeting all but one of the residents took their turn behind the podium and then the secretary would pause and translate what he could for us.

We could tell they pretty desperately wanted us to take a turn and I volunteered right away. I started in my pittance of Spanish: hola, me llamo Katalina y soy alcoholico. Hablo en espanol solo muy poco. “hi, my name is Katalina and I am an alcoholic. I speak just a little Spanish, sorry. Then I choked up and had to wait out the tears that were threatening to spill. I was simply happy to be there surrounded by other alcoholics and suddenly feeling very grateful for the life I have today. I spoke for only a few minutes and then my words were translated. Amazingly for only the second time ever Bill also agreed to stand up and speak.

When Bill and I were first married and I was struggling to get sober again he often supported me by attending open meetings. He would often use his lunch hour to show up at one of my regular meeting places. Then out of the blue one day many months into this he introduced himself as an alcoholic. He would always decline a chance to read or share and I never asked and he never explained. When we left Seattle on our voyage he began attending meetings with me wherever we manage to find them. Now truthfully I am not sure if he attends more as support for me or because he truly identifies an alcoholic or because he knows that finding meetings in a new cities and countries always poses unique challenges. I simply never question his support but instead choose to accept his journey as his own and let him find his own beliefs. Yet sitting there in a meeting listening to Bill share from behind the podium was a pretty cool thing to witness.

The stories we heard from the residents there describe what it is like trying to get and stay sober in Mexico and the differences between there and the States are pretty stark. On the whole American is a vastly richer country. We also have access to medical care that the people in most other countries can only imagine. Even our most destitute live many step above the truly poor here in Mexico. These men have no support from government sources and most have little from family either. The treatment facilities here are few and the need is huge. Their program lasts months not weeks and many stay well over a year. The center offers a safe place to stay, the structure of a recovery program along with recovery therapy, education, occupational therapy and a basic level of simple support that most of us would see as pretty rough living. They all work for what they get either outside the facility or on a couple of ranches where they pick crops as a way of paying their way. The CRREAD ranch near Mulage` that feeds people to this recovery center houses nearly 200 men and 28 women.

Many shared about their time on the streets in Tijuana and the loss of their families and any ability to work. Today they are happy just to be getting a shower. Every day they leave the center and go out to help raise the funds needed to keep the center open. The man that Bill met spends his days in service walking around handing out flyers with information about the center. He tries to solicit donations at the same time that he offers information for helping family members or friends who may be struggling with our disease. The other residents either work at local businesses or they spend their days offering to wipe the Baja dust of people’s cars in exchange for a peso or two. If they don't raise the funds they don’t eat simple as that.

Having someone there to translate helped but I really don’t think it was terribly necessary. In the end there was no problem in communication. Just being in a room filled with other people struggling with alcoholism was enough to bring us together in a way that only a roomful of drunks can fathom.

I left feeling very grateful and once again I was struck by the sheer luxury of meetings we have back in Seattle. Literally hundreds every day and held at just about every hour of the day in neighborhoods all over the city. Here in Baja the meetings are few and far between. I was unable to find any in Santa Rosalia until we stumbled on the center. The larger the city of course the more the “Double` A” presence but every day I get a clearer picture of the luxury that I took for granted.

A year ago while in Canada I found an AA meeting in a tiny village called Alert Bay by literally stepping out in front of a van that had a sign for a treatment center on its side. So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to find a meeting via a treatment center now. One more tool for the bag: check listings for local treatment facilities! The not so subtle nudge reminded me that if I keep my eyes and my heart open to recovery I will continue to find exactly what I need all along my way.

Yours, in Esperanza, Fe, and Servicio. Kat