Are We More Scared?

Are we more scared than those who came before us?

I wonder sometimes.

This past weekend when we drove over the soaring bridge to Coronado I pointed South and said. "Boys, that is Mexico. Another country."

One of my dreams for years has been to visit the lagoon in Baja where all the whales go to birth their babies. It is in the middle of nowhere, just a little wild bay at the end of a rutted road. But whale lovers know it, and it has been famous since Moby Dick. The mothers go, have their babies, then float around with them in this semi tropical bathtub, until the babies are old enough to swim north on their great migration.

Years ago surfers would paddle out and pat them on the head. Now I think the Mexican government controls it somewhat, though how I have no idea.

The point is, you can still drive to the end of the road, meet a guy with a ponga, and, during the right season, go out and pat a baby whale on the head while the mother eyes you, and nudges the baby forward for some human love. That is what my Aunt said happened to her, when they trekked across Baja on their long sail south to Panama.

So my eye has been on this trip for awhile. But things have gotten rough in Mexico. And though the wild surfer dream of driving south with boards and a tent and a case of beer still feels appealing, I am not immune to stories of kidnapping, drug deals gone wrong, and all the rest of the crazy Mexican stories that make their way north.

Is it safe, I wanted to know.

Just being that close to Tijuana made me wonder again. So I asked my aunt. She rounded up about five people over the course of the weekend and asked them all. Some were kayakers, some owned houses, some liked to drive down to Rosarito, some ran up and down some famous sand dunes 30 miles south of Tijuana. They had all been south of the border and they all said they thought it was safe, as long as you follow a few simple rules: don't drive after dark, don't stop in Tijuana, check Discover Baja before you go.

(The exact question my uncle posed: Do you think it would be safe for my niece and nephew to drive south of the border with two young children in a yuppie mobile like that?)

I listened to these adults--many in their Sixties and Seventies. They were fearless, and hungry for adventure. They drove south with kayaks and surfboards and beat up cars and told us that the only thing we might want to remember is to bring our own beer, because in some places tourism has fallen off so much the little roadside hotels don't have enough beer.

And I thought: Do I have any friends my age who have such adventures?

Are we just a more fearful generation? Why?

Have we been inundated with so much fear mongering and post 9/11 terrorism propaganda and bad TV that everything seems too scary? Do the older folks have memories of safer times so they are undeterred? Is the fear literally in our DNA? Or do we just have no good information to counter all the bad?

Or do we just live that little bit further away from Mexico so that scary stories replace all real experience?

I don't know the answer.

It was just strange to sit on the grass with a bunch of cool older people in Coronado who had grander adventures than anyone I know, who were braver than I am, and undeterred by tales of terrorism, drug wars and kidnapping. I hope when I am 70 I am like that.

And I thought about how we are cheating ourselves out of life with our fear. We stay in our safe little environments, in self-imposed exile, trying to escape danger. And, in the process, how much do we miss?

Are you scared?

Why?