Thursday, October 6, 2005

We wavered on whether or not to try to visit Exportadora De Sal, Gro. Negro’s other highlight. At first we figured we’d just move on. I mean, salt? But every single establishment in town had photos on the wall of the salt. Salt fields, salt tractors, salt piles. So we decided to stay in town an extra day and see what we could see. This isn’t just a vacation, we need to start working on some stories.

The expats at the fancy restaurant had told us we needed a taxi, that it was at least three miles away. Our friendly hotel owner told us it was no more than a fifteen minute walk. Cheapskates and dislikers of the expats from the fancy restaurant, we decided to walk.

Dang, it was hot. And bright. For about thirty minutes we crouched and ducked down the sidewalk and scraped our bodies along buildings trying to keep our heads in the shade until finally we were there. The receptionist did not speak English. My slightly improved Spanish did not cover the situation. We went back and forth and finally spoke to an English-speaking person on the phone.

Michael told her we were journalists from New York , he a photographer and I a writer, and we wanted to do a story on the salt. Not a lie. We are from New York . He is a photographer, with an agent. I am a published writer (two more stories coming out next year, y’all). Still, it sounds odd when he says it like that.

It was agreed that someone would come and show us around, we just needed to wait. So we sat down to wait. Then the lunch whisle blew. Poor timing on our parts. We spent the time examining the plaques on the wall honoring employees who had worked at ESSA for ten, thirty, forty-five years and translating the pamphlets (los folletos) with my tiny dictionary. Michael said it wouldn’t look professional if we played rummy.

About an hour later we signed – well, Michael signed – forms stating that we would not sue should we become injured by any aspect of salt processing. (Even if we were married, and even though he has the superior genitals, would he really be allowed to promise people I won’t sue?) Then they put us in the hands of Jorge who would take us around in a company car and answer all our questions. After all, we’re journalists from New York.

So for the next three hours, we learned all about how salt is produced. Michael ran here and there with his camera getting closeups and I took notes while Jorge talked. It was a huge facility. We really needed that Nissan Sentra. Jorge was a good person for the tour, since he had worked for the company for twenty-three years and knew everything there is to know about the facility. Later we met his brother, who had worked there for thirty-one years.

Jorge confided to me that he had been giving an English class to some of the other employees when he had suggested to his boss that tours of the factory be given, and that he be the one to give them. His boss told him it was a good idea and that he’d speak to the director. And then three days later, journalists from New York (that’s us) showed up and he got to give the tour. Well that just made me feel all squishy inside. And also made me feel like we really have to get this guy’s photo, or at least his name, in a magazine.

This area of Baja is just naturally good for salt production because of the wind, the sun (I believe that one), the lack of storms, and the vast, flat areas. The water is pumped from Scammon’s Lagoon (English)/ laguna Ojo de Liebre (Spanish) and put into concentration ponds, where it evaporates into brine.

Then it goes to crystalization ponds where it dries into salt. When it’s all salt, Caterpillar trucks push the salt into rows, so the harvester can come along, suck it all up, and spew it into the three huge collection bins of DART trucks. The DART trucks take the salt to the washing station, where the crystals get hosed down and sorted through a conveyor belt.

Then it gets put on a barge and taken to Cedros Island , where it waits to be put on a ship and sent to Japan. (ESSA is owned jointly by the Mexican government and Mitsubishi.) I was sad to hear that this is not salt to be eaten, it’s for chemical processes and road de-icing. That’s the short version. The long, poetic version will be sent to Michael’s agent with his photo story.

Gracias, Jorge!

When it was over, we were exhausted, thirsty, and hungry. And that is when we ended up at Figon de Sal restaurant, where the "comida corrida" turned out to be salso con bee.

 

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Company car in the vastness of ESSA

Mr. Jorge Ayala Leon, translator and guide

Salt being gathered by harvesters and poured into DART trucks.

Salt being washed at the washing station

Overseeing the washing.

Lots of salt

Seriously, it�s a lot of salt.