Circle Closure

This week in Pescadero has been our first time here since Gary passed and we attended his memorial down here a year ago in March.  On our first full day here we found ourselves walking back from the beach in a rather circuitous way that led us past Gary's place.  Seeing cars parked outside, we thought maybe his kids were around and we would stop in and say hello.  Instead some people we'd never seen before greeted us.  We told them what we were doing and they said, "Come on in and we'll tell you the story.  Would you drink a Pacifico?"  Funny how the story telling tradition lives on in that place, even with new owners!

Yesterday while walking back from town we commented on how we really hadn't been passed by anyone going our way that could even offer us a ride.  About then, two cars approached going the oppposite direction, one right behind the other.  We gave the habitual wave as the first car went by, but wait......that jack-o-lantern grin......yes!  It was Lupe Gary's former handy man, driving what used to be Gary's car!  As he drove by we could hear his excited voice exclaiming, "Oh, mis amigos!" He immediately pulled over, jumped out of his car and ran back to hug and greet us.  He even had to tell the driver of the car behind him that we were his friends.  Turns out, the woman in the car behind him had Chica in the car with her!  After Lupe told us that was Chica in the way back of the car that had passed, we asked him what had happened to Einstein, Gary's "talking" donkey.  Again that big smile, "He's with me!  I have him up in the mountains."  Einstein was a favorite of all the gringoes who walked past his pasture there at Gary's, so he was used to plenty of human attention.  When I asked Lupe if Einstein was happy there, Lupe said, "Oh yes!  He is with my horses."

And so now the circle of Gary is closed and we continue to hold his memory in our hearts as we search out new adventures, meet new friends and form more relationships down here.

This is where Einstein lived when Gary owned him.  The sign  says E=MCsquared

"All Good Things Must End," They Say

And so out departure date nears and we must once again say adios to Baja. Tuesday is our last full day here. I intend to spend it on the beach, sunbathing, swimming and basking in the many wonderful experiences we have had down here. These yurts at Buena Vista have proved to be a good choice for our last resting spot. We have been here before, everytime we've come down, so much was known about it before coming in. That allowed us to plan a little better and to spend our days kicking back and reflecting on our trip.

Cindy and Vince helped us out immensely by driving us here with a week's supply of groceries. Bruce insisted we hang on to our snorkel gear and that has been great. We are one block from the beach, so everyday we head down to the sea. On the one day it has been too windy to be much of a beach day, we entertained ourselves watching the fishermen come in and taking note of the types of fish caught. We were pleased to see that none brought in as many fish as we did on our one day excursion. After the fishermen, we filled our hot tub directly from the spring and enjoyed a warm soak despite the howling wind. Since that day, our weather has been perfect.

While on an exploratory walk north along the beach, we noticed what looked like a rocky bottom off shore. Our experiences snorkeling have taught us that rocky bottoms mean clear water and possibly some hiding places for some interesting fish. We made plans to pack a lunch and spend a day snorkeling in the rocky area. My second trip out into the water paid off. I was just heading back to shore, having seen nothing very impressive when I spotted a school of small fish nearby. I stopped swimming to watch them pass and soon they were replaced by larger fish. Like a dream, these larger fish kept coming and coming! I waited for the line of them to pass, and waited some more and still there was no end. I was beginning to wonder if a nearby boat was dumping tubs and tubs full of fish into the ocean...there must have been a thousand of them. Maybe they were just circling me and I was seeing the same bunch over and over again, but as far as my eye could see in the clear water, they were just swimming away from shore in a solid band. Finally I got tired of waiting and decided to swim through them and they still just kept coming. I'd never seen such an amazing thing. On a later swim that same day, I got to see several dark blue rays resting on the ocean floor. They were covered with white dots. I got to see six in a bunch and later saw one swimming by himself. What a sight they were!

Since then I've not seen anything quite that spectacular. Instead I've enjoyed swimming in and out of the same warm currents that fill our hot tub. I don't think I will ever tire if the beautiful aquamarine color of the water (makes me feel like I am in an ad for some tropical paradise). I do get to see lots of pelicans here. Cindy corrected me saying that they are not Mexican frigates, but rather are nicknamed the Mexican Air Force as they always seem to be flying in formation.

As we enter our last days here, I find myself developing a mental catalog of the things I will miss about Baja, hoping that will enable me to better appreciate them while I have them. My list includes things like the small birds whose sweet songs accompany every sunrise, taking my coffee outdoors every morning, the lilt of Spanish spoken by natives, handmade tortillas, desert, the ocean's presence, warm sea breezes, searing midday heat contrasted with cooling dips in the sea, simplicity, the way the Mexicans can carve comfort out of what is handed to them, thw wonderful food.

At the same time I remind myself of things to look forward to back in Montana. What comes to the top of the list always is family and friends. I also look forward to seeing our mountains transform under Spring's handiwork. A smell arising from a patch of goldenrod near where ourhottub drains makes me think of the Missouri River and the vegetation on its shores. This spring we will have to do a float.

But right now I must go revel in this fine day. Tomorrow, right after an early bite of yogurt, we will walk to the highway and wait for a bus or a ride, whichever comes first. Our hopes are to go as far as a little town north of the airport, Santa Anita. Here we hope to enjoy a hearty Mexican breakfast before subjecting the rest of our day to the whims of the airlines.

Camping on the Beach

What a great adventure to have so near the end or our trip! Friends Vince and Cindy decided to take a road trip from El Sargento to Bahia Los Frailes south of Cabo Pulmo. They invited us to come along for three days of camping on the beach at Los Frailes. The trip began with a drive on the east cape road, a small dirt road beginning near Buena Vista just south of Los Barriles. Of course Vince and Cindy know all the little tiendas along the way and which ones even offer warm snacks. Our first stop produced empanadas for a quick lunch. The next, in La Ribera featured ice cold Pacificos "en papel." I watched closely after Vince made that request. What happened was this: a beer koozey was quickly fashioned out of an old page of newspaper! And it worked. My beer stayed cold in the 80 degree weather until the last drop was gone.

In Cabo Pulmo we stopped to visit a friend of Vince's from several years back. This fellow was a German expat with a new hobby of making guitars. He showed us three that were in progress, his first three ever. What a curious thing to try while living in this remote area where wood is rare and mail order non-existent! We were ready to leave Cabo Pulmo when Vince decided to make one more loop through the town saying he'd really like to see Juan out wandering around. And sure enough, Vince found him on our second pass through. Juan was one of the first residents of Cabo Pulmo, starting the first dive shop there. Juan offered to let us camp near his old stone house when he heard we were going camping. Vince thanked him, but in the end decided to stick with the original plan.

Driving a little further south on the east cape road, we found Los Frailes,shaped like a giant letter "C" defining what might be called a cove. At each end of the "C" there was a rocky point. Given that the Baja Pennisula runs mainly north and south, with the Sea of Cortez lapping the eastern shores, this beach cove was oriented a bit peculiarly. Facing the ocean, the left tip of the "C" was due east, the ocean to the south and just before you completed your turn inward to the shore toward the other point, you would find the western sky. This unusual orientation gave the beach protection from the winds which usually blow from the north. It promised to be a sweet get-away. The curve of the "C" held a gently sloped sandy beach. About one third of the way down the beach from the east was a string of palapas offering shade. Another 50 yards down the beach a fence line running perpendicular to the beach defined the boundary of the National Park established to protect Cabo Pulmo's reefs. Just beyond the fence sat a nearly abandoned fish camp. Fishing pongas still launched from the camp, but it appeared as if no one had stayed in the ramshackle abodes that defined the camp.

Vince explained that the palapa side of the beach long ago was a camping area, but then all the campers had been asked to leave, and for many years the area was closed to campers. It had just recently opened back up as a free camping area, but word was only starting to get out that it was open again. That explained the fact that although there were two parties of day users on the beach when we arrived, we were the only overnight campers. By the time we unloaded Vince and Cindy's giant cooler for happy hour, we had the entire beach to ourselves. Snacks before dinner included some yummy fish salad Vince had made from the Amberjack and sierra left-over from our fish fry the night before. After the hot drive and a cool cocktail, everyone needed a dip in the ocean to cool off, which was quickly accomplished. Without much fuss at all Vince and Cindy quickly had a kitchen established near the palapas, complete with propane lantern, stove, cooking surfaces and table. Vince seasoned up some Mexican steak, fried it and chopped it, while Cindy heated her famous beans and prepped a fresh salsa. It was roll-your-own-tacos night and it was tasty!

When bedtime rolled around, Vince carried a couple of queen-sized foam mattresses from the car. Bruce selected a spot on the beach for our "bedroom" and Cindy supplied a "bed in a bag" complete with pillows and Mexican blankets. We slept at ocean's edge under the stars. That middle of the night bathroom break came with a short walk through the sand and a limitless view of stars. The moon rose so bright I was happy it awakened me so as not to miss out on the sight of the moonlit mast of the lone sailboat anchored in our cove. When dawn broke over the Sea of Cortez, I had only to open my eyes and roll my head side to side for a complete showing of the entire sunrise and it's reflection on the few dotted cloud.

At dawn Vince walked maybe 50 yards from out campsite to stand outside the National Park boundary and cast a line out from shore. Bruce and I joined him while Cindy enjoyed a long walk. We were entertained by flying manta rays breaking the water's surface and one sea lion who seemed to be swimming laps from the park border to the end of our little cove. Although Vince only caught a fish to be used as bait, we enjoyed the sights of flying fish, spouting whale and swimming sea lion.

After breakfast we walked to the east bend of our cove with our snorkel gear. A rocky coastline promised clear waters and possibly good snorkeling. I figured we had already seen the best snorkeling Baja had to offer during our stays in Cabo Pulmo and in El Sargento, but I was soon to be proven wrong. Here, off the rocky coast, we found deep clear water inhabited by many kinds of fish we'd never seen before, as well as by some of our favorites from Cabo Pulmo. Here they were not only bigger, but they swam in larger schools. I've still not found the right words to describe my favorite fish. Their length was of a shorter porportion than say that of a trout, making them look a bit rounder, but not as round as an angelfish. The top portion of their bodies was silver and gold striped, with the bottom portion assuming a total silver color. The colors seemed iridescent in the underwater light, with the sunlight highlighting the upper portion of their bodies. It looked as if the sunlight was indeed captured and reflected off of the top portion. They usually were found in small groups do six to eight individuals averaging about two inches long. Whenever I saw them I felt like I'd just caught a glimpse of scattered sunlight. Here I snorkeled in the the midst of a whole school of these beautiful creatures. I swam surrounded by 20 or 30 of them averaging 4 or 5 inches in length! I could only stop and marvel at the wonder of being in their midst. I got to see schools of other larger fish as well, but those bits of sunlight were by far my favorites. The swim back to our sandy beach took me through some murkier water where it was difficult to see much of anything. What I could see, however, were shafts of sunlight filtering through and reflecting off the water-born sand. It reminded me of watching Northern Lights, so elusively beautiful.

As the day progressed, so did the murkiness of the water. By afternoon we contented ourselves with lazy sunbathing punctuated by cooling swims in the ocean. For dinner on our second night, Bruce made chicken fajitas featuring fresh and local peppers, onions and cilantro with the ubitiquous handmade tortillas. Our second night on the beach was as glorious as the first, sleeping at ocean's door under the star-studded skies.

The third day of our trip began much the same way as the second: fishing, walking, watching flying manta rays, but missing the sea lion. We marveled that we still had the beach to ourselves although two more sailboats had joined the one in our cove. Before breakfast, the day had warmed so that we all had taken several dips in the ocean. We decided to break camp before lunch allowing time on the drive back for stops at beaches that looked inviting.

The first stop was at the point just north of Cabo Pulmo where Juan had told us we could camp. The waters and warm rocks looked inviting, so in we dove. We dried ourselves and our suits basking on the rocks before heading down the road. The next stop, at a beach named Las Barracas offered a sandy beach with off shore rocks which might give some interesting snorkeling. And that it did. Nothing to compare to the show we enjoyed at Los Frailes, but still some interesting fish. This stop marked the northern boundary of the National Park, so now we had snorkeled at the heart of the park in Cabo Pulmo, the southern end of the park in Los Frailes and now the northern tip. Again our beach was secluded, so much so that I was able to peel out of my wet suit and into dry clothes before the dry drive back to La Ribera.

At La Ribera Bruce and I were able to stock up on enough groceries to get us through most of our last week in Baja. We had decided to spend it in Buena Vista just south of Los Barriles. Our yurt is only one block from the ocean, but a grueling 1.5 mile walk along the soft beach sands is required to get to a grocery store. It was positively wonderful that Vince and Cindy didn't mind waiting for us to shop in La Ribera before dropping us off at our yurt, concluding our wonderful tour of the east cape.

Lively Fishing on the Sea of Cortez!

It was before daybreak,even, that Bruce and I waited for Vince and Cindy for a full day of fishing. Vince , through his experiences down here and his command of the language, has gotten to know a couple of professional fisherman. Using this contact, Vince chartered a boat and a pilot/guide to take us out. A gringo friend of Vince and Cindy's introduced as "Hawk" let us use his gear and joined us on the boat. Since bait has been tough to find this year, Hawk also brought an assortment of giant sized lures and spoons. The boat, owner, guide and truck to "launch" us were all waiting for us at the beach. As I watched pelicans silhouetted against the sunrise,Our pilot/guide Victor maneuvered the 25' ponga boat across the glassy sea toward an island we had watched from our beach outside our casita.

I missed the signal, but at a certain point, Vince and Hawk began rigging the lines. I could see that there is a science to not only rigging the lines, but rigging them and placing them in the rod holders for trolling in such a way that they will be effective and not get tangled as the boat made slight turns. Cindy had already given me instructions on how she holds the rod for reeling in, as it takes quite a bit of upper body strength. Then came a discussion on how you know if you've had a strike, whether or not you need to set the hook and how to get 'em in the boat. After 10 silent minutes of raptly watching rod ends, we all got distracted with conversation. Apparently Cindy was the only one still glancing at the rods as she quickly maneuvered into position and began giving us all a live demo on how to reel in a fish. I had to watch her face after I saw how slowly she would crank the reel....that was when I got an inkling of how different this might be from trout fishing in America. Before too long Vince and Hawk were egging Cindy on, or maybe just trying to make her laugh, by asking what was taking her so long to reel in the fish. Finally, I caught just a glimpse of a flash of silver while looking over the side of the boat. Gosh, it looked a long ways down! I knew from snorkeling outside our casita how exceptionally clear these waters are and wondered exactly how big that fish would be when brought to the surface. Another five minutes of reeling and finally the fish was near the surface and Victor identitified it as a barelete Vince and Hawk seemed a little disappointed, but Victor made it clear a photo was needed as he drug the fish onto the boat with his gaff. The thing must have been two feet long and I wondered what the disappointment was. Vince asked Victor if the barelete was good to eat. Victor shrugged, saying, "For me, yes, it makes good ceviche." I guess the gringos are not too excited about eating them. Vince noticed the next strike, but instead of running to the rod himself, he motioned me over to it! Yikes! Ok, so I tried to start reeling and couldn't even turn the crank! What the......? Victor was soon by my side chattering rapidly in Spanish and finally I understood what he meant, pull the rod tip up, then crank while slowly lowering the rod....over and over. I could hear Victor behind me repeating his instructions in a rhythm that matched the motion and soon I was making it happen. Sure felt like I must have had a whale pulling against me! The fish didn't seem to struggle much or change direction, he was just dang heavy. And so I continued the rhythmic reeling hoping my strength would outlast the fish. I found I had a new understanding of Hemingway's classic description of the struggle in Old Man and the Sea. When we were granted our first glimpse of the fish, Victor's disappointing identification called out, "barelete" and ....well...I kind of figured it really wasn't a whale...but it sure was fun reeling in that big ole thing! Then when Victor handed me the gaff with fish dangling from it for another photo, the fish startled me by giving a sudden twitch of his whole body. I instinctively hopped away from it and that gave everybody on the boat a laugh. I took a big gulp of air and accepted the gaff, readying myself for any sudden and unexpected twitches in the part of the fish. By the end of the day we had collected three bareletes. Hawk kept one to cut up for bait. Only after asking our permission, Victor gave the other two away to a friend of his we passed at the end of the day.

During a lull in the fishing action and in the midst of Victor's story of an abandoned ranch on the island, we noticed something coming up out of the water, then another, then a small blow hole appeared. We were surrounded by dolphins! They were swimming all around us, many of them breaching the surface, others swiftly swimming with only a dorsal fin visible. We stayed with them for quite awhile. As we all stood wordlessly watching the dolphins, it felt like a magical moment.

After that action, Victor took us to a place where we should begin a different type of fishing called yo-yoing. It was like what we might do in Montana when we jig, but this was on a much bigger scale: bigger hooks, bigger spoons, deeper water, bigger fish. Even just the empty line was heavy. Victor told us we should find the ocean floor, then pull the hook up about twenty feet and move the hook up and down. When trout fishing, we can quickly feel the bottom and can then use just a finger in the line to bounce the hook up and down. Here it took a looooong time before our big spoons and hooks stopped at the bottom. Then to move the hook up and down took full body motion. Bruce had just found bottom and I was slack-jawed over how much line I had let out and still hadn't hit bottom when it was time to move and try something else. Soon we were back to trolling again.

Barelete was not the only species caught that day. Bruce was the first to notice the next movement in the poles. He got right on it and kept teasing us saying it was something little. He worked and worked to bring it in and then everybody got excited when we got our first flash of silver beside the boat. Victor called out the Spanish name, "pes fuerte" translating literally to "strong fish." Hawk, meanwhile called out the only name he knew for this fish, "amberjack!". Now even Vince was excitedly watching Victor with the gaff to see the new fish. It was a little different shape than the barelete: flatter and wider and longer. As Victor stepped by me he caught my eye and quietly let me know, "Es un grande!". Vince and Hawk looked on with interest, Hawk saying it was early in the season to be catching these. Vince mentioned that he had never caught one and Hawk said he'd never eaten one, but had heard they were really good. Hawk noticed the next pole movement and again motioned me to go for it. I think he had as much fun watching me figure out how to use this big gear as he did using it himself. Again I had to concentrate on the rhythm of pulling up, then reeling while lowering the rod tip. This time, however, the fish jerked around a bit and changed direction. He really was a lot more fun than the barelete. I was enchanted by the process of how much work it took desperately trying to hang onto this fish before ever knowing what type of creature was at the end of my line. All I could see was deep blue sea and my line disappearing into it. Finally someone called out that they could see it. Again Victor was the first to identify it, "pes fuerte.". Oh boy! We were all excited about that. On board it came with the help of Victor and the gaff. More photos, and no one really mentioned just then how much smaller mine was than Bruce's.

The next variety of fish to be pulled out of the ocean was bonita. I had eaten this before, but Vince and Cindy were excited to make sushi out of the bonita. I think Bruce and Vince each caught on of these guys. The last fish reeled in was hooked by Bruce and reeled in by Cindy. This fish was not very exciting looking, but everybody was excited to see a sierra come on board. Even I had enjoyed sierra at a friend's house in Montana, so I knew this was a good fish to eat.

As we trolled homeward, Victor told us of a sea lion colony on one of the points. The sea lions had been "transplanted" from another part of Baja where there had been too many. Victor was afraid they would become a problem here too as the population seemed to be growing. Victor instructed us to bring in our lines and he turned the boat toward the rocky point. We were all scouring the horizon with our eyes, straining to see if there were birds or sea lions on the nearest rocks. After we watched a few fly away, we were close enough we could see the sea lions themselves sunning on the rocks. One displayed an ugly wound in its side, Victor saying it looked like a shark bite and that the sea lion looked pretty sickly. The others all looked lively: everything from big ole bulls to cute little pups and the full spectrum in between. Some slipped into the water for a playful swim while others barked from the rocks and still others seemed to float on their backs, bellies up to the sun. What fun creatures were these to watch! Victor carefully kept the boat from bumping into the rocks while also keeping us so very close for observation. With the number and size, variety and quantity of fish caught this trip had already been a success. Seeing the dolphins and the sea lions was an added bonus for us.

Once Victor got us to shore and the owner pulled the boat onto the trailer, Victor's day still was not done. We all went to the boat owner's house. There under a shade tree and on a plastic table, Victor expertly cleaned and bagged the fish for us, always careful to ask Vince how he wanted the fish filleted. Yoyo, the boat owner showed us his "hoya" where this evening he would start a fire. When the fire burned to coals he would put a goat into a Dutch oven and put the oven down in the hole. The hole, lined with fire brick would keep the coals hot all night. Yoyo would then bury the whole works and by afternoon it should be ready for his grandson's quinciera, a very special birthday party. After he shared the grapefruit with us that a friend had given him, we settled our bill, including a good tip for all the extras. What a day it had been!

But wait, our day wasn't over yet. It was only 5:00, so Vince and Cindy insisted on cooking up some of the fish while it was fresh off the boat. We all ended up back at Vince and Cindy's, everyone pitching in to help cook and soon we were sampling raw bonita with wasabi, grilled amberjack and sierra that had been breaded and fried. It was all delicious. That night we all turned in early, knowing for ourselves that the amberjack is the best tasting fish of everything we caught that day.

Journey to El Sargento

Leaving Cabo Pulmo was hard in more ways than one. I'm always sad to take leave of a place that has been kind to us, even more so when there are things left unexplored! We are endebted to Bob for getting us to Cabo Pulmo in the first place, as it has been a goal since our first trip down here. Before we even got to Baja this year, Bruce proposed several alternative plans for getting us out of Cabo Pulmo once Bob left with the car. We felt pretty sure that after 10 days in any one place we would find somebody willing to give us a ride. Failing that, we thought we could hitch a ride from Cabo Pulmo to Los Barriles, gringo Mecca of the east cape, with plenty of lodging and bus service. From Los Barriles we had a couple of choices: we could do what we've done before and patch together a couple of bus systems to get from Los Barriles to La Paz and from La Paz to El Sargento. If you are tracing our route on a map that shows the major roads, you will see that this is the long way around to El Sargento from Los Barriles. What the map doesn't show you is the inconvenience of the bus schedules. Choosing this alternative would mean nothing less than two days travel time to get to El Sargento. Then Bruce came up with another alternative: hitch to Los Barriles from Cabo Pulmo, spend the night in Los Barriles, bus to the small town of San Antonio, hitch from San Antonio via the shortcut (where no buses go) into El Sargento. This way would be shorter, fast and cheaper.

Once in Cabo Pulmo, I became less confident of our ability to find a ride out of there. Many of the tourists are on day trips from Cabo San Lucas or San Jose del Cabo, both located south of Cabo Pulmo. A local resident informed us of the number of people actually living in Cabo Pulmo and suggested we post a notice on the local electronic bulletin board. For some unknown reason, Bruce refused that alternative. When we hadn't met anyone headed the same direction as our travels, our landlord said he could drive us, but that would mean a special trip for him into Los Barriles and we knew he had just made that drive two days ago. The only option remaining was to station ourselves on the only shady spot on the road out of town and travel Sissy Hankshaw style, with our thumbs extended. Fortunately, we had started early and only had an hour wait before the day got too hot and we caught a ride from a man who said he'd been in Cabo Pulmo for over twenty years. On the drive to Los Barriles we learned that meant he'd been coming down to Cabo Pulmo from the US for over twenty years and that he was well versed in the gringo dynamics of the area. From him, we got quite a lesson in local history, though somewhat one-sided. He was kind enough to drop us off right at the Los Barriles bus station so we could check the schedule for the following day. A not too distant walk brought us to Charlie's Chocolates where I lamented that we could only buy a one day supply (who knew how long those yummy chocolates would have to sit in my warm bag until we got to El Sagento). And then on to a hotel.

Our stay in Los Barriles was somewhat uneventful, except for the spectacular wind storm there. The kite and wind surfers put on a good show; we just couldn't stay out in the blowing sand to enjoy it for very long. Further inland where the restaurants are, things were calmer and we did enjoy a couple of great meals there: pork carnitas, chile rellenos and a fine breakfast of fried eggs, ranchero style.

By 9 AM the next morning, we were on the bus. I sat back and enjoyed the soft murmur of Spanish in the background, mingled with the usual mix of Mexican music. We hadn't gotten much of that this trip. We were the only gringos in the bus and we were absolutely the only people getting off in San Antonio. A short walk took us to the shortcut road to La Ventana and El Sargento. Before too long a Mexican man picked us up and dropped us off just before he had to turn west toward La Paz. It was interesting talking to him. He is a musician (plays percussion) and teaches at the state music school in La Paz. His real passion seemed to be the ranchero he owns near San Antonio where he raises over 300 chickens. He sells the eggs and meat to his friends in La Paz. As he let us out, he had to step out of the truck so he could open the cooler in the back and show us the plump chickens he was taking to his friends. They looked bigger and less fatty than the whole roasters we see in Livingston's grocery stores, that's for sure.

As soon as we got out of the truck we could see that the wind had followed us from Los Barriles. We were just deciding where we should stand when another truck pulled over and motioned for us to hop in the back. It actually felt less windy riding in the back of the truck than it did standing by the side of the road. This ride took us to within an easy walking distance of the casita we had rented for the week in El Sargento. We dropped our bags on the front porch before wandering back to the nearby grocery store to stock up for a few days. By the time we got back, our landlady also came home and we had a fun little reunion.

By evening, friends Vince and Cindy found us and took us to their house for dinner. It was fun to see them again and to see the progress on their house including unusual floor paintings by Livingston artist (and co-owner of the house) Parks Reese. We stayed up way too late visiting, but then, None of us had to get up early the next morning, so it was all good fun.

Since then our time here has been divided between the beach out front of our place and goofing around with Vince and Cindy. We spent one really windy day lazing around and reading. I think the whole town (except a few intrepid kite surfers) was doing the same. Yesterday Vince and Cindy took us "touring." As I sat in the back with Cindy and the boys up front wondered if they were on the right road winding through the desert I felt like I was a kid again sitting in the back seat of the family station wagon driving through the Arizona desert to a favored picnic spot. Only this time, we ended up at a real Mexican ranchero, with patron standing outside the car talking to Vince; the conversation punctuated with my new favorite Spanish phrase, "asi es....siiiiiii, asi es." (This is how it is....yeeees, this is how it is) I tried to understand some of the conversation, but what we all understood was the curiosity of the women and of the older ranch men who cautiously and one at a time, peered around a corner of the hacienda or the outdoor kitchen to see what this excitement was. This part of the desert was so forsaken, we thought we might be lost and we had stopped to ask how far we were from a known town. Turns out we were close to the town and Vince ended up making a new friend there in the middle of the desert!

Today was a most pleasant day on our beach. The wind was calm all day. So we not only got in our regular dose of sunshine and reading, but also got to do some snorkeling. We saw the lovely angelfish we first met at Cabo Pulmo and we saw several new varieties. The water here is very clear, calm and moderately deep. All of that added up to many happy and successful snorkeling hours. On this side of the Baja Pennisula, the water is so calm, that we can lay on the beach and still hear the trill songs of the birds further inland. We also are seeing more pelicans than we saw on the Pacific side and we are seeing a few whales. I love to watch the pelicans skim over the water's surface. It looks like they might dangle the tips of their wing into the water, but they are always just a wee bit above the surface.

Tomorrow promises more of the same activity. Our casita comes with beach chairs and a kayak. What better surroundings for enjoying a volume of magical realism I picked up in Cabp Pulmo! It does all feel rather magical here in sunny Mexico in the middle of March.

Snorkeling from the Beach

We are now perched in a very small town called Cabo Pulmo (population 120), known for its proximity to the only living coral reef in the Gulf of California. The reef is very close to shore here and in 1995 a national park was established to protect it. The main activities here include snorkeing, scuba diving, fishing, hiking nearby trails, or hiring a guide with horses to take you on a horseback ride through the trails.

Since neither one of use is particularly keen for scuba diving or horseback riding, that leaves snorkeling and hiking. A quick inquiry of a local gave us information as to where we can acces the hiking trails. Sounds like a 20 minute walk just to get to the trailheads, so unless we want to rent mountain bikes for the day, that is probably out. We also learned that it gets so hot here in the afternoon away from the Sea of Cortez/Gulf of California all hiking needs to happen early in the morning. That left snorkeling for us, since we have grown overly fond of our leisurely mornings. With nothing less than 5 places renting equipment we had plenty of choices. They are all in close proximity, so a quick survey of all revealed the going rate and an alternate plan: we could buy two sets of fins, one mask and one snorkel for less than the weekly rental fee. Wa-la! We now own our own gear and have been snorkeling daily!

Our snorkeling adventures began in La Paz with the whale sharks. They continue here with us sampling the waters from various points along the coast. The fellow who sold us the gear recommended a spot a mere 10 minutes' walk from our casita. We headed there while Bob was here, wanting to free Bob from driving duties, but choosing to use his strong back for cooler/beer and lunch transport. This section of the beach seemed just out of reach from the other Cabo Pulmo tourists, so we had a fairly secluded spot to get familiar with our new equipment. We had a good time laughing at each other as we discovered it is easier to walk backwards than to walk forward in fins. I thought it might be easier to carry the fins to deeper water and put them on closer to where we'd actually use them. The fellows were entertained watching me get knocked over by tiny waves while attempting to balance on one foot, while fitting a fin over the other. Eventually we each devloped our own methods (notice I don't say "styles") for getting in the water with gear. Before too long, I was comfortable enough to swim to the reef. It was a rather murky journey out there with arrival marked by large dark shapes slowly coming into visibility. After a few more swishes with the fins Those dark shapes turned into beautiful bunches of coral on large rocks: yhe true coral color with white flutes. Next thing to come into myviewshed was a movement out of the corner of my eye..."what was it? Is it a danger?" I anxiously kept watch and the darting shadow turned into a beautiful angelfish! I'd never seen anything like it before. I estimated 8 - 10 inches in length, 5 - 6 inches tall with bright yellow tail and a trace of yellow on what might be described as a forehead. Soon I was seeing a yellow version of the same fish with markings as distinct and beautiful as that of a wood duck. The poster at the dive center told me these were butterfly fish. The water seemed a little clearer nearer the reef and I could see small horizontally striped fish and larger vertically striped fish. Suddenly I was in nephew Matt's salt water aquarium! Remembering that we were all "taking turns" with the mask and snorkel and wanting to share my excitement, I headed back into the murk and out to the shore to tell Bruce and Bob what I'd seen. Bob took a turn and shared similar sightings. Bruce continued at his own pace learning to manage the new gear and stay close to shore. When we all were too tired to continue, we slurped down that cold beer from the cooler Bob had so graciously carried.

We enjoyed a couple of days at our secluded beach area before Bob had to head back to Cabo San Lucas to catch a plane back into Colorado's winter. Bruce and I had heard from some locals that Los Arbolitos, a beach an hour's walk from here, provided the best snorkeling. We packed a light lunch after a heavy egg, veggie and tortilla breakfast and headed out, missing Bob. We passed through a series of small beaches; at each one I found myself wondering, "Is this Los Arbolitos?" We knew there was a road to Los Arbolitos, so until we saw people on the beach, we trudged onward and the day got hotter and hotter. One beach offered a pelican haven, another offered rocky shores and a third was bordered by a slick rock that required hand holds to keep from sliding uncomfortably down a few feet. One short quiet beach, and more rocks to climb over. (Is this really the right way? The guy who gave us directions and distances was younger and fitter than either of us). At last we came upon a beach complete with palapas and plenty of gringos. Unfortunately, the high winds arrived with us. Oh well. I jumped right in and was immediately rewarded with clear vision of angelfish and all those striped fish. The water was so clear, I must confess, I was fascinated simply by the light on the ocean floor and the sight of my hands clearly focused as I pretended I was Lloyd Bridges. Those rocks we clamored over earlier became convenient lounge chairs for a simple lunch. A second dip in the water proved the winds had come up too much for our new found prowess. The sea had become so choppy that with every whitecap encountered, I got water down my snorkel and had to blow it out. I quickly gave up and by late afternoon we were hiking back to Cabo Pulmo.

Since then we have tried a spot nearer our casita. While the waters are shallower, the reef is closer and much clearer. This time Bruce got to see a giant angelfish. When he came back from his longest swim yet, he reported that it was "purely magical" swimming there under the sea (in the octopus's garden). Since then we have been content to take our mornings leisurely at the casita, spending our afternoons at the closest and clearest water near the reef. We've been seeing new fish, and now we have the added pleasure of watching other tourists find their own "techniques" for entering the water with newly rented gear.

La Paz, Carnaval and Whale Sharks (oh my!)

Jenny and Bob arrived as scheduled, on Thursday. With them both hear we enjoyed two days on the beach, a day of shopping in Todos Santos, the weekly artisan's fair in Pescadero and many good meals. On Monday we rode with Bob to the Cabo Airport to say good-bye to Jenny and to travel north in Bob's rental car to La Paz. It was good to discover that the four of us "travel well together."

In La Paz Bob conquered the traffic admirably in his rental. We had no trouble driving right to il Rustico and snagging a perfect parking place. After owner Franco welcomed us to our casitas, we wandered the malecon having time to preview some of the many opening Carnaval booths before parade time. We chose to watch the parade close to its starting point and even got a seat on the curb close enough to view with nothing in the way to interfere with photos. It was a nice long parade full of extraordinary sites. Beautiful women wore long gowns cascading down the steps leading to their platforms on the floats. Music blared from speakers on each float accompanying the dancers following in the street, or dancing on the float while hanging onto their Barbie-doll type stands. One semi tractor pulled a float with so many dancers that the whole cab of the semi was literally bouncing in time to the music. (The dance floor at the Silver Dollar in Butte on St. Patty's day had nothing over on these guys!)

Once the tail end of the parade passed our station, we walked along the parade route parallel to the parade and finally passing it before finding a friendly restaurant where last year we found last year margarita bargains, great food and helpful waiters. We enjoyed three margaritas for $100 pesos (about $8), perfect for our threesome. The margaritas were made with Controy (Mexican Contreaux) freshly squeezed Mandarin oranges, and tequila. Before long we had our waiter involved in conversation and he quickly worked the conversation around to the subject of whale sharks. He told us they were the biggest of all sharks, had we ever seen one? No? Well, they are often 5 meters long and they are in the ocean very near to our restaurant, and Martin, our waiter, just happened to be promoting his friends who take people out on boats to swim with the sharks. He assured us they eat only small things, particularly plankton. I told him I had felt scared to swim with the baby sized sea lions. " Oh, he said, "these are big, but I have never heard of them hurting anyone." Before long, we were negotiating price and time. At the price he agreed to, he would have to let other people join our party and we would have to bring our own water, but his buddies would provide all the snorkel gear we needed. we shook hands, made a deposit and agreed to meet him in the morning.

At 9:30 the next morning we found Martin and Jessie, a young woman from Saskatchewan, waiting for us. Off we all went to the docks to find Coca and Patima, our guide and our pilot in a boat waiting for us. During the ride out to the shark sight, Coca stood bull-rider style at the bow, leaning his weight against the bowline while Patima piloted the boat. Coca kept an eye out, sweeping his head side to side looking for the sharks. I uneasily remembered that three times in my life I have boarded a boat with the sole intention of seeing a whale and have never been successful. It was taking longer than we thought it would to spot one and I didn't think this was the time to mention my bad luck. Within minutes, Bruce, recalling a friend's failed fishing expedition a year ago, asked if anyone had brought along a banana. You see, last year, Bruce's guides had discovered a banana on board the boat which was catching no fish. The banana was quickly tossed overboard as the theory is that bananas on board a fishing boat brought bad luck. No, no one had a banana and I kept my mouth shut about the other bad luck person we had on board.

After another 30 minutes passed we began seeing jumping fish and flying sting rays! Just 300 yards from our bow we could see three or four other boats just like ours. Our guide made a discreet cell phone call, corrected the pilot's course, and then he was pointing toward the water before he began doling out the snorkel gear. Young Jessie was the first one ready. The guide told her to wait while the pilot quietly guided the boat in the direction the guide indicated. "Alli! Ahorita!" cried our guide; and Jessie jumped into the water. We watched open-mouthed as she swam after a tail we could barely see just breaking the surface of the water. Finding us all dumbstruck, the guide took over the helm and maneuvered closer to Jessie. When she stopped swimming and moved her mask atop her head, her face was jubilant. The only reason she had changed her ticket to fly out of La Paz instead of Cabo was because she wanted to see the sharks! Our guide began pointing and motioning Jessie to come on board. No, she was fine, we needn't worry about her. Coca took us closer to where the shark had gone. By now we had all donned our gear, ready to awkwardly tumble into the water at a moment's notice. This time I was rewarded! I could see the large tail just ahead of me in the murky water. I had a few thoughts about what would happen if I got swatted by that tail, but I had seen how quickly he had gotten away from young Jessie, so I quickly broke into that overhand stroke I used to practice in the dead of one lonely winter as a college student in Missoula. Ay! I was gaining on him! I swam along his side (giving that tail plenty of room) and could soon see first his spotted side, then his dorsal fin and finally his head and the line of his mouth! I swam with him awhile before he "kicked it in gear" and rapidly outpaced me. When I stopped and looked back, I discovered I had left our boat far behind and was glad everyone else was on board and watching for me as I was out of oomph! The boat motored to me. Jessie and I hung on to the ladder while Coca scoured the waters for another shark and took us close to him for another chance at a personal encounter. This time I was only able to catch up to his dorsal fin before I tired. It was reassuring to find that the whale sharks basically ignored us. We had been told not to touch the sharks, but that we could swim near them with no harm done. Both Jessie and I were uneasy when 5 or more people from the other boats trailed after one and soon we let them have the swim. Our guide was bothered a bit as he could see that some of the people from the other boats were touching the sharks. So he took us away until he found a lonely shark for us to swim with. Soon we were all too tired to keep up with the sharks, even young Jessie. Our guide kindly took us so close to other sharks that we could get more viewing from the boat. What a wonderful way to spend a La Paz morning! I was especially glad that my whale viewing jinx was broken and that Jessie's got to see her whale shark.

Another night at Carnaval revealed many interesting sites and games of chance, but we never saw the game that took away the young tequila salesmen's enchilada money. Today we have a long drive to Cabo Pulmo where we may not have Internet access. First we must load up on groceries before we leave this enchanting city by the sea.

San Pedritos Beach

San Pedritos Beach is the official name of the beach we live on (not Pescadero Beach as previously inferred). After the Donkey Quest, we've settled back into our beach routine, extending the number of hours actually spent as sand lizards and sharpening our observation skills. In four more days we leave this paradise, with some sadness in our hearts, yet with happy anticipation of new adventures on the east coast. Friends Bob and Jenny from Colorado join us this afternoon. It will be a treat to share this with good friends.

Down on the beach we will have to introduce Bob and Jenny to Bruce's sand carving craft so they can make their own custom thrones.

And we will have to continue watching the beach dynamics. I like to set up my observation station a few hours before noon. If I lie parallel to the ocean shore, on my belly, I can rest on my elbows and behind my shades pretend I am reading one of Bruce's crime novels. This way people are perjaps fooled into thinking I normal. I like to think no one can see that my eyeballs, actually my whole head, is focused on the surfers perched on their boards just off the "surf break." By now, I can identify the regulars from the seasonals from the short time visitors. I hesitate, out of respect for their privacy to say much about the people I observe. But I can tell you, that the folks who spend several months out of every year here are mostly surfers and that they are simply in love with the ocean and playing in it. Whether their legs carry them and their boards into the breakers with a skip and a run or whether they greet the waves when swimming with arms upraised like someone yelling "hallelujah" at a revival meeting, they rejoice in the fact that they are here and in the ocean.

My very favorite "regular" is a dog I've come to refer to as Vigil Dog.

Vigil Dog belongs to a surfer and when his owner is out surfing, Vigil Dog sits at the highest point on the shore nearest his Favorite Surfer (owner)and holds his nose to the wind anxiously watching and waiting. His only distractions come in two forms: certain two-legged creatures and four-legged souls if (and only if) they have a ball they are willing to share. The two-legged creatures must be friends from another venue, and they must be surfers. Many surfers come out of the water near where Vigil Dog waits, but only certain ones get a greeting. Vigil Dog will even bark and meet them in the surf if they are really special. He seems to ask them if they caught any good waves out there and they seem to thank him for keeping an eye on things. Plenty of dogs cross the shore in front of Vigil Dog, but unless they (not the human with them) offer a ball to Vigil Dog, he is not to be distracted.

At a certain point on the morning, an attentive observer may hear the piercing whistle beyond the crashing of the waves. Vigil Dog always hears the whistle. Even if that observer has not heard the whistle, s/he might soon notice one solitary surfer paddling due south, parallel to shore. Vigil Dog has already begun barking and wagging his way down the shore, keeping pace with his Favorite Surfer. When that surfer cuts toward shore and is within 10-20 feet of sand, Vigil Dog just cannot help himself and swims out into the waves, so happy to see his Favorite Surfer coming in. When the surfer reaches down to pick up his board, Vigil Dog is ready for the greeting and enjoys taking a few licks of salt water off of Favorite Surfer's face. Together the two begin their homeward walk, with Vigil Dog carrying an expression which seems to say "See why I waited for this wonderful person?"

There seems to be a certain hour when all the surfers tire of waiting for waves, and suddenly the surf break is empty and we are alone on the beach. Then I really do have nothing better to do than read my current paperback, whatever I've traded for at the most convenient gringo spot. Bruce and I rejoice on the days the waves are tame enough for us land lubbers that we can actually swim when we get bored with our books. Some days the waves break in close to shore and we can easily swim beyond the breakers and loll in the swells like babies in a cradle. Yesterday the waves broke further out, the depth varying from over our heads to only waist high. We played a game of over/under....alternating going over or going under each broken wave that comes to us. I lost on a rapid double. I went under the first, tried to go over the second, caught a snoot full of water and had to go under the second as well. Ok, so I am easily entertained. But it was fun.

We continue to see whales, although it seems like fewer these last few days. This happened last year about this time and we get the sense that their migratory path along the Baja Pennisula is nearly complete. There continue to be fewer pelicans than last year. My original theory was that they all moved to Cabo San Lucas where every available ponga boat sits waiting in the marina for the next boatload of tourists who have purchased a fishing experience. Each of these pongas has an open bait box in the back, full of live bait fish that are just the right size for a pelican bill. I just like to think that all the pelicans have opted for an easier life style where they can just pick a meal out of the nearest bait box, rather than having to fish the ocean waves every time they get hungry. When I asked a year-round resident what happened to all the pelicans she gave me a sobering answer, "They are all starving to death.". Gosh, I hope she is wrong, but I will not go into Cabo San Lucas just to find out.

The arrival of Bob and Jenny marks the beginning of the end of our time at San Pedritos Beach. I am always sad to leave a place. We will miss Fidel and his fresh vegetables, Serita's stellar huevos Mexicanos, Lupe's enthusiastic greetings and we will even miss our long walks yto town past fields of basil, poblano peppers, tomatoes and avacado trees.

And I am already feeling sad for Jenny. She will only have five days here (counting two travel days) before Bob has to take her back to the airport and to her job in Colorado. Bob will stay another week and will get to see a couple of other Baja sites.

At the same time that I am sad to see our time in Pescadero and San Pedrito Beach come to an end, I am looking forward to new adventures. On Tuesday we will ride with Bob in his rental car to the east coast of Baja to La Paz (our first road trip in a private car) where we will enjoy Carnaval, La Paz's Mardi Gras. We will look for the gambling game which took the enchilada money from the cute tequila salesman from Todos Santos and we will see if there is anything to report from that experience. After two days of La Paz we will go with Bob to Cabo Pulmo on the Sea of Cortez where we hope to fish and snorkel. We will share a house with Bob there for three days before Bob has to return home. Bruce and I will then move to a smaller casita and spend another 7 days in Cabo Pulmo. We've wanted to snorkel the living reef in Cabo Pulmo since our first trip to Baja, but since the buses don't go there, we've never been able to arrange that. This will be an adventure as we hear the whole town is "off the grid" and operates on propane and solar power. We also hear there are a couple of small grocery stores and a few restaurants. I don't know if we will have Internet access there or not. I do know I like exploring new places. And this time of year, the wind should be lessening on the east side. With the whale presence decreasing and the advent of a few cloudy, windy, cool days this may be as good a time as any other to be leaving one of our favorite spots. We have heard that the surfing also quiets down in March as the waves typically are not as good in March as they are in February. On the east coast, popular with wind and kite surfers, the wind which has blown at Livingston rates in February usually calms down in March. The calm turquoise waters and white sandy beaches off the Sea of Cortez will be another pleasant adventure in the sun.

The Donkey Quest

Hee-haw, Hee-haw...The Donkey Quest! That is what our son Gabe called it when he heard I was looking for a dentist down here. He explained that it was a reference to the way Mexican dentists are depicted in cartoons, awakening vague and nearly forgotten memories for me and initiating some much needed comic relief! I wouldn't write about all this, except that I feel badly for our friends and family in Montana, with yet more snow! So here is a post to let you know not all is fun and games down here.

Once upon a time.....a couple of years ago my dentists ganged up on me (an intervention, perhaps?) telling me about a big problem I had developing in my mouth. When I learned exactly how imminent and expensive this would be, I took out a supplemental dental insurance policy. The policy, however, included a two year waiting period before they would pay anything toward any major dental work. I gave my dentists no choice but to work with me on this until April of this year. They agreed to continue a temporary fix my original and now retired dentist had started over 10 years ago. Basically, my lower front teeth are glued together in what is called a natural tooth bridge. Mine, however, is very unstable and one tooth in particular is so loose that it occasionally wiggles enough to break its bond with its mate and I have to go in and have another glob of glue added to the now coffee-stained mess of glue blobs on my lower teeth. Past experience with this tenuous bridge has taught me that when one tooth rcomes loose, it is way simpler to get it re-glued right away instead of ignoring it and wishing the whole problem would just go away. I have just written an explanation for you in layman's terms. At the last fix my dentist did, I asked him to put it in dentist language for me so that if I were traveling and this happened I would know what to say to a new dentist. He kindly wrote it out for me, explaining that most any dentist should be able to glue me back together again. I asked him, "What if the dentist were in Mexico?" i wondered if anyone in Mexico would even know who Humpty Dumpty was. My dentist got a little uneasy then and expressed his concerns about the hygiene in Mexico. I left his office hoping like heck the last fix would last until we got home.

And it didn't. Now, we've all heard tales of how much cheaper dental work is down here than in the states, so I started asking around about a dentist and got a couple of recommendations right in Todos Santos (a 10 minute bus ride north of here, once the bus shows up). A friend with a phone tried several times to reach a recommended dentist and set up an appointment, but no one there ever answered the phone. It seemed the only thing to do would be to go there in person. The kink in the plan was the distance of the office from the bus station, especially if we didn't know if anyone would be there. And, as the days rolled along, the situation in my mouth was worsening. I opted to visit the Mexican clinic near the bus station where there was another recommended dentist.

What a trip that was! Just inside the front door of the clinic there was a little office with a plexi-glass window separating the folks inside from the general public. There was a little talkie hole about mouth height and a little opening on the bottom big enough to slide a passport or money through. It was similar to what we have in the police dispatcher station in Livingston. Here, the people in the office do not speak any English, nor are they accustomed to explaining things slowly to clueless tourists. They said a lot of things to me very rapidly. The only part I clearly understood was that I was to come back in two hours.

Bruce and I passed the time snooping around the tourist shops of Todos Santos. Bruce kept asking me if I saw any jewelry I liked, which was my clue he wanted to buy me something and make me feel better about our predicament. I couldn't settle my mind enough to look at jewelry. In one shop we met a cute young tequila salesman who taught us some things about tequila. This young man spoke quite a bit of English and apparently wanted to practice as he kept us engaged. Soon he was telling us a funny story about how he became captivated by a game of chance on the malecon of La Paz during Carnaval. He was so sure he had the game figured out, but he lost everything, even the money he had saved to buy an enchilada. He shook his head remembering how foolish he'd felt, saying the only good thing that happened to him that day was a girl he met. They are still friends today, two years later.

When I got back to the clinic they asked for my passport and $10. After much paging through my passport and much frowning and officious stamping of little pieces of paper, they passed back my passport and a little scrap of paper upon which they had written "ficha 1." Then they gave more rapid fire instructions. When they stopped talking and looked expectantly at me I repeated the only thing I could understand, "You want me to go through this door?" They waved and nodded, saying, "Si, Si. Pasale!" After passing through the door I found a couple of nurses behind a counter who ignored me until I flashed my little magical piece of paper. I was clearly the only lost gringo in the place and they immediately began weighing this strange specimen and taking my blood pressure. I was told to go down the hall to the fourth door, and was beginning to understand how Alice felt when she went down that rabbit hole. I opened the fourth door and walked right in on a young Mexican family talking to the dentist! Back out in the hallway I felt a sudden urge to quickly improve my Spanish. I began reading every poster in the place, picking out new vocabulary and using the graphics to help me translate. After studying every poster and coming up with multiple translations for each, I sat down and tried to act like a normal patient. Bruce had not been allowed past the portal of entry. I had told him that at home it was a simple one half hour fix. I'd already been in the rabbit hole a good half hour and other than interrupting the young family, I hadn't even talked to a dentist! When the young family finally finished, I headed toward the door and a Mexican man tried to ace me out, but hey, that magic piece of paper got me in ahead of him.

The young female dentist also spoke no English. I carefully told her the phrases I had translated (using the mysterious google translator) and memorized from my dentist's note. She took a look, then with her index finger wagging from side to side next to her face told me no, no, glue would no longer work, I needed something stronger, I needed porecelain. She could not do it here at the clinic, but could tell me where to go to get it done. This dentist, however was much further away than the one who didn't answer her phone and I would need an appointment, but could get one in the next two days. Ugh.

Bruce meanwhile, had found another dentist on the internet in Todos Santos within walking distance. Off we went. Yes they could do porcelain here, but not until tomorrow. I made an appointment that would accommodate the bus's unpredictable schedule and we headed back to Pescadero. That evening Gabe's e-mail arrived and gave me a much needed hearty laugh! Thank you, Gabe!

The next morning marked our third day in a row of walking to town instead of to the beach. Lessening our pain, a kind neighbor offered us a ride all the way into Todos Santos. We arrived early at the dentist's office, and our luck had changed,he could take me early. After hearing my rehearsed speech and looking in my mouth, he felt the need to take an x-ray before continuing. I was back in 1962 holding the cardboard negative in place with my finger, no lead apron or any of that. He developed it himself and came back looking like the bearer of bad news. He showed me the x-ray and explained that the one tooth would have to come out. My mind was reeling! How could things have deteriorated so quickly? Remembering my dentist's concern about Mexico, I felt like I just couldn't have a tooth extracted down here, no matter what! (Was this where those images of dentists as donkeys came from? I pictured a cartoon donkey placing a kick in the appropriate spot and the offending tooth popping out). Then the light came on in my little culturally bound little pea brain. Both of these professional dentists were diagnosing my Big Problem! They didn't realize I needed/wanted a temporary fix. Once I figured that out, I could adequately explain my situation. Fortunately this dentist spoke a little English, so that made things easier. Once he understood my situation, he took another look and said, "I am just going to clean this up a bit and then I will fix the broken part, ok?"

He worked a good long while on my teeth and I was beginning to wonder exactly what was he was doing when I'd been in the chair over an hour. Finally he handed me a mirror and ...... I couldn't believe what I saw. All the ugly coffee-stained globs of glue had been scrubbed clean and white, filed down and new glue applied over the top. Then he had shaped the glue to look exactly like my teeth. I could barely see that they had been glued. "It is beautiful!" I couldn't help exclaiming out loud. "Yes," he said, "In Mexico we do beautiful work." I felt like my donkey had just turned into my fairy godfather!

And then his assistant gave me the bill. At $200 it wasn't any cheaper than it would have been stateside. Maybe I got "the gringo price," or maybe as Bruce said, "They saw me coming." I prefer my friend's explanation that the price of dental work down here has recently gone up. At any rate, if it lasts until April I will be a very happy camper. I had to tell Bruce that the jewelry he had wanted to buy me in Todos Santos had turned into the beautiful pearls now in my lower jaw. And my donkey quest is now complete (I hope). And aren't you glad to be skiing or shoveling a walk rather than going on a donkey quest?

Food: Fresh and Local!

So far I've only hinted at the yummy food down here, so maybe now is a good time to go into more detail.  Because we are staying in one place this first month, we are able to do much of our own cooking.  Being without a car and off the highway means we do have to carry everything from town down a quiet mile and a half of dirt road.  We split the load between our two backpacks and we go in every third or fourth day, so it really is manageable.  This does mean that our diet is limited to what we can buy locally.  The good news is that we are surrounded by growing fields.  Along our walk to town we pass fields full of tomatoes, peppers, basil, squash, and avocado trees.

While it is tempting to step through the gates at one of these fields and "liberate" the ripest of those cherry tomatoes, we do respect the farmers' work, complete the walk to town and wait to see what is available at the roadside vegetable stand.  Fidel tells us nearly everything we've selected and placed in our tub for purchase comes from Pesacdero. It is not refrigerated, so you know it has to be freshly packed, and picked ripe, none of this picking green business for easier shipping to far off places like Montana. We regularly buy bananas, tangerines, avocados, poblano peppers, red peppers, young zucchini, young white potatoes, jalepenos, and other spicy hot chilis which we can't name, but which Fidel has recommended. We also get yellow, purple and white onions, garlic, tomatoes, cilantro and broccoli. Sometimes we can get cantelope, peanuts, sweet potato and dried chilis.  We always buy enough grapefruit to squeeze for our "Poor Man Margaritas.". (Glenn, our favorite bartender calls them that even when we use the better Jimador tequila mixed with grapefruit juice).

Our second usual stop in town is the small local grocery store.  Here we get fabulously fresh, locally made flour tortillas, locally made quesadilla cheese, yogurt, a local brand of processed cheese which resembles jack cheese, eggs, butter, corn tortilla chips, rice, pasta, canned refritos, a bag of cookies, and Jimador.
To mix things up a it we sometimes stop for a beer while the guy at a roadside stand across the street roasts a whole chicken for us on his outdoor grill fired by mesquite charcoal. This we take home and it becomes three meals!




In the afternoons a woman stands outside the Oxxo store (Mexico's 7/11 store) and sells pork, beef or chicken tamales for 10 pesos each (a little less than one US dollar). They were steamed in the morning and are kept warm in a cooler and they are delicious. The first time I bought them, intending to eat them for dinner, I had to snarf down two right on the spot!

What do we make with all this fresh stuff? We've discovered that with things this fresh, every combination is delicious. Breakfast is usually yogurt/banana, coffee, sometimes eggs, veggies and tortillas. Lunch varies. Bruce likes cheese and tomatoes grilled between two sides of a sweet white bun. My favorite is a quesadilla with that creamy smooth local cheese and some veggies. Some days we just eat peanuts and tangerines on the beach. Happy hour usually includes my own homemade guacamole on chips. After happy hour there's time for a trip back to the beach or to the palapa for sunset watching before eating again. Dinner usually consists of rice or pasta or potatoes topped with sautéed veggies (various combinations of what we haven't eaten up yet). We like to top the spud dish with grated jack cheese, the rice dish with tasty red tomatoes (yes, the ones down here taste like they came out of your garden) and the pasta dish with whichever. We have bean burritos one or two nights a week, and sometimes we might have eggs in tortillas for dinner.

That's about it for our home cooked meals. Later I'll write more about the meals we eat in town. We will have to gather a few more experiences for a full report on that, though. Tough assignment, eh?

Day Trip to Cerritos Beach

A few days ago we decided to break up our routine and make the hike to a beach south of us. Locals know it as Cerritos Beach, but it doesn't show up as such unless you have a very, very detailed map.  It is about 3 - 4 miles south of us, accessible by beach, dirt road parallelling the beach or by a mile and a half long turn-off from the Trans-Pennisular Highway about three miles south of Pescadero.  We decided to explore the road that parallels the beach, saving the additional three miles we would walk trying to get to the Trans-Pennisular.  That was easy enough until you get to the rocky point which separates the Pescadero Beach from Cerritos. N As we topped the rocky point the view that broke the horizon was what appeared to be the bell tower of a mission.  It doesn't actually have any bells within, but is a tasteful nod to mission architecture on the part of the resort.  Soon the entire Cerritos Beach came into view.  What a difference from our nearly deserted beach at Peacadero!  After the "bell tower" and the resort, our eyes were drawn to the rows of beach chairs and umbrellas lining the beach.  It was still before noon, so the beach wasn't crowded at all.

 

 At that point, I became aware of how ill-suited we were for this new beach.  We trudged over the final hill wearing the zip-away shorts more "fashionable"on the Missouri or Marias Rivers than on this tourist-laden beach setup.  Our sweaty garb didn't quite fit in with the gauzy cover-up style prevalent down below. Oh well,we had arrived and those lounge chairs beckoned.

It seemed the only way down to them from the rocky point was through the picturesque resort.  So I squared my shoulders and tried to pretend we were of the "resort set."  Soon we found a beautiful outdoor circular staircase made of stone .  The staircase led us down off the rocky point and deposited us on the beach.  But before we could get to the lounge chairs we'd seen from above, we had to walk through the section of beach reserved for the surf school.  The atmosphere there was not unlike a dropzone with a handful of tandem students.  The confident instructors know that a few of their students will be "bit by the bug" while most will simply have accomplished something to cross off of their lists of "things to do in Mexico."  Next along the beach was a spot where someone was doing a booming business renting boogie boards, then we passed a lifeguard station which seemed to be unmanned, though I'd noticed a yellow warning flag along the water's edge. Finally we arrived at the lounge chairs and we each claimed one of the more comfortable ones. Soon a young Mexican man was by our sides asking if we wanted shade or sun and adjusting the umbrella for us! After our long hot hike a cold (though sure-to-be-expensive) beer sounded great.We ordered one to split and it was heavenly!  As we settled in we took note of our surroundings. Stripped to our swimsuits we seemed to fit in a little better, somewhere in between the weakly tanned white skins of the poor folks who only have a week to spend down here and the deep Baja Brown of the "we live in Cabo" set. Our skin is comfortably in between those two ranges by now. Amongst the weeklies I spotted a large family (must have been seven of them) trailing onto the beach.  They were followed by a muscular young Mexican in surfer jams, carrying some of their stuff.  Once they chose their spot and he had adjusted the umbrellas for them, they ordered up boogie boards for all.  Off the man in jams went to come back with arms laden.  "Are these all right?" he asked.  "Anything else you need?"  "Well," said the mom eyeing the boogie boards, "Other than surf lessons for the oldest three in a couple of hours, that's it."  Wait a minute.  How can this be?  I noticed one of the girls sporting a Butte Central t-shirt!  And off they ran into the water, shirts and all.

Wandering among the beach goers were solitary Mexican men.  Some carried briefcases full of silver jewelry.  They know exactly how to sell, "Have a look.  It doesn't cost anything to look."  Then once they open their cases, they watch which piece catches your eye and offer to let you try it on.  Oh man.  If you do that, you will want to own it!  I, uncharacteristically and strongly refuse.  Other men carried three foot stacks of straw hats.  One fellow had a series of baskets strung across his arms that would make perfect beach bags.

Although I finally convinced him I couldn't carry anything that big back with me and I really wasn't going to buy anything, we settled into a conversation.  We talked about languages.  He appeared to be 30 or 40 years old and told me that when he was a child he spoke only his Indian language.  It wasn't until he started going to school that he learned Spanish.  Now he speaks both fluently.  He drove from the Mexican state of Guerrero (in central mainland Mexico) to Baja California Sur in January.  He plans on staying down here for three months to sell his wares.  I hadn't realized that as recently as maybe 40 years ago there were still little pueblos tucked away in Mexico where the dominant language was the Indian language.  The Spaniards have been in Mexico since the 1500's, colonizing away, so that feat of hanging on to native languages is really something.

After we finished our beer, Bruce decided to try the water while I stayed with our stuff.  On his way to the water he stopped to talk to the dad of the boogie-boarding family.  They are from Billings, the t-shirt a memoir from a basketball tournament.  Meanwhile, I had spotted a life quard and asked him about the flag. It is nothing to worry about and  Bruce was headed in the safe direction. Bruce waded out a good 50 yards and was still only in up to his waist!  At our beach, he would have been in over his head in about half that distance from the shore.  When he returned,I went out.  I got as as far as the "surfers" and was still touching bottom!  Wow!  The waves were nice and gentle, so it was easy swimming.

By the time I got back, it was time to eat lunch,.   We knew it would be beyond our budget but, we asked for menus anyway and decided to go for it. We each ordered tacos, expecting one taco apiece and maybe some beans and rice.  While we waited for our food, I was entertained by our beachmates.  After a sweet Mexican woman stopped by to ask if we'd like a massage and quoted her rates, I noticed the other weekly whites closest to us.  This bunch was a group of couples.  The boys ordered a bucket of ($5.00 USD each) Pacificos and one of the ladies had a fancy drink.  Soon she began glancing around and a waiter appeared by her side. "No, no, I want Lala," she said.  The waiter called for Laul (it is a difficult name and I'm not sure I have it right here)and he came to her side.  Apparently her drink didn't have enough liquor in it.  It took two men to remedy the  situation, one brought a healthy amount of booze in a big shot class and began to pour it into her drink.  "No, no,!"she cried, she may not want that much and prefered to do it herself! Meanwhile, Laul, the second waiter brought a fancy bottle to her side, I supposed he hoped to interest her in buying the whole bottle.  No sale.  When the overweight husbands went into the water and left Miss Fancy Drinks alone in the lounge chairs she again looked around anxiously.  Laul faithfully appeared, but no, she wanted Eduardo this time. Eduardo showed up and she motioned him to take her husband's chair.  He entertained her with small talk until her party returned from the sea (talk about "all -inclusive!") and then Eduardo quietly took his leave. The conversation that ensued amongst the "boys" of the group had me thankful that I was not trapped inside a bar with them, especially during one of their drunken bar adventures which they now described loudly enough for everyone near them to hear.
Thankfully,I saw food arriving and that got my attention away from the big loud boys. And it looked delicious.  We each got three tacos folded into handmade tortillas, a side of beans and a side of quacamole.  The waiter also brought us a large plate holding pico de gallo, two types of salsa and a couple of handfuls of chips.  Have I mentioned all the hand made tortillas down here?  Well, these taco chips were made of those.  I had ordered fish tacos and they were a far cry from the frozen, breaded, Sysco-delivered fish we get in Montana.  Yep, this was fresh fish, nicely grilled.  And although we were expecting/wanting a little lunch, we ate every last bean.  It was just so good, we couldn't leave any of it on our plates! Too soon it was time to begin our long walk home. I hesitated to give up the luxuries of ice cold beer, lounge chairs, good food and easy swimming. At the same time I was relieved to leave the weekly whities and the snooty brown Cabo dwellers. There's something about the way they so readily accept the patronizing graciousness of our Mexican hosts that embarrassed me and made me uncomfortable. I was glad we are in between, not full-timers and not week long all-inclusive resort types either. After that taste of luxury, I still prefer our quiet little Pescadero Beach.

 We took the beach route home and along the way Bruce hopped into the rougher water for a cooling salt water wash. On the way home we encountered Joyce, the new owner of Gary's place. She re-iterated her standing offer to come join them for an afternoon beer. I love this place!

At Home on the Beach

Our new casita is aptly named Casita Oleander. It is a small 2 room house, the main room functioning as bedroom/kitchen/sitting room, though we rarely sit in there. Because....we have a nice porch that goes across the front and down half one of the sides. The porch faces south, has a three foot cement/stucco wall, There are a plastic table and two chairs on the patio and a hedge of oleanders around the low cement wall. The oleanders are in bloom: white and pink. In the morning we get the welcome warmth of the sun. By late afternoon, when we are done at the beach, we move the table to the west side where the lowering sun and the tall oleanders give us spackled shade for the perfect temp.

We are only inside long enough to cook a meal, shower, sleep at night. The rest of the time we are outside. A far cry from our friends at home in MT who are currently dealing with temperatures of anywhere from minus 20 to minus 35!  And best of all, our casita is literally one sandy path (less than a block) away from the beach.

On a typical day we take our mornings slowly.  We awaken to the aroma of fresh brewed coffee, as our casita has an automatic brewer which we set up the night before.  We greet the sun while sitting on the porch, drinking coffee.  By the time the sun clears the trees to the east of us, we are in shorts and tank tops.  Then it's a simple breakfast (usually yogurt and fresh bananas; somedays eggs fresh from the market seasoned with whatever is on hand in the way of chilis, onions, peppers, tomatoes all served with a warm hand-made tortilla, never older than a few days).  By 10:30 the warmth of the sun on our porch drives us to our swimsuits and the beach.  Bruce creates a personalized lounger chair, custom fit to his body, out of the sand on the beach.  The steep incline of the sand, created in the wee hours of the morning at high tide, serves as a fitting foundation for his throne-by-the-sea. 

 I lay on my belly and face the flock of surfers bobbing on the swells waiting for that perfect wave.  Sometimes there is an entertaining dog or two on the beach.  I have two favorites. One chases a ball right into the crashing waves, happy as he can be to basically tread water against the undertow until the next wave actually crashes over his head and carries him to shore!  Yep, I'd say he is a body surfing dog.  The other belongs to a surfer and is not as fond of the waves.  He sits at the water's edge, holding his head high so he can keep an eye (and nose) on his master out beyond the breakline.  When a large swell hides his master from view he frantically runs along the shore, jumping up to catch a glimpse of the fellow for whom he waits.  

The other surfers seems to know the dog as they all greet him when they come out of the water, but the dog is not easily distracted for any length of time before beginning his vigil again.  It is when his master begins paddling south and whistles, the dog knows his wait is nearly over and happily trots down the beach, all the while keeping an eye on his southbound master until the moment of happy reunion.

 

Meanwhile, Bruce and I have become sand lizards, melting into the beach.  We use plenty of sunblock to keep from buring our tender Montana skins.  After we've gotten good and toasty, and if the seas are calm enough, we take a dip in the ocean. The water here is surprisingly warm.  We find we can stay in as long as we like without getting too cool.  The surfers, however, who are out for hours on end, seem to prefer wetsuits.  A few surf "California style" with simple baggies or bikini. Skill levels vary, some working the wave for all its worth while others seem happy to have caught a ride at alll  Once the big surf subsides, the surfers all go in. Bruce flips to his stomach and I take a turn in the throne.  Now it is whale-watching time.  We are seeing more and more of them each day.  Sometimes a whole pod passes by.  About three quarters of the way to the horizon we can see them spout.  If we keep looking at the same spot we might even get to see the back side of one, reflecting the sun as s/he breaches on her/his migration north.  One more swim in the waves marks the end of our beach time.  We can't seem to leave the beach without filling our suits with sand from the shallow water.

Showers clear the sand from our suits and bodies, we dink away the afternoon and soon it is happy hour.  The shade of the oleanders on the west side of our porch is welcoming.  If we time it right, happy hour ends about sunset.  We have recently discovered a palapa (a thatched roof patio) on the property from which we can watch the sunset.  Perfect!  Bruce swears he has seen "the green flash," but you know how that story goes.

LIfe is pretty good here in paradise.  We've just completed another perfect day.  And we've almost forgotten what it feels like to need coat, hat, mittens, boots and scarf.