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!