Our Little Piece of Heaven
That is how I've begun to think about our living quarters here in El Sargento. We are directly upstairs from our land lady, two blocks from the grocery store, one mile from friends' house, and we are literally a stone's throw from the beach. Our front entrance, a sliding glass door, opens directly onto a large terrace overlooking the Sea of Cortez. When entering the apartment we step into the small seating area defined only by coffee table, couch and rocker. Behind the rocker sits a queen sized bed, positioned with a view of the sea. Opposite the bed is a nice sized bathroom and large bookshelf. The kitchen/dining area (for two) juts out onto the terrace and is outfitted with very basic, but quality cook gear and ceramic dishes.
The terrace boasts small shaded seating area right outside the main door. Sun screens and the indoor cooking area provide necessary protection from the afternoon sun and winds. Ten steps closer to the sea two chaise lounge chairs sit side by side with small table and umbrella stand in between. Comfortable folding chairs stored near the umbrella at the top of the staircase are available for our use.
Next to the chaise lounges is a big open space. It was here that the sister-in-law of some friends of ours led us all on an impromptu (and brief) yoga session. Thanks to her, I can now do several Salutations to the Sun every morning on this private terrace as the sun crests the horizon over the sea.
The lounge chairs offer a perfect spot for morning coffee and yogurt. By 9AM, however, the sun's rays are so direct and warm, we find it necessary to donn our swimwear, walk down the stairs, through the gate and down two more short fights of stairs to the beach.
Oh, but our picture of this particular piece of heaven is not yet complete. Easy access to the sea and lovely accommodations are not everything it has to offer. Last year our landlady showed us her storage closet located halfway down the stairs to the beach. From it she extracted a couple of beach chairs, inviting us to help ourselves as often as we liked. "Oh! And here is the paddle. Take it with you. I keep my kayak at the bottom of the stairs. Go ahead and use that too." This year I happened to mention that I'd been wanting try stand-up paddleboarding. Our landlady cheerfully replied that now she has two stand-up paddleboards and I should use the bigger one if I'd never done it before. She gave me a quick little lesson there by the storage shed and recommended which paddle to use. She suggested I go out early in the morning before the wind came up and that I pick a day when the water is nice and glassy so I could learn how to balance myself on the board.
I'm not foolish enough to ignore the advice of an 85 year-old woman, so on the next glassy morning I bravely entered the water with broad paddleboard under my arm (sort of). The board was so big and so heavy I wondered if our landlady could get it to the water without assistance. I had to stop once to get a better grip and rest my arms in the 20 foot walk to the water's edge. Following the instructions I'd been given, I paddled from a kneeling position until I got out to where I could see a sandy bottom beneath me. So far, so good, but now comes the challenge: I must carefully move to a standing position, balancing myself on the three foot wide board. Yes, I was nervous enough my knees had a bit of a shake to them. I had to remind myself that a tumble into the ocean would probably feel pretty good and I should just forget about my pride and relax my knees. It worked! I was standing on the board! (Never mind that my toes strained trying to hold on to the flat board even though I lacked suction cupped feet). Soon I was paddling and peering down into the clear and glassy sea. What fun!
After two days of wobbling adjustments, I was beginning to feel fairly confident. At that point, our generous landlady suggested I try her "tippy" board. I questioned why I would want to do that and she explained how much easier it is to paddle and maneuver........once you get used to the "tippy-ness" of it. New adventures await.
But until then, we will just continue on enjoying our little piece of heaven. We originally planned only one week here, but we are enjoying it so much, we paid for another week here in heaven.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Thursday, March 19, 2015
Reflection on first few Cabo Pulmo Days
Oh my. I thought I had published this post before I even wrote about Mermaid Beach, but then I found if lurking, unpublished in the drafts folder! Sequentially, this belongs in between La Paz and Mermaid Beach.......hmmmm....maybe the computer gods are just saying to skip this one.....I don't know!
Finally, a chance for a more sequential post on Cabo Pulmo! My apologies for the confusion I may have caused. When we first got here, we were without Internet and had been without for three days, ever since we left La Paz. I hadn't completed my blog on La Paz and so hadn't posted it yet and then it dawned on me that those of you not in my immediate family may have been worried. At that point we had found a fellow in Cabo Pulmo offering to let us use his laptop to access the Internet at a rather expensive price. We used our precious minutes to inform family of our safety and then I did the quick (and now out of sequence) post on our safe arrival. Since then Bruce, aka "hero of the neighborhood" roamed the few streets of Cabo Pulmo waving the iPad around until he picked up a "hot spot." He found a spot in the street, two houses down; but being the relentless optimist he is, he refused to give up until he found a more comfortable zone. He found one on our rooftop viewing deck, devoid of any shade at all (a precious commodity for most hours of the day--unless at the beach). He gave away our credit card number....yes, I felt rather weak at the knees at first) for one week of access or some quantity of some bits or bytes of data, whichever happened first. A little Internet research assures me that we shouldn't use up our bit allowance in the week we are here, even with my rather long-winded blog entries. (So my knees feel stronger now). We have found it best to type our messages (and blog posts) offline in the comfort of our casita or on our shaded front porch. Every evening after dinner, but before dark and every morning before 10AM we climb to the rooftop, wave the iPad over our heads and hope to hear the "swoosh" of composed messages going out. It is a little awkward, but it IS access from our casita! Bruce is a hero!
We've been in Cabo Pulmo six days already, and it seems like three. Our first two days here were unusually cloudy and cool. But that was a blessing, as that is why the Calgary couple who picked us up 3minutes after we stuck out our thumbs, decided to drive from their Cabo San Lucas winter home to explore the town of Cabo Pulmo. They took us right to our casita manager here. The manager's niece then gave us (and our five gallons of drinking water) a ride to our door. Couldn't have been easier!
The second cloudy day gave us opportunity to explore the trail system of Cabo Pulmo. We had heard last year that the local residents had developed and maintained a trail system into the mountains. I went home regretting that we hadn't had a chance to explore those last year. As luck would have it, the wife of the Internet guy used to be a guide on the trails, so she told us the story of why no maps are available and then gave us directions to the trailheads. We found three trailheads and chose to follow the most inland one. We had heard repeatedly that there were more rattlesnakes showing themselves this year, after all the rains, than ever before. We heard that on the Pacific side as well as here. Being a brazen kid, spending my youngest years in Arizona, I didn't let the idea of snakes hold us back ....even if we did just have Chacos on our feet.
We had no idea where this particular trail led, so it was fun to follow its meanderings, skirting large arroyos, and even, at one point passing by some incongruous tennis courts. We hiked by amazing growths of cactus, around knoll tops and up and down gullies, not really going anywhere in particular, just wherever that trail happened to lead. Since I had offered to go first (be snake bait) I knew I had to be super conscientious about watching the ground in front of me. Everytime I stubbed my sandal toe on a rock lodged in the trail, I was reminded to watch more closely. Shortly after just such an instance, I saw a familar pattern lying across the trail in front of me. My dangling arms instinctively flew out my sides, fingers spread wide, and I heard a single word escape my lips, "Snake!" About the same time I felt Bruce bump my back, I heard, and then saw, the rattle. Grateful it was still slithering and not coiling, I stomped on Bruce's feet in an effort to distance us from the threat. He never did coil, but just stopped with his head hidden in some brush and only his tail visible. He stopped rattling and Bruce wanted to go forward and get a closer look. I'd heard the rattle and that was as much as I wanted to know about that snake. Bruce did go ahead of me for a closer look, but I had already started backing down the trail and soon Bruce was traveling in the same direction. That ended our hike for that day, and we were plenty content to spend the rest of the day exploring our options for groceries and/or for restaurants.
Since then we've had sunny days. Two of them were accompanied by a wind, one day so cool we only spent enough time in the water to discover that Bruce's snorkel had sprung a leak and that the mask and snorkel I had borrowed from Cindy and Vince fit my face much better than our own. The second windy day we found and tested a replacement snorkel for Bruce, but the wind was so busy sugaring everything with a fine layer of sand, that even the water carried a murky mix. Today was calmer and we couldn't help but notice the flocks of pelicans and little white sea birds enthusiastically fishing the waters in front of us. The sea birds flew over in larger groups. Regularly they seemed to drop right out of the sky and into the ocean before rising right back out again. The pelicans soared more predictably, flaring their wings like a skydiver approaching a formation before streamlining their bodies and ker-plunking down into the sea and bobbing back to float on the surface. But don't turn your eyes from them yet. If you watch the one that just surfaced, then after a little bit, you may see him, ever so subtly, raise his beak or maybe give it a quick shake before swallowing down some delectable briny treat. Always after he swallows it down, a quick little wag of his tail-feathers seems to imply the snack was enjoyed and appreciated right to the tip of his tail. While none of the bigger and more colorful fish cared to show themselves to us during the feeding frenzy, the little non-descript minnows were plentiful enough they simply swarmed around us. The sights above the surface, however, were every bit as intriguing as those below. Toward the end of the day I found myself removing mask and snorkel to simply enjoy bobbing in the warm aquamarine waters accompanied by the regal pelicans. Just before leaving water in time to make dinner, I found myself enjoying a spontaneous game of red light/green light with Mr. Pelican. When he bobbed with his back to me, it was "green light" and I would approach as stealthily as I could. When the currents twirled him to face me, it was "red light" and I ceased all movement. I managed to get within three feet of him when something must have told him I wasn't the normal sea creature. Maybe tomorrow I will have a chance to play again, and get even closer.
Finally, a chance for a more sequential post on Cabo Pulmo! My apologies for the confusion I may have caused. When we first got here, we were without Internet and had been without for three days, ever since we left La Paz. I hadn't completed my blog on La Paz and so hadn't posted it yet and then it dawned on me that those of you not in my immediate family may have been worried. At that point we had found a fellow in Cabo Pulmo offering to let us use his laptop to access the Internet at a rather expensive price. We used our precious minutes to inform family of our safety and then I did the quick (and now out of sequence) post on our safe arrival. Since then Bruce, aka "hero of the neighborhood" roamed the few streets of Cabo Pulmo waving the iPad around until he picked up a "hot spot." He found a spot in the street, two houses down; but being the relentless optimist he is, he refused to give up until he found a more comfortable zone. He found one on our rooftop viewing deck, devoid of any shade at all (a precious commodity for most hours of the day--unless at the beach). He gave away our credit card number....yes, I felt rather weak at the knees at first) for one week of access or some quantity of some bits or bytes of data, whichever happened first. A little Internet research assures me that we shouldn't use up our bit allowance in the week we are here, even with my rather long-winded blog entries. (So my knees feel stronger now). We have found it best to type our messages (and blog posts) offline in the comfort of our casita or on our shaded front porch. Every evening after dinner, but before dark and every morning before 10AM we climb to the rooftop, wave the iPad over our heads and hope to hear the "swoosh" of composed messages going out. It is a little awkward, but it IS access from our casita! Bruce is a hero!
We've been in Cabo Pulmo six days already, and it seems like three. Our first two days here were unusually cloudy and cool. But that was a blessing, as that is why the Calgary couple who picked us up 3minutes after we stuck out our thumbs, decided to drive from their Cabo San Lucas winter home to explore the town of Cabo Pulmo. They took us right to our casita manager here. The manager's niece then gave us (and our five gallons of drinking water) a ride to our door. Couldn't have been easier!
The second cloudy day gave us opportunity to explore the trail system of Cabo Pulmo. We had heard last year that the local residents had developed and maintained a trail system into the mountains. I went home regretting that we hadn't had a chance to explore those last year. As luck would have it, the wife of the Internet guy used to be a guide on the trails, so she told us the story of why no maps are available and then gave us directions to the trailheads. We found three trailheads and chose to follow the most inland one. We had heard repeatedly that there were more rattlesnakes showing themselves this year, after all the rains, than ever before. We heard that on the Pacific side as well as here. Being a brazen kid, spending my youngest years in Arizona, I didn't let the idea of snakes hold us back ....even if we did just have Chacos on our feet.
We had no idea where this particular trail led, so it was fun to follow its meanderings, skirting large arroyos, and even, at one point passing by some incongruous tennis courts. We hiked by amazing growths of cactus, around knoll tops and up and down gullies, not really going anywhere in particular, just wherever that trail happened to lead. Since I had offered to go first (be snake bait) I knew I had to be super conscientious about watching the ground in front of me. Everytime I stubbed my sandal toe on a rock lodged in the trail, I was reminded to watch more closely. Shortly after just such an instance, I saw a familar pattern lying across the trail in front of me. My dangling arms instinctively flew out my sides, fingers spread wide, and I heard a single word escape my lips, "Snake!" About the same time I felt Bruce bump my back, I heard, and then saw, the rattle. Grateful it was still slithering and not coiling, I stomped on Bruce's feet in an effort to distance us from the threat. He never did coil, but just stopped with his head hidden in some brush and only his tail visible. He stopped rattling and Bruce wanted to go forward and get a closer look. I'd heard the rattle and that was as much as I wanted to know about that snake. Bruce did go ahead of me for a closer look, but I had already started backing down the trail and soon Bruce was traveling in the same direction. That ended our hike for that day, and we were plenty content to spend the rest of the day exploring our options for groceries and/or for restaurants.
Since then we've had sunny days. Two of them were accompanied by a wind, one day so cool we only spent enough time in the water to discover that Bruce's snorkel had sprung a leak and that the mask and snorkel I had borrowed from Cindy and Vince fit my face much better than our own. The second windy day we found and tested a replacement snorkel for Bruce, but the wind was so busy sugaring everything with a fine layer of sand, that even the water carried a murky mix. Today was calmer and we couldn't help but notice the flocks of pelicans and little white sea birds enthusiastically fishing the waters in front of us. The sea birds flew over in larger groups. Regularly they seemed to drop right out of the sky and into the ocean before rising right back out again. The pelicans soared more predictably, flaring their wings like a skydiver approaching a formation before streamlining their bodies and ker-plunking down into the sea and bobbing back to float on the surface. But don't turn your eyes from them yet. If you watch the one that just surfaced, then after a little bit, you may see him, ever so subtly, raise his beak or maybe give it a quick shake before swallowing down some delectable briny treat. Always after he swallows it down, a quick little wag of his tail-feathers seems to imply the snack was enjoyed and appreciated right to the tip of his tail. While none of the bigger and more colorful fish cared to show themselves to us during the feeding frenzy, the little non-descript minnows were plentiful enough they simply swarmed around us. The sights above the surface, however, were every bit as intriguing as those below. Toward the end of the day I found myself removing mask and snorkel to simply enjoy bobbing in the warm aquamarine waters accompanied by the regal pelicans. Just before leaving water in time to make dinner, I found myself enjoying a spontaneous game of red light/green light with Mr. Pelican. When he bobbed with his back to me, it was "green light" and I would approach as stealthily as I could. When the currents twirled him to face me, it was "red light" and I ceased all movement. I managed to get within three feet of him when something must have told him I wasn't the normal sea creature. Maybe tomorrow I will have a chance to play again, and get even closer.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
An Afternoon with a Mermaid
A Missoula woman, walking by our Cabo Pulmo casita, recognized Bruce's KGLT t-shirt hanging out to dry as being of Montana origin. On her next walk past our place, she initiated a conversation., asking if we were from Big Sky Country. Turns out, she has been coming down here for the last twenty years, off and on. When I asked her what drew her back here, she cited the magical qualities of Cabo Pulmo. That day, in fact, she had gone whale watching with a girlfriend. Although she has been out many times to watch the whales, today's gift was one of song: she heard the rarity of a male whale singing the mating song to his chosen female. It simply knocked her speechless. She could only express her wonder at the gift of hearing it.
I had to ask her where her favorite place was in Cabo Pulmo for snorkeling. She asked if we'd been to Los Frailes. Yes, last year that is where Vince and Cindy took us camping and we did have some grand snorkeling adventures there. Well, she said, Frailes is great, but my very favorite is Mermaid Beach. She described its location and how to get there without a car, which seaside vendor could drive us there, for a price. As she described where it was, Bruce had to ask, could we walk there from here? "Oh no! I don't think you can walk there," was her reply. "It is 15 minutes' walk from Los Arbolitos; you can't drive right to the beach," she argued. Wait a minute.....the light dawned in our minds....last year we had walked to Los Arbolitos, so we determined that if we could walk to Arbolitos, surely we could walk to Mermaid Beach. We decided to try it the very next day.
Bruce had it figured as a two hour walk. We packed a lunch, snorkel gear and water, ate a hearty breakfast of eggs with fresh vegetable, potatoes diced and fried and began our trek. We splashed barefooted along the beach, then donned sandals for the sloggy walk through fist-sized ocean-tumbled pebbles. We scrambled over boulders, waded around rocky escarpments and were grateful when sinking our feet in soft sand. Multitudes of scrambling crabs entertained us on our rest/water breaks as we perched upon rocky seats. After one and a half hours of hiking, we could see the palapas of Los Arbolitos. A surprise this year was the Mexicans who had set up a semi-permanent camp there, selling water and who knows what else. We asked them about the trail to Mermaid Beach and they simply pointed the way. We trooped along a path, now departing from the sea and traversing seaside hills, skirting along cliffs and dodging thorny cactus. Within the promised 15 minutos mas we found ourselves within a small cove, without much beach. A tourist ponga (small boat) from the starting point near our casita was anchored outside the cove, near a buoy. Its passengers had all splashed into the sea and some were already snorkeling near the shore. We found a rocky spot out on the peninsula that seemed to offer a nice "launch spot" for finned novice snorkelers and we decided to act like mermaids and sun on the rocks while observing the boatload of snorkelers invading "our" cove. I felt sure that they were not appreciating the crystal clear waters as much as we would after our hot hike.
I laughed as three of the invaders soon were clamoring up the rocky shore, having abandoned life vests and snorkel gear to enjoy the perspective from up high. Two others stayed out near the boat in deeper water. The sixth snorkeled within a few feet of us, in water that couldn't have been over two feet deep, stopping frequently to enjoy some kind of underwater delight. It seemed a little strange to sit watching him from a few feet away while he remained oblivious to our presence.
So clear was the water in our little cove, that Bruce could spot fish from our rocky perch, before we had even dipped our fins into the water. As he was pointing out the fish, a woman snorkeled by, stopped and lifted her face mask. Addressing us, she asked, "Well, what do you think?". We talked for a little bit before I realized, this was the Missoula woman! We soon joined her in the water and it truly was a sight to behold. No wonder the shallow snorkeler didn't care to look around and see us there on the shore. He was captivated by sights wilder than any sea water aquarium! Despite the dribbles coming into my face mask, there was no denying the variety of fish visible in such a short range! The cool temp of the water soon had us back on shore warming in the sun, much like a pair of sea lions. Within 15 minutes of our arrival, the tour boat collected its passengers and motored off to the next stop. Our Missoula woman and her pals soon packed up and hiked back to their car, and suddenly, we had the place to ourselves. We moved to the small sandy area our friends had occupied and from there, we spotted the namesake. Yes, overlooking the fish-filled cove was a stone maiden seated on a rock. Larger than life she could have only been placed long ago by forces of nature. A fishtailed, long-haired woman sat at the sand's edge looking out over the watery paradise as we munched our cheesy burritos and felt the magic of the place. Her stone features belied no expression of emotion. When we had it all to ourselves, Mermaid Beach became even more special.
Another dip into the sea, this time with mask correctly adjusted, revealed even more varieties of fish than we'd seen last year while camping just around the point in Los Frailes. Bruce and I followed each other out around the little peninsula and then back again. Neither of us could even describe accurately to each other all the amazingly colorful and variety of fish we'd seen. Once on the shore, the warm sand welcomed our chilled bodies and we lay savoring the memories of some of the amazing things we'd seen in that clear water. I wanted to stay in this paradise and never leave.
All too soon the hands on my watch reached the agreed upon hour and we would have to begin our homeward trek. We were happy the clouds waited until time for us to go. Their soft gray color promised to shield us from the sun's harsh rays and to help keep us comfortable we as we began our reverse order of scrambling over boulders, wading around huge slippery rocks and slogging through piles of gravelly rocks. We felt a few large raindrops cooling our heads and arms. It really wasn't enough moisture to even wet our skin. It was only enough to cool our walk. As we moved along feeling the occasional spilt-splat of the odd and large raindrops an ancient verse memorized in my youth began parading through my head: "Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over."
And it's funny, but that is exactly how I felt as we walked home. Our day had been so lovely, I truly felt blessed, full of the day's wonder. I felt as if we'd been given more than two mortals could ever deserve. Cabo Pulmo is indeed magical.
I had to ask her where her favorite place was in Cabo Pulmo for snorkeling. She asked if we'd been to Los Frailes. Yes, last year that is where Vince and Cindy took us camping and we did have some grand snorkeling adventures there. Well, she said, Frailes is great, but my very favorite is Mermaid Beach. She described its location and how to get there without a car, which seaside vendor could drive us there, for a price. As she described where it was, Bruce had to ask, could we walk there from here? "Oh no! I don't think you can walk there," was her reply. "It is 15 minutes' walk from Los Arbolitos; you can't drive right to the beach," she argued. Wait a minute.....the light dawned in our minds....last year we had walked to Los Arbolitos, so we determined that if we could walk to Arbolitos, surely we could walk to Mermaid Beach. We decided to try it the very next day.
Bruce had it figured as a two hour walk. We packed a lunch, snorkel gear and water, ate a hearty breakfast of eggs with fresh vegetable, potatoes diced and fried and began our trek. We splashed barefooted along the beach, then donned sandals for the sloggy walk through fist-sized ocean-tumbled pebbles. We scrambled over boulders, waded around rocky escarpments and were grateful when sinking our feet in soft sand. Multitudes of scrambling crabs entertained us on our rest/water breaks as we perched upon rocky seats. After one and a half hours of hiking, we could see the palapas of Los Arbolitos. A surprise this year was the Mexicans who had set up a semi-permanent camp there, selling water and who knows what else. We asked them about the trail to Mermaid Beach and they simply pointed the way. We trooped along a path, now departing from the sea and traversing seaside hills, skirting along cliffs and dodging thorny cactus. Within the promised 15 minutos mas we found ourselves within a small cove, without much beach. A tourist ponga (small boat) from the starting point near our casita was anchored outside the cove, near a buoy. Its passengers had all splashed into the sea and some were already snorkeling near the shore. We found a rocky spot out on the peninsula that seemed to offer a nice "launch spot" for finned novice snorkelers and we decided to act like mermaids and sun on the rocks while observing the boatload of snorkelers invading "our" cove. I felt sure that they were not appreciating the crystal clear waters as much as we would after our hot hike.
I laughed as three of the invaders soon were clamoring up the rocky shore, having abandoned life vests and snorkel gear to enjoy the perspective from up high. Two others stayed out near the boat in deeper water. The sixth snorkeled within a few feet of us, in water that couldn't have been over two feet deep, stopping frequently to enjoy some kind of underwater delight. It seemed a little strange to sit watching him from a few feet away while he remained oblivious to our presence.
So clear was the water in our little cove, that Bruce could spot fish from our rocky perch, before we had even dipped our fins into the water. As he was pointing out the fish, a woman snorkeled by, stopped and lifted her face mask. Addressing us, she asked, "Well, what do you think?". We talked for a little bit before I realized, this was the Missoula woman! We soon joined her in the water and it truly was a sight to behold. No wonder the shallow snorkeler didn't care to look around and see us there on the shore. He was captivated by sights wilder than any sea water aquarium! Despite the dribbles coming into my face mask, there was no denying the variety of fish visible in such a short range! The cool temp of the water soon had us back on shore warming in the sun, much like a pair of sea lions. Within 15 minutes of our arrival, the tour boat collected its passengers and motored off to the next stop. Our Missoula woman and her pals soon packed up and hiked back to their car, and suddenly, we had the place to ourselves. We moved to the small sandy area our friends had occupied and from there, we spotted the namesake. Yes, overlooking the fish-filled cove was a stone maiden seated on a rock. Larger than life she could have only been placed long ago by forces of nature. A fishtailed, long-haired woman sat at the sand's edge looking out over the watery paradise as we munched our cheesy burritos and felt the magic of the place. Her stone features belied no expression of emotion. When we had it all to ourselves, Mermaid Beach became even more special.
Another dip into the sea, this time with mask correctly adjusted, revealed even more varieties of fish than we'd seen last year while camping just around the point in Los Frailes. Bruce and I followed each other out around the little peninsula and then back again. Neither of us could even describe accurately to each other all the amazingly colorful and variety of fish we'd seen. Once on the shore, the warm sand welcomed our chilled bodies and we lay savoring the memories of some of the amazing things we'd seen in that clear water. I wanted to stay in this paradise and never leave.
All too soon the hands on my watch reached the agreed upon hour and we would have to begin our homeward trek. We were happy the clouds waited until time for us to go. Their soft gray color promised to shield us from the sun's harsh rays and to help keep us comfortable we as we began our reverse order of scrambling over boulders, wading around huge slippery rocks and slogging through piles of gravelly rocks. We felt a few large raindrops cooling our heads and arms. It really wasn't enough moisture to even wet our skin. It was only enough to cool our walk. As we moved along feeling the occasional spilt-splat of the odd and large raindrops an ancient verse memorized in my youth began parading through my head: "Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over."
And it's funny, but that is exactly how I felt as we walked home. Our day had been so lovely, I truly felt blessed, full of the day's wonder. I felt as if we'd been given more than two mortals could ever deserve. Cabo Pulmo is indeed magical.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Pescadero/La Paz Transition
Our last few bittersweet days in Pescadero filled me with mixed emotions. I was sad to say good-bye to the many pleasures we found there and yet happily looking forward to new adventures.
The last day for us on the Pacific side brought huge waves, unpredictable currents and cloudy weather, and it was still a bit sad to say good-bye to the ocean I had grown accustomed to seeing every morning with coffee, every evening at sunset, most afternoons, and many dark nights.
This year I also deepened a few acquaintances with "local" surfers (the local referring to the fact that they own homes in Pescadero and live here part of the year). I also enjoyed warm greetings and friendships from a few local Mexicans such as the lady who runs Rosarita's loncheria, Fidel, the vegetable vendor, and Lupe, jack-of-all-trades and man with the most generous and enthusiastically warm smile. Hosts Bobby and Wendy treated us almost like family, their children regularly visiting with us, Bobby stopping in several times a day to chat and trading favors back and forth.
But in Pescadero it is becoming too easy to not use my Spanish, to observe Mexican life from a distance and to socialize with gringos. Bus travel demands intelligible Spanish and offers opportunity to casually visit with true locals. The journey to La Paz offered just such potential. The hour wait for the bus brought opportunity to observe Mexican life in Todos Santos away from the "gringo strip" housing Hotel California, rows of souvenir shops, and the only English-speaking dentist in Todos Santos (who fixed my teeth last year). Here on the side street between bus station and city park, men hailed one another from opposite sides of the street, started conversations, which , if prolonged, sparked the need for one to cross to the other. Women walked in twosomes chaperoning small children to school, walking to work or shop. The music of Spanish spoken by native speakers was in the air. Time passed quickly and soon the bus whisked us up. The on-board movie screens showed Robin Williams as Mrs. Doubtfire dubbed in Spanish, but most people were engaged in quiet conversations with their seat mates. The older man seated across from us, head capped in gently worn straw cowboy hat, worried the folder of papers in hands that had worked outdoors most of their weathered life. I imagined him on important legal business in his state capital. The fact that he had not a single bag with him made me think he would make the journey back to his place the same day. He was on the bus when we boarded, two hours from La Paz. I wondered how far he had already traveled this morning.
Endless scenery of desert flatlands racing to the sea from the the mountains of the Sierra Laguna soon gave way to the outskirts of La Paz. Gradually we entered the bustle of the big city until the two lane highway divided into four lanes of city traffic. The bus wound its way through quieter back streets pulling into the narrow back gate of the bus station located opposite the malecon of La Paz. Soon we were walking along the picturesque boardwalk near the turquoise blue waters of the Sea of Cortez. Couples rested on sandy beaches under palapas, gringos and Mexicans boarded ponga boats to snorkel with whale sharks. Tourists sat in white rod iron benches, some facing the beautiful sailboats in the harbor, others looked toward the malecon, casual pedestrians, bike riders and shops across the way.
Our hotel, just a partial block back from the malecon, promised rooms around a courtyard, a private balcony, and rooftop terrace. Without a kitchen, we would be living high and eating out for our single night and day in La Paz! Our cute young hotel clerk, spoke excellent English and delighted us with his tale. Born in Mexico, he moved to Oregon with his parents before getting to know his native country. His parents offered him a trip and for five years he toured the United States learning English as he traveled and worked, seeking out the company of other Hispanics to help him learn. Every night after work, he practiced and studied his English. After he worked long enough to save a few dollars, he would soon be traveling to see what was over the next hilltop and on the next island. Lately he has been bouncing around Mexico, wanting to know the country of his birth, living in La Paz now for the past three years and finding life very agreeable here. He says, "It is just how I am. I have to see what is out there. And what is out there is......" he rummaged through his knowledge of two languages before continuing, "well, it is life...you know? You have to go out there and get in it and just live it, because it is what we have!" He ended with a laugh and a shake of his head. Our room would be ready in another hour or so, could he put our bags in the room for us? We were soon on our way to two for one carnitas at La Paz's Mercado Bravo. The carnitas come with salsa, onions and cilantro. We picked up enough for ourselves and for the hotel clerk. Around the corner from the carnitas shop another vendor offered fresh tortillas, hot off the grill. For a few dollars we had the makings for a wonderful taco lunch for three!
After lunch and settling into our room we proceeded on to the errands we needed to do before leaving the ease of the big city: cash machines, bus schedules, and a search for rolling tobacco (since Bruce heeded the importing regulations this year). Each errand brought opportunities to dust off our Spanish and to explore the streets of La Paz. To walk around la Paz is to immerse oneself in contemporary Mexican culture. In between the souvenir shops are the shops selling what the permanent residents of Mexico need. Everything from fashion to markets, hardware stores and barbershops, office supplies and toy stores. Away from the malecon the sounds of Spanish dominate. Borganveas bloom next to scattered litter in empty lots. Private homes abut the sidewalks next to shops and restaurants. The city bustles with life and activity, but always the pace is low key, conversations and relations seem to take precedence.
With errands completed by late afternoon, we had time for happy hour in the garden courtyard before going to our favorite place to stay in La Paz for a genuine Italian dinner and a salutation to owner Franco. We had tried to reserve a room with him, but his palapas were full, so we decided the next best thing to staying there was eating there. We found the food as good as ever and Franco happy to see us. As memories of our happy La Paz day filled our brains, this year's satisfying Pescadero visit slipped easily into the past, becoming another happy memory.
The last day for us on the Pacific side brought huge waves, unpredictable currents and cloudy weather, and it was still a bit sad to say good-bye to the ocean I had grown accustomed to seeing every morning with coffee, every evening at sunset, most afternoons, and many dark nights.
This year I also deepened a few acquaintances with "local" surfers (the local referring to the fact that they own homes in Pescadero and live here part of the year). I also enjoyed warm greetings and friendships from a few local Mexicans such as the lady who runs Rosarita's loncheria, Fidel, the vegetable vendor, and Lupe, jack-of-all-trades and man with the most generous and enthusiastically warm smile. Hosts Bobby and Wendy treated us almost like family, their children regularly visiting with us, Bobby stopping in several times a day to chat and trading favors back and forth.
But in Pescadero it is becoming too easy to not use my Spanish, to observe Mexican life from a distance and to socialize with gringos. Bus travel demands intelligible Spanish and offers opportunity to casually visit with true locals. The journey to La Paz offered just such potential. The hour wait for the bus brought opportunity to observe Mexican life in Todos Santos away from the "gringo strip" housing Hotel California, rows of souvenir shops, and the only English-speaking dentist in Todos Santos (who fixed my teeth last year). Here on the side street between bus station and city park, men hailed one another from opposite sides of the street, started conversations, which , if prolonged, sparked the need for one to cross to the other. Women walked in twosomes chaperoning small children to school, walking to work or shop. The music of Spanish spoken by native speakers was in the air. Time passed quickly and soon the bus whisked us up. The on-board movie screens showed Robin Williams as Mrs. Doubtfire dubbed in Spanish, but most people were engaged in quiet conversations with their seat mates. The older man seated across from us, head capped in gently worn straw cowboy hat, worried the folder of papers in hands that had worked outdoors most of their weathered life. I imagined him on important legal business in his state capital. The fact that he had not a single bag with him made me think he would make the journey back to his place the same day. He was on the bus when we boarded, two hours from La Paz. I wondered how far he had already traveled this morning.
Endless scenery of desert flatlands racing to the sea from the the mountains of the Sierra Laguna soon gave way to the outskirts of La Paz. Gradually we entered the bustle of the big city until the two lane highway divided into four lanes of city traffic. The bus wound its way through quieter back streets pulling into the narrow back gate of the bus station located opposite the malecon of La Paz. Soon we were walking along the picturesque boardwalk near the turquoise blue waters of the Sea of Cortez. Couples rested on sandy beaches under palapas, gringos and Mexicans boarded ponga boats to snorkel with whale sharks. Tourists sat in white rod iron benches, some facing the beautiful sailboats in the harbor, others looked toward the malecon, casual pedestrians, bike riders and shops across the way.
Our hotel, just a partial block back from the malecon, promised rooms around a courtyard, a private balcony, and rooftop terrace. Without a kitchen, we would be living high and eating out for our single night and day in La Paz! Our cute young hotel clerk, spoke excellent English and delighted us with his tale. Born in Mexico, he moved to Oregon with his parents before getting to know his native country. His parents offered him a trip and for five years he toured the United States learning English as he traveled and worked, seeking out the company of other Hispanics to help him learn. Every night after work, he practiced and studied his English. After he worked long enough to save a few dollars, he would soon be traveling to see what was over the next hilltop and on the next island. Lately he has been bouncing around Mexico, wanting to know the country of his birth, living in La Paz now for the past three years and finding life very agreeable here. He says, "It is just how I am. I have to see what is out there. And what is out there is......" he rummaged through his knowledge of two languages before continuing, "well, it is life...you know? You have to go out there and get in it and just live it, because it is what we have!" He ended with a laugh and a shake of his head. Our room would be ready in another hour or so, could he put our bags in the room for us? We were soon on our way to two for one carnitas at La Paz's Mercado Bravo. The carnitas come with salsa, onions and cilantro. We picked up enough for ourselves and for the hotel clerk. Around the corner from the carnitas shop another vendor offered fresh tortillas, hot off the grill. For a few dollars we had the makings for a wonderful taco lunch for three!
After lunch and settling into our room we proceeded on to the errands we needed to do before leaving the ease of the big city: cash machines, bus schedules, and a search for rolling tobacco (since Bruce heeded the importing regulations this year). Each errand brought opportunities to dust off our Spanish and to explore the streets of La Paz. To walk around la Paz is to immerse oneself in contemporary Mexican culture. In between the souvenir shops are the shops selling what the permanent residents of Mexico need. Everything from fashion to markets, hardware stores and barbershops, office supplies and toy stores. Away from the malecon the sounds of Spanish dominate. Borganveas bloom next to scattered litter in empty lots. Private homes abut the sidewalks next to shops and restaurants. The city bustles with life and activity, but always the pace is low key, conversations and relations seem to take precedence.
With errands completed by late afternoon, we had time for happy hour in the garden courtyard before going to our favorite place to stay in La Paz for a genuine Italian dinner and a salutation to owner Franco. We had tried to reserve a room with him, but his palapas were full, so we decided the next best thing to staying there was eating there. We found the food as good as ever and Franco happy to see us. As memories of our happy La Paz day filled our brains, this year's satisfying Pescadero visit slipped easily into the past, becoming another happy memory.
Arrival in Cabo Pulmo
We are safely harbored here in Cabo Pulmo. What Internet access we have is extremely iffy and we are just now figuring it all out. Later will post what I prepared in La Paz and more on Cabo Pulmo. For now, just picture us enjoying the lovely turquoise bluewatersof theSea of Cortez.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Hurricane Damage and Gifts
After three weeks' kicking around down here, I finally feel I can relay a hurricane damage report. When we returned the rental car in Todo Santos, the agent there told us a little bit about the hurricane and gave us the Spanish word for damage: dano.
We hear that Todos Santos was hit harder than Cabo or Pescadero. They say the winds lasted over 10 hours there and left 20 dead in Baja California Sur. Shopkeepers all over Todos Santos told us of the repairs they had to make, the walls that had been painted and the inventory that had been replaced. Here in Pescadero it was more wind than rain, and the wind and the rapid wash of rainwater down the arroyos caused the most damage.
Although most of the gringo places seem to have escaped unscathed by the storm's ravages, a closer look at all of Pescadero reveals a different story. Some businesses along the Transpeninsular Highway in Pescadero were completely demolished and have not been rebuilt. One was The Sand Bar where Bruce and I watched the Super Bowl last year. The only remaining hints of its existence are the partial palapa lying smashed on the ground and the twisted, empty metal framework of what was once their sign. Just north up the road from that site an empty cement slab and a pizza oven mark the location of what was the best little pizza place in town. Further north along the highway we spotted some ruins where Felipe's Restaurant was. There is little hope they will reopen.
True to the email I received while still in the States and inquiring about a motel where we hoped to stay, the motel was completely destroyed. The current owners simply hand-lettered a "For Sale" sign beachside, tacked up a realtor's sign streetside and walked away from it. Most windows and all the doors are gone. Only one room sports a functioning roof. Furniture has vanished, but oddly enough, a peek through an open doorway shows drinking glasses balanced on the sink's edge. The yard is littered with downed palm trees and cement pillars. Our host here, Bobby tells us that is what everything in the area looked like after the hurricane, but most (gringos) got right after it, cleaned up vegetation and made arrangements for repairs.
Bobby's wife, Wendy, took time one day to relate their experiences during the hurricane. They stayed in their house that night. Their boys feared sleeping in the upper story, so everyone moved to the ground floor. Before nightfall, they watched the retaining wall (which had been erected to protect the house) wash down the arroyo. Later, a wall of water rolled down the arroyo aimed directly at their rear door. Bobby turned the heavy dining room table on its side, placing it in front of the door while Wendy hustled the boys out the side door. Somehow all four found their way to the fifth wheeler further uphill on their property, away from the arroyo. Somehow the little trailer and the family within made it through the night. The next morning they once again entered their home, finding over two feet of sand, mud and sludge covering the ground floor. The foundation and the ground under it had been washed away from one corner of the three story home, leaving a hole five feet deep. Friends from church brought wheelbarrows and soon all were working to clear debris from the house and build a supporting wall under it. All ground story furniture and rugs had to be replaced. The whole interior lower story and the exterior needed repainting. Wendy was surprised and grateful to find her tile floors intact. Bruce, viewing the hole dug under the house by rushing water, says it is really amazing the whole house didn't topple over!
Robert, who owns Dr. Robert's Ocean Oasis, three or four doors down, said he lost the roofs on all his buildings. The women who opened a lunch counter last year on the corner of his lot have not been back to repair the roof, rebuild the palapa patio or reopen the business. Robert rebuilt several of the upper stories on his buildings and re-roofed everything so he would be ready for this year's peak season. His place now looks good as new, as do most gringo places.
The hurricane left gifts as well as damage in its wake. For the first time ever, we are seeing "help wanted" signs in restaurants and stores. The landowner across the street from us was busy last year overseeing the Mexicans who were cleaning up his palm grove. They did get it done last year, but then the hurricane came, providing the workers with more employment. Everyday we hear his crew out there singing, laughing, joking, playing their radios and celebrating the never-ending employment! Everywhere, Mexicans are busy building cinder block/cement walls, installing new doors and windows, repairing palapa roofs. Bobby has been waiting since before we got here to have a new palapa built onto our casita. Today, the team finally showed. I imagine Bobby was heartily disappointed when they left midday to finish another job elsewhere. Lots of gringos are hiring Mexicans to repair their places and the continued employment must be helping the local economy.
The gift we have enjoyed most is all the firewood distributed along the beach. Other years, beach bonfires were rare as firewood was so scarce. Now, almost daily, we see evidence of yet another beach bonfire. When friend Bob was here he asked Bobby if Bobby had some charcoal we could us to grill some fish. Bobby reported that all the store sold it........then he relented and told us that a few nights ago he had grilled meat for his family, using cactus wood from the beach and what a nice flavor it imparted. Bob bought some fresh shrimp, boiled it, then "finished it" on the grill over that same cactus wood. Oh, was it tasty! When it was time to take Jenny, Bob's wife, to the airport in Cabo, we all rode along, now obsessed about finding more things to grill over the cactus. We grilled chicken, hamburgers, potatoes and poblano peppers. We ate like kings; cooking over fuel delivered for free, straight from the mountains....gifts from the hurricane.
And for the final gift, we see Gary's dream being fulfilled. That house he started so many years ago is now being finished by the new owners. We haven't talked to them yet this year to really know if hurricane damage inspired the work. We are just happy to see Gary's dream and legacy completed.
We hear that Todos Santos was hit harder than Cabo or Pescadero. They say the winds lasted over 10 hours there and left 20 dead in Baja California Sur. Shopkeepers all over Todos Santos told us of the repairs they had to make, the walls that had been painted and the inventory that had been replaced. Here in Pescadero it was more wind than rain, and the wind and the rapid wash of rainwater down the arroyos caused the most damage.
Although most of the gringo places seem to have escaped unscathed by the storm's ravages, a closer look at all of Pescadero reveals a different story. Some businesses along the Transpeninsular Highway in Pescadero were completely demolished and have not been rebuilt. One was The Sand Bar where Bruce and I watched the Super Bowl last year. The only remaining hints of its existence are the partial palapa lying smashed on the ground and the twisted, empty metal framework of what was once their sign. Just north up the road from that site an empty cement slab and a pizza oven mark the location of what was the best little pizza place in town. Further north along the highway we spotted some ruins where Felipe's Restaurant was. There is little hope they will reopen.
True to the email I received while still in the States and inquiring about a motel where we hoped to stay, the motel was completely destroyed. The current owners simply hand-lettered a "For Sale" sign beachside, tacked up a realtor's sign streetside and walked away from it. Most windows and all the doors are gone. Only one room sports a functioning roof. Furniture has vanished, but oddly enough, a peek through an open doorway shows drinking glasses balanced on the sink's edge. The yard is littered with downed palm trees and cement pillars. Our host here, Bobby tells us that is what everything in the area looked like after the hurricane, but most (gringos) got right after it, cleaned up vegetation and made arrangements for repairs.
Bobby's wife, Wendy, took time one day to relate their experiences during the hurricane. They stayed in their house that night. Their boys feared sleeping in the upper story, so everyone moved to the ground floor. Before nightfall, they watched the retaining wall (which had been erected to protect the house) wash down the arroyo. Later, a wall of water rolled down the arroyo aimed directly at their rear door. Bobby turned the heavy dining room table on its side, placing it in front of the door while Wendy hustled the boys out the side door. Somehow all four found their way to the fifth wheeler further uphill on their property, away from the arroyo. Somehow the little trailer and the family within made it through the night. The next morning they once again entered their home, finding over two feet of sand, mud and sludge covering the ground floor. The foundation and the ground under it had been washed away from one corner of the three story home, leaving a hole five feet deep. Friends from church brought wheelbarrows and soon all were working to clear debris from the house and build a supporting wall under it. All ground story furniture and rugs had to be replaced. The whole interior lower story and the exterior needed repainting. Wendy was surprised and grateful to find her tile floors intact. Bruce, viewing the hole dug under the house by rushing water, says it is really amazing the whole house didn't topple over!
Robert, who owns Dr. Robert's Ocean Oasis, three or four doors down, said he lost the roofs on all his buildings. The women who opened a lunch counter last year on the corner of his lot have not been back to repair the roof, rebuild the palapa patio or reopen the business. Robert rebuilt several of the upper stories on his buildings and re-roofed everything so he would be ready for this year's peak season. His place now looks good as new, as do most gringo places.
The hurricane left gifts as well as damage in its wake. For the first time ever, we are seeing "help wanted" signs in restaurants and stores. The landowner across the street from us was busy last year overseeing the Mexicans who were cleaning up his palm grove. They did get it done last year, but then the hurricane came, providing the workers with more employment. Everyday we hear his crew out there singing, laughing, joking, playing their radios and celebrating the never-ending employment! Everywhere, Mexicans are busy building cinder block/cement walls, installing new doors and windows, repairing palapa roofs. Bobby has been waiting since before we got here to have a new palapa built onto our casita. Today, the team finally showed. I imagine Bobby was heartily disappointed when they left midday to finish another job elsewhere. Lots of gringos are hiring Mexicans to repair their places and the continued employment must be helping the local economy.
The gift we have enjoyed most is all the firewood distributed along the beach. Other years, beach bonfires were rare as firewood was so scarce. Now, almost daily, we see evidence of yet another beach bonfire. When friend Bob was here he asked Bobby if Bobby had some charcoal we could us to grill some fish. Bobby reported that all the store sold it........then he relented and told us that a few nights ago he had grilled meat for his family, using cactus wood from the beach and what a nice flavor it imparted. Bob bought some fresh shrimp, boiled it, then "finished it" on the grill over that same cactus wood. Oh, was it tasty! When it was time to take Jenny, Bob's wife, to the airport in Cabo, we all rode along, now obsessed about finding more things to grill over the cactus. We grilled chicken, hamburgers, potatoes and poblano peppers. We ate like kings; cooking over fuel delivered for free, straight from the mountains....gifts from the hurricane.
And for the final gift, we see Gary's dream being fulfilled. That house he started so many years ago is now being finished by the new owners. We haven't talked to them yet this year to really know if hurricane damage inspired the work. We are just happy to see Gary's dream and legacy completed.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Delightful Running in Baja
Oh, I know where you will immediately go in your imaginations when you read that title. Now imagine a big wave washing up on the shore, and as it goes out to sea, let that image of a lithe, brown bikini-clad woman running in the sand wash away with the returning wave. Of course that isn't me. And I am only wishing that is the image that came to your mind. Come away from the shore now, back to where the sand lies in hard packed layers and where you can hear the surf crashing in the distance. That is where I run in my modest shorts, gross pure-poly race shirt, sport sox and running shoes. And nearly every run session offers up new delights.
As soon as the sun works it's way above the Sierra Laguna mountains to our east and peeps its first light into our windows, I am awake and donning my running garb and am out the door in time to be blinded by that sun as it breaks low on our horizon. The air is unusually cool, the birds singing sweetly, and only a few Mexicans and vigilant dogs are out taking advantage of the morning air. It is mighty fine to greet a Baja day with a run.
By now, I've established four routes that even a directionally-impaired gringa can safely navigate. Each one differs enough to offer fresh experiences on each rotation. The surfaces of each route provide sand hard enough for easy running and soft enough for little impact on old joints. Few cars travel the narrow roads at this hour, so sharing it with those eager drivers is no problem.
The running route most parallel to the beach jogs east before cutting south through fields of basil. The workers come to the fields before dawn and when they are harvesting (by hand) the air fills even more strongly with the aroma of sweet basil. Other run routes take off east away from the ocean and toward the rising sun. At a point halfway through my 5K run the tranquil rural road climbs to the high speed Transpeninsular Highway, the only highway serving the entire length of Baja. One morning clouds backed up against the mountains and delayed sunrise a quarter hour or so. I approached the highway just as the sun promised to break over the tops of the clouds. I heard the rare sound of a tractor's engine behind me just as I reached my turn around point. As I turned my route homeward and toward the approaching tractor I was greeted by that wonderful glow of morning sun. There, caught in the sun's first direct rays, piled high on the tractor, four smiling Mexican faces greeted me. The joy reflected on their lit-up smiles and eyes propelled me forward.
The most northerly route I use is a bit shorter than the others and offers a brief beach view. A frequent visitor to the quiet beaches in the early morning light is a lone caballero riding his horse bareback while leading another. The second, riderless horse bears red taped sox above all four hooves. One morning I came upon the trio within a quarter mile of the highway. The riderless horse became aware of me before the cowboy, and nervously turned his equine head toward me. On the second look, he gave a little toss of his head and I decided better to walk for a bit than upset them all. By now the cowboy turned to see what was causing the ruckus. With a smile and a wave accompanying his over-the-shoulder glance, he guided the horses up a side road where I could just see the corner of a building hidden in the trees.
One brave day I finished this shorter route much more quickly than anticipated, so I tried a very short loop on that soft, sandy beach. Ha! And I thought the elliptical machine set at an incline in the gym was hard work! I did complete my distance there in the soft mushy sand (requiring a valiant effort) before returning to the ease of the harder sandy road. Remember, all this is at sea level and much easier and faster than at home in Montana. Nonetheless, i was feeling rather proud of myself for going the distance in the soft sand and not giving in to fatigue and sore muscles. Now you can picture Suzanne Stallone at the end of that beach jog, fists above head, smiling at her little personal victory. And if you listen closely, I bet you can almost hear that theme song refraining, "running strong now......"
It does help, when running, to have a good imagination.
As soon as the sun works it's way above the Sierra Laguna mountains to our east and peeps its first light into our windows, I am awake and donning my running garb and am out the door in time to be blinded by that sun as it breaks low on our horizon. The air is unusually cool, the birds singing sweetly, and only a few Mexicans and vigilant dogs are out taking advantage of the morning air. It is mighty fine to greet a Baja day with a run.
By now, I've established four routes that even a directionally-impaired gringa can safely navigate. Each one differs enough to offer fresh experiences on each rotation. The surfaces of each route provide sand hard enough for easy running and soft enough for little impact on old joints. Few cars travel the narrow roads at this hour, so sharing it with those eager drivers is no problem.
The running route most parallel to the beach jogs east before cutting south through fields of basil. The workers come to the fields before dawn and when they are harvesting (by hand) the air fills even more strongly with the aroma of sweet basil. Other run routes take off east away from the ocean and toward the rising sun. At a point halfway through my 5K run the tranquil rural road climbs to the high speed Transpeninsular Highway, the only highway serving the entire length of Baja. One morning clouds backed up against the mountains and delayed sunrise a quarter hour or so. I approached the highway just as the sun promised to break over the tops of the clouds. I heard the rare sound of a tractor's engine behind me just as I reached my turn around point. As I turned my route homeward and toward the approaching tractor I was greeted by that wonderful glow of morning sun. There, caught in the sun's first direct rays, piled high on the tractor, four smiling Mexican faces greeted me. The joy reflected on their lit-up smiles and eyes propelled me forward.
The most northerly route I use is a bit shorter than the others and offers a brief beach view. A frequent visitor to the quiet beaches in the early morning light is a lone caballero riding his horse bareback while leading another. The second, riderless horse bears red taped sox above all four hooves. One morning I came upon the trio within a quarter mile of the highway. The riderless horse became aware of me before the cowboy, and nervously turned his equine head toward me. On the second look, he gave a little toss of his head and I decided better to walk for a bit than upset them all. By now the cowboy turned to see what was causing the ruckus. With a smile and a wave accompanying his over-the-shoulder glance, he guided the horses up a side road where I could just see the corner of a building hidden in the trees.
One brave day I finished this shorter route much more quickly than anticipated, so I tried a very short loop on that soft, sandy beach. Ha! And I thought the elliptical machine set at an incline in the gym was hard work! I did complete my distance there in the soft mushy sand (requiring a valiant effort) before returning to the ease of the harder sandy road. Remember, all this is at sea level and much easier and faster than at home in Montana. Nonetheless, i was feeling rather proud of myself for going the distance in the soft sand and not giving in to fatigue and sore muscles. Now you can picture Suzanne Stallone at the end of that beach jog, fists above head, smiling at her little personal victory. And if you listen closely, I bet you can almost hear that theme song refraining, "running strong now......"
It does help, when running, to have a good imagination.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Pilgrimage to Cerritos
After four days of "working hard" on our tans I was beginning to think we may have reached that magic place where we can stay outside all day without worry of deep sunburn. When Bruce suggested we make the walk to Cerritos, a tourist Mecca two or three miles down the coast, it felt like we were ready.
This year I brought along a little comfy sun dress which seems to make a perfect bathing suit cover-up for a woman of my age and modesty level. I would at least look like I belonged at Cerritos this year! In years past we arrived all hot and sweaty looking like a couple of aging hippie hikers from Montana in zip-away shorts, light-weight traveling shirts and empty water bottles. Besides getting to enjoy a much easier swimming beach, we love the frosty cold beers they serve. This morning we took the dusty dirt road roughly paralleling the shoreline through gringo neighborhoods and Mexican farmlands. When we can look down from the hilltop and see the bell tower of the resort, we know we are almost there. A naturally cool large stone circular stairway with enclosing stone walls takes guests from the resort down to the beach, land of lounge chairs, massage tables, surf and boogie board rentals, bar, and restaurant. The only way we can get from the road down to the beach is via the staircase, but no one seems to mind, and no one else seems to ever use it! As soon as we make our way to two empty lounge chairs, a Mexican waiter appears asking (in English) if we would like an umbrella. I explained that my husband wanted shade and I wanted more sun. With a smile and a nod he hurried off to retrieve an umbrella and with no need for minor adjustment, placed it in the sand just right so it gave us the desired shady/sunny outcome. I ordered a couple of beers and a menu...it was nearly lunchtime. Bruce had time to dip into the water before the waiter returned a third time, now with a small bucket filled with ice and two beers. How perfect! Even a slow sipping sun worshipper like me would have a beer that was cold right down to the final drop! The menus showed limited and over-priced items, all catering to gringo tastes, all prices in US dollars! Bruce ordered $5 hot dog because it came with a beer for a total of $10! I couldn't make myself give up a Mexican meal for a hot dog, so instead opted for the next least expensive item, a $12 quesadilla (no meat, no beer, just cheese, for $12!) .
While we waited for our beer, a lady from one of the massage tables came over to introduce herself and her services. She spoke English and gave her prices in dollars. We asked if she would take pesos and she seemed surprised, asking us, "You have pesos?!". She repeated her prices in pesos and Bruce tried to talk her into a shorter massage. She laughed and told him, no, she just did the two times, for the two prices. Bruce offered a price (in pesos) for a shorter time and after refusing again, I think she realized Bruce was trying to engage her in the traditionally honored method of bargaining. She finally smiled and agreed to his terms; Bruce explaining he would be ready after our food came.
I had time for a quick dip before our food arrived Between the cold beer and the refreshing sea, I was beginning to feel rejuvenated after our long hot walk. When the food arrived, I saw three quesadillas, a small side of beans and one side of quacamole with a cooling garnish of cucumber curls arranged to look like a rose all on my plate! Suddenly the $12 didn't look so bad. When I asked for salsa, the waiter brought three equally delicious salsas: one pico de gallo, one spicy hot red, and one medium green chile.
Now for more tanning and people watching. This year's crowd seemed less obnoxious than the one I observed last year.....except for frat boys high-fiving and chest thumping their greetings as if surprised to see each other. As I closed my eyes and flipped onto my back, I could hear the women next to me chatting about their lives in Oakland. One told a story about being told routinely by the police that the stray bullet she found in her apartment should be reported to the insurance company, but not to the cops as they could do little about it. Erg. I can't imagine that kind of lifestyle! Makes me feel so thankful to be able to enjoy a much simpler life with way less effort.
After my food settled, another cooling dip into the water with more time to dally was nice. The waves are easy here and the ocean floor so gently sloped, that one can jump over the waves without being pounded into the sand as happens at our beach. I celebrated our day, playfully twirling my arms in the foaming sea, diving under some waves and jumping over others. Frequent glances back to the shore told me there was very little current out there, I wasn't drifting sideways and soon I was lost in my play. The only obstacles I had to watch for included the tourists who, having completed their one hour surf lesson the day before, now rented surf boards and on a whim would whip around in front of a broken wave, hop on their bellies on the board and blindly ride the wave in. Although the water was more like my Pacific in Southern California days, the water etiquette certainly was not! I soon learned to stay away from all people with surfboards, even if they were clearly walking out toward the breakers! I did have to wonder why they bothered with lessons and surfboards when they could ride on their bellies on the more manageable boogie boards. Oh! A habitual glance back to get a bearing on our green umbrella and I suddenly felt it was time to get out of the water. Approaching in the shallows near my play spot were five surf instructors in their well-marked matching t-shirts and the annoying frat boys. Yes, they were all doing a surf lesson at the same time, and headed my way! Seemed like a good time to shake the water out of my ears and get back to my chair.
Bruce was on the massage table when I returned and I began timing. That kind woman gave him more than he had bargained for, and honored the price they'd agreed upon! Bruce was happy we had a few pesos left from our (my) extravagant lunches so he could give her a healthy tip.
Our day at Cerritos passed much too quickly and soon it was time to begin our walk homeward. This time we walked along the seashore, having the ocean breeze cool our sweaty brows and dipping our feet into the shallows near the water's edge. By the time we got back to Pescadero, the bottom of my sundress was drenched in seawater, my back tingled pleasantly and my feet were happy in warm gooshy sand. I didn't even mind knowing I'd have to wear a shirt during tomorrow's beach session. We arrived at our casita in time to enjoy a margarita and the sunset from Bobbi's palapa before heading in for a light dinner of homemade chicken tortilla soup. Before I knew it, we were turning out the lights on yet another beautiful Baja day.
This year I brought along a little comfy sun dress which seems to make a perfect bathing suit cover-up for a woman of my age and modesty level. I would at least look like I belonged at Cerritos this year! In years past we arrived all hot and sweaty looking like a couple of aging hippie hikers from Montana in zip-away shorts, light-weight traveling shirts and empty water bottles. Besides getting to enjoy a much easier swimming beach, we love the frosty cold beers they serve. This morning we took the dusty dirt road roughly paralleling the shoreline through gringo neighborhoods and Mexican farmlands. When we can look down from the hilltop and see the bell tower of the resort, we know we are almost there. A naturally cool large stone circular stairway with enclosing stone walls takes guests from the resort down to the beach, land of lounge chairs, massage tables, surf and boogie board rentals, bar, and restaurant. The only way we can get from the road down to the beach is via the staircase, but no one seems to mind, and no one else seems to ever use it! As soon as we make our way to two empty lounge chairs, a Mexican waiter appears asking (in English) if we would like an umbrella. I explained that my husband wanted shade and I wanted more sun. With a smile and a nod he hurried off to retrieve an umbrella and with no need for minor adjustment, placed it in the sand just right so it gave us the desired shady/sunny outcome. I ordered a couple of beers and a menu...it was nearly lunchtime. Bruce had time to dip into the water before the waiter returned a third time, now with a small bucket filled with ice and two beers. How perfect! Even a slow sipping sun worshipper like me would have a beer that was cold right down to the final drop! The menus showed limited and over-priced items, all catering to gringo tastes, all prices in US dollars! Bruce ordered $5 hot dog because it came with a beer for a total of $10! I couldn't make myself give up a Mexican meal for a hot dog, so instead opted for the next least expensive item, a $12 quesadilla (no meat, no beer, just cheese, for $12!) .
While we waited for our beer, a lady from one of the massage tables came over to introduce herself and her services. She spoke English and gave her prices in dollars. We asked if she would take pesos and she seemed surprised, asking us, "You have pesos?!". She repeated her prices in pesos and Bruce tried to talk her into a shorter massage. She laughed and told him, no, she just did the two times, for the two prices. Bruce offered a price (in pesos) for a shorter time and after refusing again, I think she realized Bruce was trying to engage her in the traditionally honored method of bargaining. She finally smiled and agreed to his terms; Bruce explaining he would be ready after our food came.
I had time for a quick dip before our food arrived Between the cold beer and the refreshing sea, I was beginning to feel rejuvenated after our long hot walk. When the food arrived, I saw three quesadillas, a small side of beans and one side of quacamole with a cooling garnish of cucumber curls arranged to look like a rose all on my plate! Suddenly the $12 didn't look so bad. When I asked for salsa, the waiter brought three equally delicious salsas: one pico de gallo, one spicy hot red, and one medium green chile.
Now for more tanning and people watching. This year's crowd seemed less obnoxious than the one I observed last year.....except for frat boys high-fiving and chest thumping their greetings as if surprised to see each other. As I closed my eyes and flipped onto my back, I could hear the women next to me chatting about their lives in Oakland. One told a story about being told routinely by the police that the stray bullet she found in her apartment should be reported to the insurance company, but not to the cops as they could do little about it. Erg. I can't imagine that kind of lifestyle! Makes me feel so thankful to be able to enjoy a much simpler life with way less effort.
After my food settled, another cooling dip into the water with more time to dally was nice. The waves are easy here and the ocean floor so gently sloped, that one can jump over the waves without being pounded into the sand as happens at our beach. I celebrated our day, playfully twirling my arms in the foaming sea, diving under some waves and jumping over others. Frequent glances back to the shore told me there was very little current out there, I wasn't drifting sideways and soon I was lost in my play. The only obstacles I had to watch for included the tourists who, having completed their one hour surf lesson the day before, now rented surf boards and on a whim would whip around in front of a broken wave, hop on their bellies on the board and blindly ride the wave in. Although the water was more like my Pacific in Southern California days, the water etiquette certainly was not! I soon learned to stay away from all people with surfboards, even if they were clearly walking out toward the breakers! I did have to wonder why they bothered with lessons and surfboards when they could ride on their bellies on the more manageable boogie boards. Oh! A habitual glance back to get a bearing on our green umbrella and I suddenly felt it was time to get out of the water. Approaching in the shallows near my play spot were five surf instructors in their well-marked matching t-shirts and the annoying frat boys. Yes, they were all doing a surf lesson at the same time, and headed my way! Seemed like a good time to shake the water out of my ears and get back to my chair.
Bruce was on the massage table when I returned and I began timing. That kind woman gave him more than he had bargained for, and honored the price they'd agreed upon! Bruce was happy we had a few pesos left from our (my) extravagant lunches so he could give her a healthy tip.
Our day at Cerritos passed much too quickly and soon it was time to begin our walk homeward. This time we walked along the seashore, having the ocean breeze cool our sweaty brows and dipping our feet into the shallows near the water's edge. By the time we got back to Pescadero, the bottom of my sundress was drenched in seawater, my back tingled pleasantly and my feet were happy in warm gooshy sand. I didn't even mind knowing I'd have to wear a shirt during tomorrow's beach session. We arrived at our casita in time to enjoy a margarita and the sunset from Bobbi's palapa before heading in for a light dinner of homemade chicken tortilla soup. Before I knew it, we were turning out the lights on yet another beautiful Baja day.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Careful Beach Days
Oh the sun and surf are glorious! We are just in from the beach, eyes still stingy from saltwater wash, but pleasantly tired and thinking I hear that ice cold Tecate in the fridge calling my name....ahhhh....yep, that's just what that beer was saying. With a fresh slice of lime, it's the perfect saltwater antidote.
Word amongst the resident surfers is that the hurricane changed the surf point a bit, moving it southward, but that it is still good surfing. We have been cautiously studying the waves as they pound into shore, noting that even the surfers sometimes have to work to come safely ashore. Our first day's swim was merely a quick dip out beyond where we could touch and then a quick trip back in. We found we do have to time the shoreward movement to coordinate with the waves, as the undertow is pretty strong and neither of us is a strong swimmer. The sand under the breakers drops steeply toward the ocean, making the waves break close to shore and swimmers find themselves soon in over their heads. The second day we stayed in a little longer, and the third, etc, etc, until today, when it changed again: the ocean bottom not as steep today, making the waves break further away and with much more force. Not quite the predictable, gently sloped ocean floor where I spent my teen-aged years in southern California. (But then, again, my body is not quite the vigorous one which I took for granted in those days, either.)
The sun here seems to shine brighter, longer and more intensely than back home. Although we smear 30 weight sunblock over every exposed piece of skin, about an hour and a half on the beach is about as much as our winterized skins can take at this point. I look forward to the time we can spend entire days out there without fear of burning!
As we spend time on the beach and in the neighborhood, we are beginning to see old acquaintances. Dr. Robert has a place with rentals just down the beach. We watched the SuperBowl with him last year in a bar/restaurant that was taken by the hurricane. He told us how the roofs on all three of his buildings were blown off. He told us his third trampoline was gone. He laughs as he tells us it is out in the sea making its way back to where it came from...China! He has had all his roofs rebuilt and is back in business renting out rooms.
Last year I was envious of a family of surfers with a sweet camping spot just down the beach from us. They had a huge palapa, with running water, and camped out underneath it within easy view of the ocean. What a life! Further back on the property stands a more substantial building, a small secure, circular cement structure. I imagine small bathroom, shower and kitchen within. This year not only is there no sign of the surfing family, but few signs of recent habitation. While the cement structure and small homemade cargo trailer remain intact on the property, the palapa lies broken on the ground like an old mushroom. Sad to see. Wonder where they are this year? And I wonder if their little blonde boy is approaching other waves in another part of the world with the same confidence and skill.
Today as I came near the end of my run, Gary's handyman and our old "amigo" from Gary days, Lupe, stopped alongside the road, sharing his joy and glee over our return! He is still driving Gary's old car, left to him, from one Mexican citizen (Tata Gary) to another. I can't believe it is still running!
Makes me feel like we are home when I see people like Lupe and Dr. Robert after nearly a year's absence. And home always feels good.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Mexican Roads and Rentals
The connection with the reservation Bruce had made online from home went smoothly, no hidden prices attached and friendly, efficient fellows set us up with the car. It was the riding/driving that was a bit bizarre.
When Bruce drives, I am normally content to sit passenger and enjoy the scenery, maybe help a bit with directions, but usually I'm not at all inclined to "drive from the passenger seat.". This experience, however, was different. The Mexican drivers all go like quicksilver, darting in and out of little side streets, bouncing over potholes and speed bumps with no need for brakes. That was not Bruce's style. I felt it was going to take both of us to keep track of other drivers, pay attention to which roads we were on, and navigate potholes and other hazards. Even in the USA, we have only rented a car a few times, so we both feel pretty intimidated about not putting a single scratch or new squeak on the vehicle. Bruce got the hang of managing the car by the time we reached the end of the toll road from the airport. After that, it was not only the resident drivers to contend with, but also other tourists like ourselves, many of them in the Cabo frenzied rush to the next good time. The guys at the rental place advised us to shop at Walmart because Soriana would be packed. All the Mexicans have the day off and that is where they shop. As we watched the traffic flow and avoided obstacles, we also looked for the Walmart. Yep....there is was.....on the other side of the divider right about at the point where we hit some huge bump in the road. Access points to Walmart all seemed to be in the rear view mirror. While the bump sounded horrible, the car kept moving, no parts scraping on others or strange smells coming from under the car. By now, the traffic hemmed us in and we could only go forward. We opted to fight the crowds and avoid Walmart anyway. Oh, and crowded it was! Whole families out loading grocery carts, filling the parking lot, darting between cars. Between the Mexican Muisac and all the voices, it was pretty chaotic inside the store as well. We darted in confusion, trying to remember what we would need and wishing we had made a list. I was starting to feel vaguely like a "Beat the Clock" contestant when we came to the booze aisle. There it was! Our beloved Jimedor at a good price. We filled the cart. And then I spotted a full liter jug of Controy, the Mexican version of margarita ingredient Contreau, for a mere $9 USD! Excited with those finds, we hightailed it to the checkout stand and back to the crowded streets. Happily, we found no new dings in the car and no fresh liquids underneath it.
Once out of Cabo, things calmed down considerably. We saw the gringo crowd bulging out of the only gringo bar in town in Pescadero, all watching the SuperBowl and we opted for a quiet restaurant with Mexican patrons and staff. Enjoyed our first authentic Mexican meal before pointing the car toward our casita and settling in.
The next day we had to return the car. While Bruce recovered from the stress of driving the day before, I slipped down to the beach at dawn, surprised at the changes wrought by the hurricane. I didn't stay long and when I returned, Bruce was ready to roll. We made the mistake of traveling a road we were less familar with. Here too were hurricane-caused changes. Gone were the simple bumps and occasional rock. Instead, we found evidence of the amount of water that must have rolled down these roads after the hurricane. Bruce had to straddle what had been the water's pathways, not knowing if he would be able to cross it at the end, or simply find more water paths in the road. It was a relief to get to the highway in Pescadero.
Our first order of business was to buy fresh fruits and vegies from Fidel. We literally loaded three full armloads of goodies into the rental: ripe red tomatoes, beautifully firm poblano peppers, jalapeños, serranos, red bells, cauliflower, broccoli. Avocados and tangerines that did not look so pretty from the outside, but our experience last year taught not to be deceived. Fidel's avocados are the tastiest. And of course, bags and bags of grapefruit and limes to squeeze into drinks of Jimedor and Controy. And the final bill was under $20 USD. Then we gave a little Montana keychain with picture of a bear to Fidel. It was so dear the way he paused in his busy street side business to study it before holding it up to his heart and sincerely thanking us. What a sweetheart!
After unloading all those goodies back at our casita, it was time to make our way to Todos Santos. Along the way we looked for the hidden beach of my dreams, but only found roads scurrying into the desert promising to be worse than the one we took from our casita. We decided to head right to the rental car drop off spot.
Driving the Transpeninsular Highway is a much more familar experience. Other than converting miles to kilometers, wondering if the speedometer on the car was in kilos or miles and avoiding the no-brakes Mexican drivers, it was relatively simple. By the time we got to Todos Santos, Bruce had recovered his spirit of adventure and suggested we try to find Elizabeth, the daughter of Livingston friend. Uh, oh. We soon learned that Todos Santos took a bigger hit from the storm than did Pescadero. Hurricane winds battered this town for 10 hours. Huge gullies, more appropriately described as canals, carved a large wide ditch paralleling the main road through Todos Santos. After a first turn leading us to the abyss, and a second which helped us understand its length, and three forays onto unmarked one-way streets, we went back to the plan of simply returning the rental ASAP.
Happily, the rental car agent found no evidence of our big bump and declared all was in order. I offered to buy Bruce a celebatory margarita and he agreed to a beer, saying the bar-made margaritas in "tourist-ville" promised to be a "light pour." I was game to see what was served up. We and the people across from us there at the bar watched the bartendress pour m a really nice margarita. The rather "heavy pour" inspired comments from our bar-mates, who turned out to be from Libby, MT! Needless to say, I later enjoyed our 20min wait in the park across from the bus station, and we were both very relieved to "leave the driving" to the Aguila bus driver!
When Bruce drives, I am normally content to sit passenger and enjoy the scenery, maybe help a bit with directions, but usually I'm not at all inclined to "drive from the passenger seat.". This experience, however, was different. The Mexican drivers all go like quicksilver, darting in and out of little side streets, bouncing over potholes and speed bumps with no need for brakes. That was not Bruce's style. I felt it was going to take both of us to keep track of other drivers, pay attention to which roads we were on, and navigate potholes and other hazards. Even in the USA, we have only rented a car a few times, so we both feel pretty intimidated about not putting a single scratch or new squeak on the vehicle. Bruce got the hang of managing the car by the time we reached the end of the toll road from the airport. After that, it was not only the resident drivers to contend with, but also other tourists like ourselves, many of them in the Cabo frenzied rush to the next good time. The guys at the rental place advised us to shop at Walmart because Soriana would be packed. All the Mexicans have the day off and that is where they shop. As we watched the traffic flow and avoided obstacles, we also looked for the Walmart. Yep....there is was.....on the other side of the divider right about at the point where we hit some huge bump in the road. Access points to Walmart all seemed to be in the rear view mirror. While the bump sounded horrible, the car kept moving, no parts scraping on others or strange smells coming from under the car. By now, the traffic hemmed us in and we could only go forward. We opted to fight the crowds and avoid Walmart anyway. Oh, and crowded it was! Whole families out loading grocery carts, filling the parking lot, darting between cars. Between the Mexican Muisac and all the voices, it was pretty chaotic inside the store as well. We darted in confusion, trying to remember what we would need and wishing we had made a list. I was starting to feel vaguely like a "Beat the Clock" contestant when we came to the booze aisle. There it was! Our beloved Jimedor at a good price. We filled the cart. And then I spotted a full liter jug of Controy, the Mexican version of margarita ingredient Contreau, for a mere $9 USD! Excited with those finds, we hightailed it to the checkout stand and back to the crowded streets. Happily, we found no new dings in the car and no fresh liquids underneath it.
Once out of Cabo, things calmed down considerably. We saw the gringo crowd bulging out of the only gringo bar in town in Pescadero, all watching the SuperBowl and we opted for a quiet restaurant with Mexican patrons and staff. Enjoyed our first authentic Mexican meal before pointing the car toward our casita and settling in.
The next day we had to return the car. While Bruce recovered from the stress of driving the day before, I slipped down to the beach at dawn, surprised at the changes wrought by the hurricane. I didn't stay long and when I returned, Bruce was ready to roll. We made the mistake of traveling a road we were less familar with. Here too were hurricane-caused changes. Gone were the simple bumps and occasional rock. Instead, we found evidence of the amount of water that must have rolled down these roads after the hurricane. Bruce had to straddle what had been the water's pathways, not knowing if he would be able to cross it at the end, or simply find more water paths in the road. It was a relief to get to the highway in Pescadero.
Our first order of business was to buy fresh fruits and vegies from Fidel. We literally loaded three full armloads of goodies into the rental: ripe red tomatoes, beautifully firm poblano peppers, jalapeños, serranos, red bells, cauliflower, broccoli. Avocados and tangerines that did not look so pretty from the outside, but our experience last year taught not to be deceived. Fidel's avocados are the tastiest. And of course, bags and bags of grapefruit and limes to squeeze into drinks of Jimedor and Controy. And the final bill was under $20 USD. Then we gave a little Montana keychain with picture of a bear to Fidel. It was so dear the way he paused in his busy street side business to study it before holding it up to his heart and sincerely thanking us. What a sweetheart!
After unloading all those goodies back at our casita, it was time to make our way to Todos Santos. Along the way we looked for the hidden beach of my dreams, but only found roads scurrying into the desert promising to be worse than the one we took from our casita. We decided to head right to the rental car drop off spot.
Driving the Transpeninsular Highway is a much more familar experience. Other than converting miles to kilometers, wondering if the speedometer on the car was in kilos or miles and avoiding the no-brakes Mexican drivers, it was relatively simple. By the time we got to Todos Santos, Bruce had recovered his spirit of adventure and suggested we try to find Elizabeth, the daughter of Livingston friend. Uh, oh. We soon learned that Todos Santos took a bigger hit from the storm than did Pescadero. Hurricane winds battered this town for 10 hours. Huge gullies, more appropriately described as canals, carved a large wide ditch paralleling the main road through Todos Santos. After a first turn leading us to the abyss, and a second which helped us understand its length, and three forays onto unmarked one-way streets, we went back to the plan of simply returning the rental ASAP.
Happily, the rental car agent found no evidence of our big bump and declared all was in order. I offered to buy Bruce a celebatory margarita and he agreed to a beer, saying the bar-made margaritas in "tourist-ville" promised to be a "light pour." I was game to see what was served up. We and the people across from us there at the bar watched the bartendress pour m a really nice margarita. The rather "heavy pour" inspired comments from our bar-mates, who turned out to be from Libby, MT! Needless to say, I later enjoyed our 20min wait in the park across from the bus station, and we were both very relieved to "leave the driving" to the Aguila bus driver!
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Flyways and Custom Ways
ntrying
Flyways and Custom Agents
Our plane took off into skies of scattered clouds at dawn on SuperBowl Sunday. The southeastward flight to Salt Lake City prolonged our view of the dappled pink dawn from the sunny top side. Producing long shadows, the sun illuminated hazy stripes in the fluffy sky. Our route turned more southerly through Colorado and there in the early morning highlights, we saw "the backbone of the world" as the tallest mountain peaks of the Continental Divide lit up in sharp white relief on mountain blue bases. It was a beautiful flight.
From Salt Lake City south, we were in midday sun, so nothing so spectacular showed up outside my window. Instead, I battled sleepy eyes, just tasting that sweetness of approaching sleep before my neck stretched into one of those awkward plane poses popping my eyes open again. The flight seemed to go on and on until finally the flight attendants brought us forms to play with and puzzle over. Given the difficulty a plane load of adults was having in reading and following instructions, I became thankful once again that I had spent my working days with teenagers rather than with my older set of plane-mates! And yes, I had just as many questions as the rest of them. There was one little statement there, that troubled me.......... way on the backside of the form......not quite away from anything else on the form.......was a statement that explained how many grams of tobacco each person could legally bring in. Those of you who remember our "adventure" at customs last year will understand my nervousness, despite Bruce's reassurances that he had brought fewer ounces than our limit. The fellow sitting behind us must have heard me asking the flight attendant if she knew the conversion rate for ounces to grams as he, the guy in the seat behind us. offered to run his hand-held electronic converter, telling me how many grams are in 12 ounces. This time I would be ready for the customs agents.
Pretty soon we could see the ocean below our wings, and then , oh look! Isn't that the island where we went fishing with Vince and Cindy last year? And that must be Cabo Pulmo! And look how huge the arroyos are after the hurricane! And how green the desert seems! We would be landing shortly.
We managed to clear immigration just fine foolish Mexicans let just anyone in...even known fruit-and-tobacco smugglers....then we got my bag and headed to the customs agent men. One of them took our forms and immediately turned to the back of the form and asked us how much tobacco we had. After Bruce smugly told him we only had 12 ounces, the agent looked a little baffled. Just as he brought the walklie- talkie to his lips, I blurted out, "373 grams!"
" Ok, " he said, sliding his eyes over my face......now, just push this button here......." And he pointed to a single red button on the kiosk. I obediently pushed it and followed his gaze to the two little signs above the button. One sign pointed to the plexiglass cages where Bruce disappeared last year to pay his fine and keep the tobacco he purchased in the US . Yes, it was while he was in that plexiglass cage that I fell prey to the friendly looking "fruit dog" last year and was immediately "shaken down" as a known banana-smuggler. The other sign had an arrowing pointing to the big sliding door that led to the marketeering condo salesmen with those dreamy Hispanic eyes that always get me. I felt a bit like I was in the middle of a short story entitled "The Lady or The Tiger?" and was somewhat relieved to see the arrow towards the salesmen light up. ( I did wonder if I had just passed some sort of funky lie detector test or if it was merely a game of chance and I got lucky. ) At any rate, we were able to make it through the salesmen gauntlet without being taken hostage by the condo guys and and quickly passed into the welcoming Baja warmth. Our new adventure had begun.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Ready to Return to Baja!
Yes, it's true. We just can't stay away. And it didn't take much encouragement to get me to start up this blog again, so here goes.
Our plan this year is very similar to last year. We will spend the first month in Pescadero at Las Palmas Tropicales with the raging Pacific and the insatiable surfers. New to us this year will be a rental car for the first 24 hours. With the nearest grocery store being 3 miles round trip from our casita, Bruce had the brilliant idea of renting a car just long enough to get us from the airport to Sorianos and on to our casita in Pescadero. At Sorianos in Cabo (a mega store, kind of like a Mexican Super Walmart) we will pick up heavier groceries.....like Tequilla, grapefruit, dried beans, brown rice, cooking oil, etc. before driving to our casita. The next morning we will head north, hoping to stop at a hidden beach we've never felt brave enough to hunt for afoot and see what that is like before returning the car at a drop off point in Todos Santos. Todos Santos, just a 15 min bus ride from Pescadero, is a favorite tourist destination and home of the famous (and expensive) Hotel California. Friends Bob and Jenny from Colorado will join us in Pescadero mid-February for a week or so.
After our Pescadero stay we have four uncommitted days before heading south to Cabo Pulmo, a little town that is totally "off the grid," and home to a magnificent National Park. Those four days should give us time to visit La Paz and to look up friends Vince and Cindy who have been storing our snorkel gear for us before we head down the Gulf coast to Cabo Pulmo. We enjoyed our time in Cabo Pulmo last year and have the same casita reserved for a week. We expect to spend plenty of time sunning and watching fish. The week immediately following our week in Cabo Pulmo will be spent at Lorna's new rental back in El Sargento, north of Cabo Pulmo and a mile from Vince and Cindy. The last week before we fly home is also open....no plans at this point as to where we will be.
We are curious to see how the hurricane treated friends, neighbors and businesses in Baja. We wonder if Fidel will have his fruit stand up again. We heard that the Sand Bar where we watched the Super Bowl last year was totally destroyed as was the surf hotel where we stayed one year with Bruce's sister, Jan and her family. And we wonder if any friends we made last year will be returning. It would be fun to see our "sunset mates " Steve and Mary again, to watch Vigil Dog and to visit the friendly Canadians who bought Gary's place where we first stayed in Pescadero. And of course, it will be fun to step out on the porch for morning coffee in t-shirts and shorts, Baja style.
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