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.