Ahhhh . . . the Baja

 

If God did spend seven days making the world, I can't help but imagine (S)He must have done it here, somewhere on a beach in the Bahai de la Conception. 

(Editor's note: I will figure out how to add accents but it requires a video watch and I hate those, so bear with me for one more post littered with unaccented Spanish.)

Turquoise-watered, white-sanded, sun-spread, and star-lighted  - these Baja beaches are a testament to creation, to life, to existence. You can't stare out into the bays without seeing something - a pair of diving dolphins, a bombing blue-footed booby, a leaping manta ray, or simply the milky way that you haven't seen in years for all the light pollution. It takes your breath away and would be heaven, if not for the banos - those really take your breath away. 

Sunset at Campo Archelon

For a small-ish fee (or sometimes for free) you can set your van up next to a palapa and sleep right there, next to the ocean., van doors open to the rising moon and lapping tides. Which is what we did, in various bays and beaches, for roughly seven nights straight.  

Palapa view from Playa Santispac

Sunrise at Campo Archelon

Here's a quick run down of the highlights.

Bahai de Los Angeles: Ivan and I swam with whale sharks and a sea lion, on a boat cruise with our lovely neighbours, a Belgium couple and their children, in the UNESCO protected biosphere reserve. Our guide was a wildlife photographer.  He'd filmed for Discovery Channel's Shark Week and swam with great whites around the world. So we were in good hands. He dove with us, keeping his arm up so we knew where to aim for, and got us amazing underwater videos of the sharks, which are actually fish and look nothing (as he kept telling us) like the whale shark in Finding Nemo. 

We're off to find whale sharks!

Dolphins!

Whale Shark!

Swimming to catch that whale shark

Coming up to La Ventana (window) Rock Formation

La Ventana in its glory

Sea lions at Scull Island (it really looks like a scull)

View from on top of an island mountain

Playa La Gringa: This beach is a popular free camping site for RV'ers, and sure enough, RV's were lined along its rocky shores. But it's early season, so still lots of space for us. The highlight for me was when we saved a Humboldt squid who'd washed up on the beach by pushing him back out to water using the handle of our van broom. I kept him wet by splashing him with water while Ivan fetched the broom, and the squid looked me right in the eye. Once back in the water, he followed us as we walked along the shore, as though sticking with us, until it finally propelled itself away. It was like I made a friend.

We then snorkeled with an angel (pronounced an-hel) - a red setter stray that herded us together as we explored the fish in the underwater rocks. The dog was christened angel by a beautiful Mexican woman (and owner of 10 dogs) that we met on the beach. 

The same woman, by the way, also made us question whether we'd really saved that squid by pointing to a somewhat familiar-looking dead Humboldt at her feet to show us how it had been slashed to death by motor boat propellors. Was it the same squid? Our squid? We prefer to think not.

Culture on a cactus. Classic.

The squid we think we saved.

Angel, our snorkeling guide dog

Fire for our last night at Campo Archelon

Mulege Beach: After exploring the rocky shores of Mulege, a colourful, laid-back Mexican resort town with a lush green river running through its centre, and drinking cervesas in a shaded courtyard during siesta, we found free camping at the public beach. We parked away from the crowds, on a spit of land by the lighthouse and the river's end, and watched the Beaver moon rise over the ocean. We awoke to a stunning orange sun rise shining through our front window - and a perilously close high tide lapping at our rear tires. We made it out ok, but it was a good reminder that you can get too close to a good thing sometimes.

The sea view outside of our back door.

Dinner on the way as the Beaver moon rises.

And here she is.

Mission San Ignacio

Playa Santispac: Here we kayaked with dolphins, several of which surfaced only a hundred meters or so ahead of us. We also kayaked on top of a bait ball. Hundreds of silvery fish would suddenly leap out of the water all at once as the dolphins and large fish attacked from underneath. When the fleeing fish hit the water, it sounded like a massive silver cutlery drawer being thrown on the floor. When we finally reached an uninhabited island, we snorkled and saw a grey angel fish as big as my head - maybe bigger - while the seagulls stole our snacks. But we were lucky, because back on the beach, as we caught up on emails, we were given a "snack" - a plateful of charcoaled beef and homemade quacamole - from our palapa neighbours, a young couple very much in love. I returned the favour with a very poorly formed first attempt at a gordito covered in black beans that I massacred when I tried to cut it in half for them. Looked like shit on a brick, covered in torn newspaper, but they were gracious and said it was muy deliciouso.

Our neighbour's steak and guacamole snack

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Standing by my kayak after an amazing day on the water

Our palapa view at Santispac

Playa la Perla: We saved the most beautiful beach for last. La Perla is the bluest, most serene and isolated beach we saw in the area. We were the only ones there except for some Albertans who'd been there a week and couldn't seem to pull themselves away. The place was run by Senora Rosa, an elderly Mexican woman who still wore traditional clothing and whose sons fished every day in an old dingy, like something in an old Hemmingway novel. It was so dark we could skinny dip under the cover of night, just before the moon rose, and the stars were so bright we competed for who could see the most shooting stars. It was so amazing, to be honest, that we didn't really get any photos.

View from La Perla to the adjacent beach, Playa de la Requeson

Like the Albertans, we could have been sucked in here for months. But, having run out of pesos (and not had a shower since Bahai de Los Angeles) it was time to get to Loreto, our first town since Mulege. Here we got the best fish tacos ever at El Rey Del Taco. 

You get three choices of taco fillings and a choice between corn or flour tortillas. You will then be asked whether or not you want the roasted chili. You so do want that roasted chili, trust me, though you can't be sure which kind - or how hot - a chili you will get. 

Tacos de pescados

You will also be asked if you want one or two tacos. We both said two and ended up not having dinner as a result, so light eaters beware.

When your tacos arrive, which they do in very much Mexican time, you then go to a smorgasbord bar to top it however you like it. The place is famous. Between its bar-seated patrons, those of us seated at tables, and the multitudes lined up outside at the takeaway stand, the place is always serving. 

If you come, you really do need to eat here. But be warned: the fellow diners and 30+-year expats who joined us at our table did mention that the drug wars have increased, even in the sleepy local villages around here. "People are dying - eve here," the wife said, as her husband pointed his index finger in the air and mouthed bang, bang. So... there's that.

Now we're camped at Palmas Altas (tall pines) in a gorgeous campground that boasts a microbakery and pool - neither of which are open. We're the only occupants, actually, barring two caged bunny rabbits, a rooster, and resident buhos (owls) who make beautiful calls at night. 

We're also right in the centre of the city and only two blocs from the main highway running past the beach. Here, every night ,locals cruise up and down the streets in their carros, Mexican music blasting from their open windows. 

Some of the locals beach their tucks like whales in front of the hotels, hop out of their cars and drink on the sidewalk together. They crank up their car stereos in an attempt to have their rancho music drown out the nearby Mexican rap - or vice versa. Until the policia arrive that is. Then one of the members hurries to dump a plastic bucket of what I assume is mescal or tequila on the street. Another turns down the volume. At least until the police rejoin the circling cars. Then it all begins again. 

So much fun.

Laundry is drying, bed is aired and we're ready to tackle some canyons tomorrow. I hope everyone is handling the snow OK, and that it stays at least long enough to ski!

Feliz Dias de los Muertos

It's the first day Dias de las Muertos. Today is the day when they say the  dead children return to earth to be with their loved ones again. 

So, in the tradition of Mexico, we set up an arrangement of marigolds around the photo of Sian we've hung behind my seat. We hung the photo there because Sian had always talked about driving around in a van and selling smoothies at the beach, and so now she looks out at the road ahead as we hit some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. We placed the marigolds with her because, according to legend, it's their smell that will lead her to where we are - and here is somewhere my girl would have loved to be.

Sunrise at Camp Archelon from our bed in the van

Did she arrive? You could say she did, in her own way. 

On our early morning run, Ivan and I were stopped by Mexican volunteers clustered by the shore, who pointed to a shadow in the shallows. It was a newborn sea turtle, just four hours old - the only one to make its way out of the nest the volunteers have been protecting from coyotes and dogs and rising tides since the eggs were first laid. I'd just been writing about Sian's birth, so it was a sweet reminder of her on this day.

Then, the first thing I saw when I hopped out of the van for my swim after my run was a monarch butterfly. Every time I see them they remind me of Sian, and how, the first time we were in Mexico in 1998, Ivan and I with Sian in utero stumbled upon one of life's most spectacular wonders: the migration of the monarchs to el Rosario in the mainland. 

For a few pesos, we had bused to the village, which at that time was still plowing its fields with oxen, and walked up, up, and up into a cluster of trees. There were a trickle of fluttering monarchs. Then, we turned a corner and were suddenly drowned in sea of black and orange. The trees, the people - my belly pregnant with Sian - became blanketed with butterflies - the very same ones that (if they survived) that would fly all the way back to eastern Canada, like us, to produce four generations of monarchs before the last of their progeny would take the migration again.

If our 1998 visit to Mexico had Ivan and I coming back to Canada with the Monarchs, this trip has Ivan and I heading down to Mexico with them (or a fourth generation spawn anyway). We keep seeing them everywhere:  an unexpected orange flutters past us on the trail, or a monarch glides past our bug-splattered windscreen while we drive. We even saw the first few "gangs" that had begun to cluster  at a sanctuary (like the RV'ers at the surrounding RV parks) in Pismo Beach, California. (Pismo is also where we saw a grown woman sporting a head-to-toe monarch outfit, who was certainly the largest monarch we ever saw).

Pismo Sanctuary. Can you see the monarchs? Neither can I. those suckers never stop. Except...

...for climate change and storms. As you can see from the chart, our 1998 year was just after California's largest count - and they haven't come back in those numbers since.

But I am getting ahead of myself; Pismo was our second stop after we left Sequoia. Our first was a California ranch where I set up my beach chair, put on a puffy jacket against the wind, and caught up on work before hitting the Pacific. 

California working

Then, only 15 minutes later, appeared THE OCEAN! The mountains had been awesome. They challenged us physically and led to some deep introspection. But that first glance of that sparking, blue Pacific between swaying, Seuss-like palms? That was like someone kicked on the Sheryl Crow on some boombox, blaring "All I want to do" at top volume. My mood shifted instantly. It was all singing, sunshine, seafood and sand.

Palm trees

Pismo Beach

Pismo Beach

Our camp mascot

Until the sea fog rolled in, that is. At sunset (spectacular!) on our second day, we sat sipping our beer on the beach sand dunes, watching the four-wheel drives go up and down the beach in search of a perfect evening view, and wondered: what the heck that dark, seemingly boiling cloud on the horizon was. And why was there a weather warning?

Sand dunes at Pismo State Park

The next day came the answer. It dawned cold, moist and distinctly un-Californian. Toques were pulled out, along with fleece-lined pants, and we high-tailed it southward, with everyone blaming us for bringing the Canadian weather with us.

From Pismo, on to the great city of LA where we had a quick LA lunch with our friend's son James and his partner. (Sorry, Paula and Kevin, I forgot to take a photo!)

They're working in LA and had kindly babysat our new battery extension, so we celebrated its much needed arrival with food and drink and a quick tour through the most expensive, celebrity grocery store, Erewhon . In our short visit, we not only got to experience some food porn (and some terrifyingly high prices for a single, almost garishly glossy eggplant), but also enjoyed many hours of famous LA  traffic jams. So we high-tailed out of the city and on to our next - and last US - stop: a date farm outside of Desert Springs.

Iron Chef Kimchi under the date palms

Our hosts were a Korean couple who ran the date farm and a rustic campsite amongst those palms. The best part (besides the farm cats who not only ate the pigeons that stole the dates, but also the scorpions  and snakes) was that the wife was a Japanese Iron chef and made us both bowls of Kimchee Ramen. Delicious broth, but it soon became evident (and was confirmed via research) that the key ingredient had been liver - the very "challenge" ingredient for the episode she'd appeared in. (See the episode here.)

Our last American experience, and our last goodbye to altitude for awhile, was one day in Joshua Tree national park, where it was finally good news that we'd brought the cooler weather. We climbed the famous Mount Ryan, despite the not-so-encouraging signage and the gusting winds. 

Subtle. My favourite sign, at least until...

This one.

One good thing about the wind? Skies were clear and we were able to see the two biggest peaks in California and, south of these, the beginning peaks of Mexico.

At the peak of Ryan's Mountain

Crazy winds

Ivan looking into Mexico

Despite it being Halloween season, I won't bore you with the horrors of bordertown banos. Suffice it to say that crossing was . . . not rapido. We'd chosen a very quiet border, which was good, and bad. Good as in no other tourists. Bad, as in no other tourists. We had a lot of confused walking between el banco and la oficina. A lot of questions requiring references to Spanish phrases copied into Ivan's notebook. A lot of different officials weighing in (national guard included) and conducting lazy inspection of the van, most likely waiting for a $20 US to appear, which unfortunately didn't. In the end, we finally got the required paperwork, and we're good for the Baja, though we still aren't feeling 100% sure they'll agree we did it right on the mainland. But that is a manana problem. Or a manana, manana problem, as they say here. 

Across the border, time for flautas!

All to sum up: we're back, Mexico. So far, we spent two days in Ensenada, where we rented a casa to catch up on work, use a real kitchen, wash our clothes,  and kick-back to watch back-to-back episodes of "Soy Betty, la fea", the original Columbian tele novios that spurred global Ugly Betty series. I love my tele novios.

Sunset on the Palapa

A real kitchen. We finally found a use for the spam!

Two days in a fish town and it was time to head East. To get to this side of the Baha required crossing the desert, and one of the most dangerous stretches of the Baja. So it was a short and daytime ride, and we were lucky to only be pulled over once by the military. During inspection I deployed by pathetic but enthusiastic Spanish and I think they let us go just so I would stop bothering them. Good tactic so far. Note: Ivan is obsessed with cacti, so not sure which pictures to post. I'm sure there will be more...

Cacti

Our picnic stop

Art shot

And then, the Sea of Cortez.

Our first beach stop was Pete's Camp in San Felipe, the "gateway to the Sea of Cortez. And it was goodbye beach sunsets and hello beach sunrises. 

Sunrise over the Sea of Cortez

By the Sea of Cortez

Another day of working, swimming, gathering sand dollars (they are everywhere ) and gleaning tips from experienced RV'ers as they walked their dogs around the playa and hunted for crabs. Then "Ralph", a German pilot expat who'd been in Mexico these past 22 years, offered to take one of us up on an ultralight, a contraption that looks like something out of a steampunk graphic novel. Ivan's always going on about gliding, so he strapped himself in (no waver required) and Ralph took off, right from the beach in front of a van, and gave Ivan a tour of the area from the sky. 

Ivan and Ralph in the Ultralight

The view from above

Coming in for a landing

From San Felipe's, we came here to Campo Archelon, just outside of Bahai de Los Angeles. It was Halloween, so our camp neighbours doused their kids with that super red, staining Mexican sauce so it looked like they were swimmers covered in blood (shark attack?). They then came to our van (where I was wearing my Mexican Catarina apron) to ask trick or treat in Flemish. Two kids - that's more people than we usually get in Gatineau, so it was pretty exciting, so I gave away the tiny Reese's Pieces I'd been hoarding since Ensenada's AirBnB.

We spent last night tasting tequilas and using our Sky app to figure out the constellations. There's one, or rather a cluster of stars that we later identified as the pleiades, or seven sisters, about 1,000 stars that are 444 light years away. It's weird, because you can only see out of your peripheral vision. When you look at them directly, they disappear. Apparently, this is a common phenomenon called averted vision, as well as a great metaphor. I guess sometimes you can only see the things right in front of you when you finally look away.

Sorry for the long post, but wanted to catch up before the tide comes back in. To those celebrating Dias de las Meurtos today, or grieving in any way, I hope you see your own mariposa or tortugas today, or at least catch a glimpse of something magical just outside your vision. Take care, and write to you soon.