Thursday, February 25
Today is the last real day of our trip, and this is the last post I shall make unless there is some real news in tomorrow's border crossing.The day started in the Hotel Mision Santa Maria (formerly La Pinta, as the key tag on D & G's key will attest). A whole busload of folks arrived last night just before we sat down to dinner. They are all here this morning, as well, and headed for breakfast at 7 a.m. B goes for a walk on the beach, and I take my wet hair (ah, it was a nice, hot shower) to the lobby along with the little 'puter. The signal is not very strong here, but there is wireless internet. As I sit, the porters are gathering up bags from outside doors and rolling them into the lobby. The device for getting these bags out to the bus, across the dirt parking lot, is a regulation dolly with a plywood platform somehow fastened to the step. It works a treat.
We head for breakfast a little before 8. The bus crowd are finishing up their last coffees. The dining room is noisy. We manage to speak loud enough to get coffee and place our orders. When the last of the crowd leaves, silence suddenly invests the dining room. Even D, with one hearing aid, remarks the change. Breakfast is hearty, and we don't hurry. B and I both have chilaquiles. Sinful.
We gather up our things and prepare to depart. We haven't really discusssed plans for the day, so we just head north. B and I have discussed our possible progress, and decide Tecate is a reasonable goal. D & G agree. We make a stop in Ensenada, looking for a bodega we once visited, across from Santo Tomas winery's tasting room. D navigates us to the right corner, although perhaps we don't take exactly the planned route. Still, we don't have to turn around once. The bodega is closed, so we head across the street and do a little tasting and a little buying at Santo Tomas. It has changed a lot since we were last here. They are making many more kinds of wine. The fellow who pours for us tells us a little about the new winery building, which we saw as we traveled through the town of Santo Tomas. He also tells us that the winemaker is a woman, a graduate of the local university's enology program.
Across the street, where we have parked, there is a small row of shops including a bakery, a chicken takeout restaurant, a fruit and vegetable vendor. There is also a small fromagerie, selling Baja cheeses. We visit the fromagerie and taste a few cheeses. And buy some cheese as well. We're thinking picnic.
D navigates us out of Ensenada and onto the highway. We make one false start, turning off at the university campus. We are in the wrong lane! But this mistake is easily rectified; we go past the campus and right back out onto the highway.
This time the journey up the Ruta del Vino seems much quicker. We pass through San Antonio de las Minas, and then the road work begins. We are not too much delayed, and compare notes on how we remember these stretches of road 2 weeks ago. D wants to buy some wine at Dona Lupe, and we want to stop at Cetto. Since they are both on the same dirt road, this is easy to do. The road work around Francisco Zarca, where we stayed on our first nights in the Baja, has progressed a great deal. They are even paving the intersection at the turnoff to the village road.
At Dona Lupe, we buy and then picnic. The picnic facilities here are great. There are lots of well-kept tables with benches or chairs. We feast on cheese and crackers, and a Hershey's Dark chocolate bar. On to Cetto, where B picks out a few bottles. We plot what space we have in case boxes. This is also a very pleasant place, with whtie-painted wrought-iron tables and chairs on a stone patio, where one might enjoy a bottle of Cetto wine and some cheese and olives from their small deli case.
Purchases made, we get back on Highway 3 and head for Tecate. We find our hotel, just south of town. Checking in is an interesting experience. The clerk understands very little English ... as did the fellow at the Pemex station. I guess I had assumed that, this close to the border, more people would speak English. But perhaps Tecate sees fewer tourists that other places we have been. The desk clerk does recommend a couple of restaurants. His favorite, he tells us, is a place called Asao.
We gather at 6 to find Asao. The sun is rapidly disappearing, and there is a lot of traffic. Turn at the MacDonald's, the clerk said. So, we turn at the major intersection just before we reach the golden arches. We attempt to read street signs, but with little success. We stop at a tienda to ask directions. Go back four lights and take a right, we are told. Well, that doesn't work; the first possible right turn is a looooong way down the street, and takes us to a dead end street. We finally stop at an Oxxo (a 7-11 clone) and ask again. We are only three blocks (ha!) away. We follow the directions. It's a long three blocks, but we finally spot a large sign with an arrow pointing right, up the hill, to Asao.
Well, this is a real surprise. We are at the top of a hill, in a paved parking lot, outside a very classy looking building. We walk on the pebble-patterned concrete and brick walkway to the huge wooden doors, and push one open. The maitre d' opens the glass door between the lobby and the restaurant, and welcomes us to Asao. He seats us at a table for four in front of huge glass windows. Our view is the lights on the hills of Tecate. All is hushed and elegant. The waiters bring iron stands. For the bolsa, they explain. G and I hang our bags on the wrought-iron. The linen is snowy, and the crystal shines. The waiter pours water and adds a slice of lemon. Then the maitre d' brings an appetizer. Compliments of Asao, he tells us. These are lovely; roasted beef marrow piled on a thin slice of toast, topped with a thin sliver of strawberry and drizzled with ... could it be ... a chocolate-y mole? Something of the sort. G orders a bottle of a reserve cab-shiraz from L. A. Cetto. It is better than anything we tasted there, and served in big burgundy glasses. What a great smell.
Leather-covered menus are presented. We make our selections and order. We skip appetizers, soups, and salads, and go directly for the mains. I ask if I may take pictures. Not only am I allowed, the waiter takes me into the private dining room, empty tonight, but decorated with art from Michoacan. It is breathtaking. In the summer, he tells me, one can dine on the patio. What a treat that would be.
The food is good, and the service is perfect - elegant and unobtrusive. B has rack of lamb; I have duck confit with a chipotle and piloncillo sauce. G has a chicken breast pounded and rolled with chunks of guava and a guava sauce. D has a seafood lasagne. G says she's never again eating chicken breast done any other way, then immediately tries to convince herself she couldn't make it. Except for finding the chunks of guava, I believe she's underestimating her skills. I enjoy the duck -- fully half a duck on the plate, tender and succulent, with crispy skin. I did think it would be a bit more spicy. Perhaps I should have ordered the duck with Green Pipian? Oh, well, it's accompanied by a wonderful fruit tamale. The crispy polenta served with B's lamb is also a treat.
Of course we examine the postres menu. B and I share the house dessert, an anise-flavored concoction topped with lots of whipped cream. It's like eating (drinking?) black jelly beans with cream. Who would ever have thought such a combination could taste so good. G has a little vanilla ice cream. B gets the most beautiful cappuchino any of us has ever seen.
We take our time at dinner, and while wandering through the lobby and bathrooms on our way out. The whole setting is so elegant, and so unexpected. There is a lot of someone's money here, and it's not mine. This meal, this ambiance, in the U.S. is $100 a person, easily. Here' it's less than a third of that. San Diego, sit up and take notice.
We make our way through the crowded streets back to our hotel without incident. Tomorrow we will breakfast, and then head home, and easy drive of 4-1/2 hours. Our only challenge is crossing the border.
Comments