TheQueen

We're off to Baja California!

Sunday, February 7

 
 We're off again, hurrah! This time, it's three weeks in Baja California, traveling with friends D & G.  Their car is our trusty chariot for the journey. Notice the custom cartop carrier, where we have stowed some minimal camping gear, just in case.

Today we left Ridgecrest at 8 a.m., aiming to cross the border at Tecate. None of us had ever come into Mexico by this route.  As we got closer to the border, the country grew more rural and rugged. The crossing at Tecate was an anticlimax. We drove through the "Nothing to Declare" lane without being stopped, and waved to the Federales as we breezed by.

We crossed several ridges, some up to 2000', on our way to Guadalupe. The grass is green-green-green, and evidence of recent rain is everywhere. Our hotel, just west of the town, is the quite a place - two pools, many many tables under shade, an outdoor game room, lovely plantings. There is even a hot tub, but, no, it's not hot. Drat!


We went to the hotel restaurant to have dinner, an early one, having skipped lunch. Then back to our room, where we have managed to successfully use the remote to start the heater, to see if we can find the superbowl on TV.  Bob struggles with the remote.  Finally, he locates the Dish Network menu, and then the game. The announcers speak Spanish.

As I post this, it is a sunny Monday morning. We are sitting in our shirtsleeves on the patio of an espresso cafe in Ensenada, where we came to get our tourist visas. A beautiful day for wine tasting in the Guadalupe Valley.

Eating outdoors

Monday, February 8


Today we managed to eat both breakfast and dinner outdoors. We skipped lunch in favor of tasting wine and ate an early dinner, so that made it possible. It gets warm during the day, but is still cold at night.

First, we survived the adventure of the tourist cards. As directed by the tour book, we went to the Migracion office next to the Port Captain's office in Ensenada.  Lo and behold, the Migracion in Ensenada is intended for folks coming in on boats. We were informed that we should have got our cards yesterday when we crossed in Tecate.  Could we prove when we crossed the border, the jefe asked?  Scratch our heads as we might, we had nothing. We bought gas just before crossing the border, but had no receipt.

Finally, the boss man relented and gave us the forms to fill in.  Duly filled in and fees paid at the bank window located conveniently just across the lobby, our passports are stamped and we are legal tourists.  Whew! You can imagine that our breakfast at Cafe Tomas assumed a celebratory air.

From Cafe Tomas, we head out to find an ATM and a mercado.  Duly found and and purchases made, we make our way somewhat haphazardly back through Ensenada and set out on the Ruta del Vino, back toward our temporary home at Rancho Maria Teresa. Our first stop is at Vina de Liceaga, where we visit the grand, new (less than a year old) tasting room. We taste a quartet of red wines, and, the treat of the day, a couple of grappas.  Yes, grappa! We buy a bottle of cab to drink in Mulege and a bottle of grappa to bring home. Here we also meet a crew from Mexico City filming a story on the Ruta del Vino. Of course they are escorted by the winery owner, the lady in a pink blouse and high-heeled boots.

We head farther north, passing our first objective, which should be quite close to our hotel.  However, there is major road work going on on the short stretch of road from Francisco Zarco south, and it could be that some mound of boulders obscures the winery we are looking for. So we head further north, and bag two wineries on the same dirt road. 

Past the massive L.A. Cetto facility is La Casa de Dona Lupe. (Forgive the lack of tildes, please.) Here we find a treasure of homemade jams and  jellies, essential oils, olive oil, cheese, bread, and chiltepin chiles, not to mention some fair wines. You can also get a pizza, bread and cheese, or a candy bar. A whole selection of jams and preserves is set out for tasting. I fall in live with the Chipotle Tamarind jam. It is not to be believed. We also like their Nebbiolo. And we meet Dona Lupe herself. It is a pleasant visit, and I bag several jars of jam for gifts, as well as one for myself.

Back up the road, we stop at L.A. Cetto.  Our host, Daniel, gives us a good tasting, and also the surprising news that, since D & G are from Idaho and not from California, they can take up to 60 (yes, 60) liters of wine back into the states. Those of us from California are limited to 1 liter each. So we but some more wine to drink in Mulege, including a bottle of decent sparkling wine to take to Mulege for Valentine's day. And we again meet the film crew from Mexico City. I get the chance to tell the head of the crew that the wine country brochure he gave us has a few problems -- the numbers on the map don't match the numbers on the winery listings.  Oops. I don't mention the spelling errors. Maybe I could make some money editing the brochure??

 By now it us 3 p.m. We elect to head back to Francisco Zarco, where a paved side road forks west and south from Highway 3. We drive as far as El Provenir, looking for open wineries and restaurants.Most of the winery gates are closed; appointments are required for tasting. And we discover that the guide books are in earnest when they say the custom in Baja California is to eat the large meal at noon. We can find just one listed restaurant that is open after 6 p.m. G's eagle eye spots a local restaurant, which, as it turns out, is next to the Russian Museum.

  A Russian Christian sect, the Molokans, settled in the valley around 1905 on mission property, after the government had secularized the missions.  One of our guidebooks tells us that "Molokan" means milk-drinker; no alcohol for these folks. The Molokans tended and planted vineyards (why? where's Wikipedia when I need it?) and other crops.  The Mexican government nationalized all foreign-owned property in 1938. Only a few Russian families stayed, but the Russian influence still remains. Witness our restaurant -- the first dish on the menu is Borscht. Some of the other dishes show Russian influence only in name; after all, an empanada is an empanada. But they serve a molded rice with butter and capers that is a hit, and the pure de papas (mashed potatoes) is (are?) scrumptious. It's probably the butter, eh?  We enjoy watching the local livestock -- chickens, roosters, rabbits, cats, and somwhere farther off goats. The grand total for dinner for four, including tip, 700 pesos, less than $60 U.S.

By the time we finish eating dusk is upon us. A little way up the road we stop at a mercado and buy crackers, bananas, oranges, cookies (D is a cookie monster) and crackers. We will have a little snack tonight instead of dinner. Next we stop at a Pemex station and fill up the tank, for tomorrow we are off to Rancho Meling.

That kind of a day

Tuesday, February 9

Today began with a comedy of errors. We had agreed to meet at 8 a.m., and walk down to the restaurant next door for breakfast. But first, being up early, B and I took a walk through the vineyards. We didn't find the winery buildings, but did find a chapel, completed in 2009, dedicated to the 50th wedding anniversary of the winery owners, ? and Maria Teresa Santana.  It's a lovely, rustic building in a wonderful location.

We walked into the vineyards to another structure that was intriguing. A stone tower surmounts what looks like a shrine. In front is a sculpture made from two very large, roughly shaped stones. A concrete walkway edged with plantings leads left, up to a hilltop, and a framework structure that looks like the support for a roof covers a large area on the hill. We were unable to get close, and never determined what the structure might be. We did, however, gaze with awe on the Santana big house on the top of a higher hill, set among the citrus groves and overlooking the vineyards. There are lots of relatively new plantings in the vineyards. We surmise that Santana is going to increase production.

We met as planned at 8. D & G had spent 20 minutes looking for G's glasses. Turned out D picked them up, thinking they were his reading glasses, and put them in his suitcase. But where did they spend their time looking??? In G's stuff, of course. So we strolled down the to the restaurant ... which wasn't open.

So, on to Plan B. We loaded up the car. Fitting all our stuff around the case+ of wine we have bought proves to be a challenge. But the bigger challenge turns out to be finding the car keys. G had unlocked the car, so B hasn't used the set he's been carrying. He is sure he had them in his hand while loading the car. We look and look.  G finally finds them -- B has thrown them into the trash in our room along with the banana peel he had in his hand.

We sound like the three stooges, yes?? Well, wait -- it's not done yet. We drive down the road, looking for a breakfast place. I pick out two on the main road. The first we pass, as there is no place on the divided highway to turn around. At a stop light near the second, we pull into the left turn lane. Oops, too soon. We debate pulling out  again and proceeding on, or turning left. Finally we turn left, then right, only to find we can't go around the block. But ... the street leads to a restaurant. We park and investigate. Yes, they are open for breakfast. We enter and meet mine host, who likes to be called 'Arnie'. This gent lived in Alaska for three years, cooking for miners, in places as diverse as Juneau and Ketchikan. He offers us a Mexican breakfast -- chilaquiles, machaca, chorizo scramble, and refritos all on the same plate. It is how the miners like to eat, he tells us  -- everything on the same plate. Mexican coffee, subtly spiced with canela (cinnamon) accompanies the breakfast. Oh, and of course there are corn tortillas. We pig out.  Arnie gives us his card and a miniature tootsie pop each. It is our first time at his restaurant, he tells us, but not the last. As pit-roasted lamb is a specialty, he may be right.

Hunger satisfied, we cruise into Ensenada, and stop near the harbor to visit an ATM. A few tries later, we have pesos. We continue down the boulevard, but somehow miss the turning onto Highway 1.  So, we double back and get on 1 going the wrong way. At the next stoplight, we reverse directions and are finally on our way to Meling Ranch. B keeps worrying, even after we are surely on the right highway, whether we have missed a turn. But ... how many well-paved roads are there south of Ensenada? Not many. We journey down the winding road, over ridges and through valleys, to our turnoff south of Colonet.

There has been enough rain that, at first, the road we're turning onto, which is supposed to be paved, appears to be dirt.  A few yards on, however, the pavement appears from beneath the coating of mud. This road is pretty good, except for the one place it has caved in.  Fortunately, someone has been here with heavy machinery and built up a dirt road bypass. Our only worry now is that we'll be late for lunch. We should call, suggests B (meaning I should call). I try every combination that I can find in the guidebooks, but get the same message in Spanish and a terminated call.  I keep trying until I have lost all signal.

Eventually we arrive at our turnoff.  The dirt driveway curves steeply downhill.  We are here, and in time for lunch after all.  Sulie (as we find her name is) greets and and shows us to our rooms. She will fix us lunch. It turns out our call would not have availed even if completed successfully. The number is for the office in Ensenada. We are completely off the grid here -- no internet, no cell service -- although the owner does have Dish TV.

By the time we carry our gear up to the guest house, the owner and his son have arrived. We chat about this and that and get some of the history of the place. We're the only guests; it truly is the off season. Here again we see the results of the heavy rains. Some of the ranch roads are washed out, and fences are down everywhere. Livestock has scattered. The cistern had been flooded, and the water is dirty and cloudy. As the afternoon wears on, the sky grows dark. It sprinkles, but doesn't rain.

We climb into our chariot with Matt, the owner's son, and head for the site of a petroglyph. We drive down the hill and across the river and over sparse grass. Finally, we stop and walk to a rock outcropping. High on the rock is the glyph. It's an intriguing one, making us all think of space aliens. We have no information about how old it is, and it is the only one they know about.

It is chilly here. Our room is heated by a small potbelllied stove. It puts out the heat, but burns the soft wood that is available at an alarming rate. A bit of kerosene in a plastic water bottle serves as fire-starter. The generator here goes out at 10 p.m., but there is a kerosene lamp in the room for after-hours reading. Dinner is served in the main hall, where massive table and long benches can seat a crowd. Our four places, set in front of an open hearth, look a little lonely. Beef steak, mashed potatoes, caulflower and carrots, and salad. We bring our own bottle of wine. Dessert is carrot cake. The huge hearth puts out plenty of heat.

Tomorrow we plan to visit the Parque Nacional Sierra San Pedro Martir. They tell us there are 3 feet of snow at the park entrance. We had hoped to visit the observatory located near the park, but we are told it is completely closed. No one can get in, and the employees that are there now are snow-bound.

Truly Off the Grid

Wednesday, February 10

The power went off last night at 9:15 p.m. We had certainly expected the generator to shut down at 10, so what's 45 minutes. This morning, we arose with no power. There was hot water, however, so we showered by natural light and gathered in the dining hall for breakfast at 8. Our host and son explain that they've been having trouble with the power. They plan to spend today fixing things. For the moment, we are truly off the grid -- even the very local one.

Breakfasted, we pile into the Jeep and head to the Parque Nacional through a bright and sunny morning. It rained again last night, and that translates to snow at 1800m. As we wind further up the paved road, we encounter first a dusting of snow, then 1 inch, then 2 inches, then 3 inches, then more and more. One vehicle has braved the new snow before us, and we travel its tracks. It seems to take a very long time to reach the park entrance, supposedly at km 78 from Mexico 1.

At last we arrive at the park gates. There is no place to turn around, and the tracks before us continue on. So, we follow. At last we arrive at park headquarters. A hefty pickup is parked here, and we park behind it, near a whimsical snowman. We talk to the workmen, Rollo and Frederico, exchanging news and Spanish and English words. Rollo tells us the Spanish word for snowshoes. We promptly forget it. D tries to describe his snow blower; Rollo names it a cleaning machine in Spanish.

The Observatory, Rollo tells us, is still snowed in. The snow is at least 3 feet deep. A truckload of men arrived this morning to shovel snow. But no one else is allowed on the road. I guess we'll have to visit another time if we want to see it.;

We linger for a while. Then B turns the car, bit by bit, so we can head back down the road. We proceed slowly, enjoying the scenery. The snow is very wet and heavy, weighing the tree branches and piling up on the Spanish bayonets. Quite a bit has melted since we wended our way up the road. We stop for a picture opportunity overlooking Rancho Meling. Note the precipitous driveway. You can also pick out the runway, which is not at all level. We also stop at the site of the Johnson mine, that, a century and more ago, was the source of the gold that allowed Johnson and Meling to buy the rancho. No trace of it is left; clearly the site was a source of road-building materials when the road to the parque and the Observatory was built in the early 1970s.

We are back at the rancho for lunch, which features a curious sort of pizza -- layers of tortillas with pizza sauce and sausage -- accompanied by refritos and salad. The owner and son are still working on the power. As the after noon progresses, they get one circuit fixed. We'll have bright lights in the dining hall tonight. Then they set out to work on the power to an adjoining building. The power goes on and off all afternoon. D goes to take a nap, and the three of us sit in the hall. The staff kindly keeps our fire going, and sets out coffee and hot water for tea later in the afternoon. They are very gracious.

The sun comes and goes, and the wind continues thin and cold. We take a stroll to visit the pigs, bunnies, sheep, chickens, duck and the siingle turkey, but don't stay out long.

Above the dining hall door, a varnished wooden sign, with letters burned in deep, quotes some sage: "God does not deduct from man's allotted span the days spent in fishing." Below this, it reads: "He takes the same benevolent view of calories consumed at Meling."

Adios, Rancho Meling

Thursday, February 11

Today we bid goodbye to Rancho Meling. It's a good thing. Notwithstanding the plaque over the dining hall door, I think the calories are adding up. We bid goodbye to our host, and then the the staff. Sulie gives me and G each a jar of apple butter. Yummy stuff.

Goodbyes done, we pack up, power up the steep, dirt driveway, and turn left for San Telmo and Highway 1. The sky is a cloudless blue. We proceed without incident to the highway, and south toward San Quintin and El Rosario. The big washout on Highway 1, caused by the storms the week before we left home, is still a wonder. We've seen many smaller ones, all witness to the power of water over things manmade. The washout north of San Quintin has taken a bridge and a lot more. It is awe-inspiring.  We drive around the construction on a temporary road, and feel thankful that we missed the big flood.

This area has changed a great deal since we were last here. San Quintin, that which we remembered as a sleepy beach resort, is a happening town on the highway. North of here are miles and miles of strawberry fields, and other crops under greenhouse plastic. Everywhere there are internet cafes, although taquerias and loncherias are still more numerous.

We arrive at our hotel in El Rosario shortly after noon. They're not quite ready for us, so we proceed to the local, famous restaurant, Espinosa's, for lunch. We do enjoy lunch -- fish soup for me -- and go back to check in. D decides he needs a nap. Our rooms at the hotel, the Baja Cactus, are really quite lovely. Ours is on the second floor, and features satellite TV, a huge fourposter bead, tile floors and a lovely tiled shower, and plenty of lights. All this for $29.

The rest of us explore the town, looking for a recommended breakfast spot, then a museum. The museum is closed, so we head for the beach. It's a longer trip than any of us had imagined. We follow the rutted dirt road through the houses, and then up and down over ridges and past trash dumps and through washes. Finally we crest a rise and see the ocean below us. From here, the navigation is easy.

 

  We park behind the tide line, and walk through soft sand toward the beach. Everywhere there are tire tracks -- trucks, ATVs, dirt bikes. The recent storm has deposited piles and piles of driftwood above the high tide line. But it's not just driftwood. Everywhere there are plastic bottles of every size, shape, color. It's abhorrent. Here is the reason for requiring deposit on every plastic container. It's a very nice beach, but if this is waiting above the tide line, who wants to come here?

B and I take a short walk on the beach, but the prospect, however grand, is spoiled by the thought of all that plastic among the driftwood.

 

We return to town, park, and stroll around the corner to the market. B and I buy more bottled water.. G buys a Spanish-language newspaper. We retire to ur rooms for a preprandial rest. I spend my time catching up on blog postings. Although I have written the posts, I have been internet-deprived. Even here, where the hotel promises wireless, I am tethered to a 2 foot cord in a wall socket. But I'm happy to have even that.

We meet later for a little wine, take ourselves out for a light dinner, and are early to bed. We have more than 300 miles to travel tomorrow, so are looking for an early start.

A Day on the Baja Highway

Friday, February 12

Today was a road day. Yes, mostly we saw the road. We began with breakfast in El Rosario, at Baja's Best. Here our host poached eggs for G.He is an ex-California fishing mogul, who was put out of business by environmental rulings under the Gray Davis administration. He has begun anew here, and has a cafe and B&B. We are told the rooms are beautiful, so it may be a good place to try. He does package tours -- fishing, ruins, old mines. An interesting fellow and a good breakfast.

Then we head down the highway. Just south of El Rosario another bridge is washed out. Fortunately for us, it has been a couple of  weeks and an alternate route is well made. Our host at Baja's Best told a story of a rancher south of town who had trucks full of strawberries, destined for shipment to New York, but undeliverable because of the washout. The rancher brought in heavy equipment and started working on the road; the government equipment couldn't get there as they were dealing with washouts further up the road. The first semi load of strawberries were too ripe to ship out by the time they were brought across, so the rancher gave them away in El Rosario. We had some of the fruits of the plenty -- a lovely strawberry preserves.

We  drive down the narrow ribbon of pavement. Occasionally trucks pass us, sometimes on a double-yellow. Sometimes a truck signals us that it is OK to pass by turning on its left blinker. I haven't seen that since my West Virginia days. Occasionally we drive through a vado or wash where there is still water. Soon we see our first boojum trees. Once seen, we speculate that the napkin holders we saw at Espinosa's are made from this gnarly wood.

San Quintin come and goes. Or rather, it goes on and on. The sleepy little beach town we remember from other trips is a happening place. And north of town there are acres upon acres of strawberries and any number of acres of plants under plastic greenhouses. Clearly agribusiness is  booming here.

We pass through the agricultural inspection station north of Guerrero Negro (10 pesos) and continue into town for a bit of lunch. This is the first meal we have that does not measure up; this is most probably the nadir of meals on our trip, and we are culpable. We should have known from looking at the place that it would be so. Enough said. Crossing the border into Baja Sur, we "lose" an hour as the time zone shifts.

It is 4:30 p.m. or so when we arrive in San Ignacio and find our way to San Ignacio Springs. Here our lodgings are yurts. B and I are in the humongous one -- a 20' diameter yurt, with an added structure for bath and shower. It is really spacious -- a king sized bed, a futon, a table and four chairs, and plenty of floor space. It is clean and neat and well-lighted, a real treat. The center of the ceiling is a large skylight. It is a relaxing place.

We venture into town, where we stroll around the square and admire the ornate facade of the church. Dinner is shrimp salad, scallop ceviche, or fish with butter and garlic. I can attest that the ceviche was excellent. Tomorrow we will have breakfast outdoors in the al fresco dining area here  at the Springs.

And tomorrow B and I are going whale watching at Laguna San Ignacio. D and G will be staying here, touring the town and surrounding vicinity at their leisure.

Bob Pets a Whale

Saturday, February 13

Today Bob got to pet a whale. Well, what else could you ask for? I might as well end the post here ... but you might want to know how it was that he got to pet a whale.

We arranged with our hosts, Gary and Terry, to hook us up with a day trip too Laguna San Ignacio. We were up early, and had tea and coffee in our yurt, which is well-furnished with an electric hot pot, purified water, and a microwave. We joined a whole crowd at the breakfast tables at 7 a.m. for fruit salad, eggs, toast, and most delicious bits of ham and bacon. All told, eight people boarded the van here at 8 a.m. for the day trip, and we picked up another couple in town. Another 6 people boarded yet another van from the tour operator, Kuyima, for a three-day whale-watching odyssey.

So, off we go to Laguna San Ignacio, which, we have read, is the primo spot for watching California grey whales. The laguna is 60 klicks away, over mostly really bad road. To go those 42 mile will take us 2 hours. B and I sit in the back of the 10-passenger van.  It's bumpy back there. We share stories with the other passengers. There is a young couple lately from a truck farm in Arcata, where they went to learn how to grow things. They are traveling farther south in Baja to work at a farm-cum-spiritual-experience resort for a couple of months. There are a brother and sister with links to China Lake. She remembers celebrating her 3rd birthday at China Lake, where her engineer father worked for NOTS. What she remembers is a sandstorm; the sand stung her legs. Her father left there to become director at Deep Springs; her brother was born on the way to the hospital in Bishop. (She also knows a great deal about whales, so we learn a lot throughout the day.) One other couple is French, and yet another couple from Austria.

Spring is coming to Baja. The plants and bushes are greening.  The ocotillo is especially surprising, as there are a lot of young plants, and the ones near the shore are twisted and tangled by the sea winds. We even see some lovely purple flowers (pea family?) but not very many of them. But after an hour and a half on the road, and no sign of water, I begin to believe that this lagoon is mythical. When we crest the last rise and see the distant water, I am overjoyed. Prematurely, it seems. We turn parallel to the shore and continue for a long time, passing clusters of buildings and dwellings. Finally we see a sign: Kuyima 2.5 K. We arrive, disembark, use the necessary, and gather for a briefing. There are any number of pangas moored off the shore line. Surely this is it.

  Surely  not. We are briefed, issued life jackets, and again board the vans to trek yet further down the coast. At long last, we debark the van and board our pangas - clean, sturdy boats with Honda outboards - in an estuary.  We motor past birds and pelicans, and into the lagoon. We are sheltered by a point to the south. We motor along the shore, around the point, and across the lagoon. Suddenly, it seems, there are whales everywhere. There are other pangas, and even a larger boat, but we are well away from all the others. Front, back, right, left, whales blow and surface. We are stunned to silence for a few minutes; then the shutters start to cliick.

So, with whales left, right and center, how could it get better?  This is how. About an hour into our 1-1/2 hour trip, we are visited by a baby grey whale and his mama. She watches over him closely at the start, but soon relaxes. He surfaces and dives, and surfaces again, often not where you would expect him. It is only a short while before he (or she, maybe?) approaches our panga. Eventually, the baby allows him/herself to be petted. Even Mama Whale gets into the act, pausing underneath and athwart the panga and presenting her mouth to be rubbed.

Almost everyone in the boat gets to pet baby. It feels soft, not rubbery, not furry, just like ... well, a baby whale.

We linger as long as we can, then head north, bumping over the wind-driven swells. We roar past the settlements along the shore, and on and on, finally fetching up on shore at ... the first point to which the vans had delivered us. Well. We are offered lunch - fish or scallops, grilled or with butter and garlic. And, most wondrous, we can even have a cervesa. Boy does that hit the spot.

Lunch over, we bump and rattle over that same nasty road, arriving two hours later at the square in San Ignacio. Here we visit the Kuyima office and pay our bill. Our day's adventure, lunch and beer included, runs about  $75 each. Bills paid, we are delivered to our home-away-from-home at Ignacio Springs. The shower is good, the dinner and wine even better.

Tomorrow we depart for the short trip to Mulege, where we will spend a week. B  and I are hoping to take a kayak up the river in the morning before breakfast. We are told that we won't have to go far before we see many birds.

Farewell Ignacio Springs, Hello Mulege

Sunday, February 14

We took our time this morning at Ignacio Springs. Such a relaxing place. B and I walked out along the river, and inspected the next-door property. The river is tranquil. The resort has kayaks; we'll save that for another time. There are a couple of yurts on the next-door property, echoing the theme at the Ignacio Springs resort. Apparently the fellow who owns the property will sell you a chunk if you build a yurt on it. Hmmm.

At breakfast we are 7 at table, latecomers all; the four of us, a couple of French guys, and Christine from Germany-Canada-England, married to Vish (English-Indian, absent from breakfast since he never gets up early by choice). Christine and Vish are 4 months into a year of travel in the Americas. They have a never-ending supply of adventure tales. Conversation is lively. One of the French guys speaks very good English. He is traveling with a company computer, and having trouble connecting with wireless networks in the US and Mexico. I am able to help him connect; now he has the secret (what's the encryption? what's the key). Breakfast is fresh fruit, omelets with bits of bacon, and toast made from lovely homemade bread. Oh, and the homemade jams and jellies. Another great breakfast!

We settle up with hostess, Terry, and load up our car. It is a short trip to Mulege. Spring is come to the Baja. Bush lupine is blooming everywhere, there are bushes and bushes of apricot mallow, and what looks like brittlebush. We don't stop to take flower pictures; the road is twisty windy and there is no place to pull off. We motor into Santa Rosalia looking for an ATM. Eventually we happen upon one, and successfully replenish our money supplies. On we go, to Mulege.

Now we're in Mulege, so where is Clementine's? Our rented house is supposed to be on the river. We turn into what appears to be the main entrance to town, and get the self-guided tour on one-way streets. We end up down by the river, but eventually figure out that we're on the WRONG SIDE of the river. Well, darn. So we backtrack through town, and get back to the highway by traveling on a dirt road underneath the highway bridge. This looks familiar from the last time we were in Mulege. Back on the highway, we travel south ... too far south. When we pass La Serinidad, we figure we have come too far. So back we go. We try a number of side roads. At  last, we think we are close. We stop at a river-front restaurant (which is closed by the way) and ask for Clementines. Go two blocks, turn left, look for the sign that says "Cliff" and has a flower on it. (Cliff is the proprietor.)

  So, we arrive. Cliff walks to the house while we drive the dirt road down the riverfront. We arrive at out domicile for the week. The house faces the Rio Santa Rosalia (not Rio Mulege, has I find out). It is L-shaped. One bedroom is to the right, with a separate entrance. To the left is door to the kitchen, with another bedroom in the corner of the L. A utility room is built into the back of the L, with a clothesline around the back.  The patio is nestled  within the arms of the L; a propane grill, table and chairs, and a standing fire pit furnish the patio. It is so cute. The block walls are painted in bright colors - yellow and orange -- with bright blue doors. The showers are likewise tiled with bright colored tiles interspersed with white. 

Cliff makes a couple of trips. First, he offers us the nickel tour of Mulege. We accept. We learn where the markets are, what they are best for, and also where the best restaurants are and what days they offer their best. He comes again with an extra key and some Tecate. And finally makes another trip to bring us a new propane tank for the barbie.

While D has a nap, the three of us shop. First we stop at the chain market. We get a few things, but are glad to move on to Penguinos, where the help is nicer and the selection looks fresher. We gather the goods for our Valentine's Day dinner -- a chicken, cabbage, a cucumber, potatoes for baking -- and head home with our haul.

A couple of hours later we have enjoyed beer can chicken (cooked with orange juice instead of beer, since G has celiac disease), baked potatoes, braised cabbage, cucumber salad, and Gamesa cookies for dessert, save for G, who has a chocolate from her tiny valentine candy box.

  This is our room. Hope I don't fall out of bed  -- it's really high.

A Day at the Casita

Monday, February 15

Today is a housekeeping day. We have a washer and a clothesline, and we make good use of it. But first, we walk down the road a short way to Los Olivos. Cliff told us that the breakfast special is something worth having. We find it is an omelette with a sauce of cream, corn and peppers.  D has the special. B and I settle for huevos rancheros. Yummy. Bob walks back to the casita to answer a call of nature, and finds Daniel, who is to take us on a fishing and seafood-eating extravaganza tommorrow. Cliff said he'd find us at Los Olivos, but Daniel didn't get the word. So we are lucky that Bob went walkabout. We arrange to meet Daniel at 8:30 tomorrow, and follow him to the beach.

The rest of the day is spent in a leisurely fashion. B and D take a  walk and end up talking to some of the local gringos (if there is such a thing). There was a big flood here in 2006 (a hurricane?) and a hurricane last September wiped out quite a few house and damaged many others. It's pretty sad. Some have rebuilt; some are taking compromise measures (building a palapa for an RV with an outdoor kitchen instead of a house), and some have just given up. And not everyone had insurance.

We see mostly gringos here, walking along the river. G and I do couple of loads of laundry and hang the clothes to dry behind the casita. A couple of workers are shoveling away at the pile of dirt that is behind the  casita, spreading it in the drive there and into the potholes in the street. Every time we carry out the clothes, we remark on the diminished pile. The fellow allows that it is hard work.

We go into town and hit the ATM so that we can pay Cliff. We park by the hardware store (ferreteria) and that is convenient. D is looking for something to secure the stepstool we have hauled here (so that we can get into the box on top of the Jeep) to the top of the box. Elsewise, every time we open the tailgate, the dratted thing falls out. So  far it hasn't landed on anyone's toes, but ... D also buys a nightlight, but more about that later.

We send the boys to the tortilleria to buy a half kilo of corn tortillas, and we stop again at the grocery store, spending less than $20, including another 6-pack of Tecate.Back at the casita, we lunch on leftover chicken, tortillas, fixings (cabbage, cheese and salsa), and PB&J. Nothing like jam on a fresh, warm tortiilla.The afternoon passes gently.

B and I walk toward the river mouth as far as we can go. On the big hill at the river mouth is the local Faro, or light. It still gives a signal at night. The road ends at a fish camp. Pelicans roost (and poop) on every panga. There must be hundreds of them (pelicans, not pangas). Sometime late in the afternoon, we decide to try our hand at Margaritas. We have tequila and a big bag of limon, but no triple sec. B squeezes the limon on the big hand-squeezer that is perched on the kitchen counter. It does a good job. In the absence of triple sec, we add some Fresca. The margarita's are potent but muy puckery. G and I add a bit of sugar. The men soldier on with margaritas unadulaterated.

In the early evening, we head toward town with a plan; we will stop at La Tienda and look for a Spanish language calendar, and then head downriver toward a couple of restaurants, El Patron with views (we hear) from the patio, and Pancho Villa's. La Tienda has no calendars but does have a one-size-fits all beach coverup that will come in handy tomorrow. And they take credit cards, one of the few places we have found that does so. The proprietress is American, here in Mulege for 30 years now, married to a fellow from Mexico City.

We end up at Pancho Villa's, since the sun has already gone behind the hills to the west by the time we arrive. Pancho Villa's is a ramshackle two-story structure, bar upstairs and restaurant downstairs, except that the upstairs was pretty well blown out by the hurricane. There is no roof, and the flooring is a shambles. I know -- I climbed the rickety stairs to have a look around. We order the catch of the day, fish that, we are told, is sea bass. The other three have theirs steamed (in foil packets with veggies) and I order grilled. Dinner starts with a shrimp soup (delicious), then a salad. By the time the fish arrives, I am sated. We take a lot of fish home; Wednesday lunch will be fish tacos.

Dinner takes its time, as we were warned in the guidebooks. But everything is tasty. It does seem that every time someone comes to the table, it is a different person. We see the waitress who first took our order, the cook (I think), Pancho Villa (who arrives mid-meal on his ATV and soon leaves), and a gal who arrives with a car full of screaming children. It is an interesting dining experience.

We are back at the casita shortly before nine. D plugs in his nightlight, a standard plug and a plastic cover shaped like a butterfly. The bulb lights up green, then turns to blue and then to red. As a finale to its cycle, it flickers. When G elucidated the request for "luz noche" with "por le bebe", the hardware store employees were surely listening.

Tomorrow we go fishing.

The Little Panga That Couldn't

Tuesday, February 16

So today we are up bright an early to prepare for our adventure in the islands.  G reports that she had nightmares all night, and blames them on the nightlight. Cycling through the colors is not, as one would suppose the manufacturer intended, conducive to sleep.Today is warm and sunny, with light breezes.

We set out to go clamming, snorkling, fishing, and eating-bunches-of-seafood-on-the-beach with Daniel. All started well. We were up in plenty of time to breakfast on leftover tortillas warmed in the (apparently) brand new toaster oven; eggs scrambled with onions, poblanos,  and cheese; and strawberry jam. I got all suited up in my swimsuit, and put on my new fuschia-colored beach coverup. It was chilly enough that I decided to wear my black fleece hoodie underneath one-size-fits-all coverup. Looked really cute, especially with my crushable L.L. Bean straw hat.

 Daniel arrived as agreed at 8:30, so that we could follow him to the beach, Playa Santispac. And we did. There are quite a few people "camped" on the beach in their big rigs, running the gamut from 5th wheel to half-million-dollar bus rig.

We climb laboriously into the panga (none of is so young and limber as we used to be) and get ready to sail. Daniel's young son Victor, who is not in school because his mother is gone to La Paz with his sister who has tonsil trouble, pulls up the anchor. As he pulls the line in, the boat drifts out a short way into the bay. We're off ... or not. The engine won't start.

 
  As Daniel works on the engine, the boat drifts slowly back to shore. After a while of tinkering, and no swearing  at all, we are invited to debark. An hour, Daniel assures us. He will go back to Mulege and get his friend the mechanic. He has just had a lot of expensive work done on his engine.

  We find some shade in an unused palapa. Jan next door in a 5th wheel is kind enough to bring over a couple of folding chairs. Jan tells us about her first trip in a panga, 15 years ago in Loreto, on her first trip to Mexico. B finds a veteran pilot to talk to on the beach. D decides to take a nap in the car (with windows down to allow the breeze to blow). It is a bit cool in the shade, and a bit warm in the sun.

Eventually Daniel returns, sans mechanic. At his first attempts the engine appears to start and run for a short while only. We move our things over to Jan and Dave's, and return Jan's chairs in anticipation of departing soon. Dave is out in his Zodiac, fishing we think; he and Jan have radios, so periodically we hear from Dave. Jan has obviously had not enough conversation lately. She is a cancer nurse in Tacoma. Dave is a retired civil engineer and now a hospital chaplain. Jan's 88 year old mother is a wonder; the stories remind us of Charlotte. Jan offers us margaritas, but it's yet early in the day so we decline. Daniel having no success with the engine, we offer to take our trip manana. That works for all of us. We bid Jan farewell; we'll take her up on the margaritas tomorrow after our trip.

So we enjoy a leisurely afternoon on our patio. We migrate from shade to sun as the temperature shifts. B takes a turn in the kayak.

Later in the day we trek into town to La Tienda, where G gets a beach coverup and a pair of water shoes to make getting into the boat and getting around a bit more fun than with tennies and jeans. D gets a pair of water shoes also, and a bathing suit. Now we're really ready for Daniel's trip. We also stop at Saul's and get some chicken for dinner.

  On the way back to the casita, we take a side trip to the mission. It has really been fixed up since last we were here. The sanctuary is open, and G hopes there will be Ash Wednesday services tomorrow. We also climb up to the overlook behind the mission and enjoy the sunset view.

B grills chicken, I cook rice, roast carrots  with cumin, and steam some broccoli. D builds a fire in our freestanding patio fireplace. It is a pleasant evening.