Sunday, February 21
Mulege has been hit by 4 bad storms in as many years. The latest was a hurricane in September, 2009. The water, cascading down from the canyons, rushed into the river channel. At its highest, the flood waters rose to the bottom of the highway bridge. The winds snapped tall palms and blew off roofs all over town. Daniel, our host on the panga, gathered his family into his van to ride out the storm. He covered all the windows with plywood and stocked food, water, and clothing for the children. He lost his roof, but nothing else that was important. Most of the locals live up on the hillsides or further up the valley and away from the river.
The gringo settlements, built on riverfront property on the south side of Rio Santa Rosalia, well below the bridge, were devastated once again by the September storm. Rio Oasis, the little settlement that includes our rented casita, has been cleaned up. The debris has been trucked away, and many of the houses repainted and refurnished. Some are still works in progress, but clearly there is work going on.
To either side of Rio Oasis there is ample evidence of the storm's ferocity. The road to the west along the river is passable, but just. Here is a house for sale; no effort has been made to clean up the property, although the house appears to be largely intact. There is a house that has been completely devastated. On the next lot, there is only debris, half-buried in fine gravel.
The guys have been talking to some of the property owners. Some of them had insurance, some didn't.Some are rebuilding, others settling for something less than they had before: an outdoor kitchen and a place to park the RV instead of a house. I'm sure has been disheartening to face four storms in as many years. But, like the proprietor of the Caballo Blanco in Loreto said, shaking his head sadly, "They're still building under the bridge." You have to wonder.
So today we travel up Mexico 1, past San Ignacio, and turn off the highway onto a paved road toward Punta Abreojos. The guys, with a little help from me, put the custom cartop carrier on top of the car. This time our stepstool is bungied to the top of the box; it beats having it in the back, where it falls out every time we open the gate. We finish packing, bundle up our lunch, and set out around 10 a.m.
This time when we go through the military checkpoint, the soldiers want to look in the cartop carrier. Oh, joy. Off come the bungie cords and down comes the stepstool. The soldier climbs onto the stool and delves into the box. What's this he asks of one of my sock bundles. I remove the hot sauce from the sock and show it to him. He takes my word that the next such bundle is tamarindo-chipotle jam. He pokes around a bit inside the car, pulls out G's pill case. Are this drugs for crazy people, he asks? A joke. The search is cursory, and we are soon on our way. But we give up on the bungie cords and leave the stepstool once again in the back.
Why are we going to Punta Abreojos? Good question, and I'm not sure I know the real answer. There is a wilderness preserve here with some 200 rare and endangered antelope. They're pretty small, I read, although we don't see them. We find our turn and skim down the paved road. It's a pretty good road. But after 80 km or so it comes to an end. The dirt road, recently graded, forks. Which way to go? We choose the right, the rockier branch, but soon are convinced that it's the wrong road. So we turn around and take the other fork. We round the corner and find ourselves driving on the runway. And there's an awful noise, like mud or rocks spattering, from the back.
Uh oh. So while cars drive past on the runway, we pull to the side of the road and change the tire. Of course it's Sunday and nothing is open. Our spare is a bit squishy, but it will do.
As we drive into town, we are amazed at the number of osprey nests, big messy things. Most are on platforms on the top of power poles. There are even nests on the microwave tower! The adults are feeding their babies; you can hear the babies skreeking for food. I see I need to learn something about ospreys. Sometimes the nests are not even a block apart. Mayhap they are "territorial" only when it comes to other species, like the resident osprey at June Lake who attempts to terrorize the bald eagles (and pretty much succeeds, I must admit).
There are two hotels in town. We wouldn't have found either without the directions of a very kind Senor who was outside his house putting beef on the grill. He pointed us toward the llanteria where manana we might get a new/used tire, and to the hotel. The one listed in our guidebook is deserted; there is car out front, but ringing the bell raises no one. So we fall back to the two-story orange-stucco building, apparently "Lulus". They have two rooms, both upstairs. The stairs are about 2 feet wide, in concrete, and there is no railing. G rises to the challenge, and we ascend to approximately the height of the nearest osprey nest, directly to the west.
A word here. Don't go to Punta Abreojos unless you are a wildly enthusiastic out-there windsurfer. Otherwise there's no reason. And if you do go to Punta Abreojos, don't stay at Lulu's. The rooms are dusty, and the bathrooms (albeit en suite) are dirty. No cleaning ladies here, for sure. We wet the end of a dark green towel and clean off the worst of the dust and grime. I am the maid.
We have brought our lunch, so we enjoy leftover skirt steak, a chicken drumette or two, gruyere, and hard-boiled eggs. Washed down with a cold beer, it suffices nicely. B and I go for a walk, checking out the malecon and keeping an eye out for restaurants (we see none) for dinner. Watching the ospreys is entertaining. We walk by the ranks of fishing boats waiting on their trailers for tomorrow's launch. There is a tractor to push them out beyond the low-tide line. I wonder how noisy it will be tomorrow morning? We walk by the fishery coop and the lighthouse, and then loop back into town. We walk a block beyond our hotel, where, evidently, sidewalks and paving were installed when the school was built. Here there are quite a few prosperous-looking abodes. Still no restaurants. A new Pemex station is abuilding a few blocks down, but is not open yet.
Back at the hotel, B is sent exploring to find a restaurant. He asks at the tienda behind the hotel. The senorita there gives him a name, and waves in the direction of the malecon. We set out in the deepening twilight to find dinner. We see a sign pointing to La Encantada at the beach. Sounds great. Cerrado (closed). We pass the loncheria, also closed (no surprise there, as they open only for lunch). We find what looks like a restaurant, only to discover that it is instead a beer distriburtor open for a birthday party. The birthday girl is 7 today. The hosts press the guys to sample the ceviche and scallop sashimi and beer (they have plenty of that). D declines, but adventurous B tries the scallops and the pulpo (squid). After all, the host has told him he will not be welcome in the Baja again if he does not enjoy their hospitality.
G's eagle eye has spotted a "hot tacos" sign further down the street. We cruise along, and discover that the cart reads "hot dogs". So we get carry-out. G gets a hot dog sans bun; D one with a bun, garnished with ketchup and bacon. B and I have tortas, beef sandwiches on a sesame seed bun. This will do us fine. We repair to the hotel, open some wine, and get down with dinner.
As expected, the wind is a major weather presence here. I give up trying to do anything with my hair. The air is warm while the sun is up, but cools rapidly after sunset. The windows in our room seem solid, but one in G's room lets in the wind. It will the a presence this night for them.
At this point, my opinion is that Punta Abreojos is the armpit of Baja. As I told the others, if we can't find a hot breakfast in the morning, I'm revising that opinion downward. I am thankful to have my immersion heater, tea bags and coffee. OK, I'm a wuss.
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