Big waves for San Diego.
Final Shot. Departure.Thursday, January 22, 2009
Our last ka-plunk.
Our Mulege taco favorite. We had breakfast here before we left.
The local news source.
The last photo taken in Mexico and our last ride before the bus.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Moving North.
We are setting out today to catch a ride north to any town with a autobus station. We are hoping to make Guerrero Negro by this afternoon. If we do, we will catch a bus there and ride it the rest of the way to TJ tonight. Our flight leaves San Diego around 2:30 pm on Monday the 19th, getting into Seattle around 6:30 pm. Is there anyone who can pick us up? Kevin? Anyone?
We will try to update the next few days if we can.
For now Buenos Dias, peace and we will see you all soon.
Roberto.
p.s.
Jessie's cell will be on Monday morning. 206-617-3600
We will try to update the next few days if we can.
For now Buenos Dias, peace and we will see you all soon.
Roberto.
p.s.
Jessie's cell will be on Monday morning. 206-617-3600
Friday, January 16, 2009
A bittersweet reunion with an Old Friend.
Any of you who saw my photos from my road trip to Arizona will remember my mild obsession with Ocotillo (fouquieria splendens), and you’ll probably be very happy to know that I won’t be coming back from this trip with several dozen “Self Portrait with Ocotillo” shots.
Three species of the Fouquieria genus grow in Baja California, according to Baja California Plant Field Guide by Norman C. Roberts. The f. splendens variety of Ocotillo, with which I fell in love in Arizona, doesn’t grow quite as prolifically here by Mulege. It’s apparently quite useful architecturally, culinarilaly (its beautiful red flowers are edible), and medicinally. The f. diguetii (Palo Adan, or Adam’s Tree) is often used as a living fence or corral, and its bark may be cooked to make a wash for cuts. These two are the most common in Baja California, although they do have one rare cousin.
The f. burragei, which resembles the f. diguetii in that it’s more like a tree and less like a gorgeous spray of slender thorny whips (swoon!), is a rare endemic species found south of Mulege down to Bahia Concepcion. The book says little more than that about it, but I learned something else yesterday.
It hurts like hell when you step on it.
After our relaxing layabout at the beach of Playa Santispac, Rob and I struck out for Mulege. Being ornery, we decided to take a different route back to the highway, and we ended up on the old road that connects Playa Santispac to another beach (Playa Naranjas, I think). The road had a few shoeprints and a few ATV tracks, but otherwise we were alone, just us and the birds and the waves crashing onto the rocks below.
We hadn’t made it more than halfway when I stepped on a dead branch and one of the two-inch long spines went unchallenged through the sole of my shoe and the bottom of my foot. It came out clean, although it still hurts plenty today.
Oh, Ocotillo! How deeply I have loved you, and how deeply I feel the pain of your betrayal!
Although gravely wounded both in flesh and heart, I trudged on. We figured that this road would link into the main highway like all the others seemed to, but when we rounded the last bend the highway was nowhere in sight. There were two houses on the beach, both occupied by gringo couples. An older man told us that the highway was about two miles away, and that it would probably be dark by the time we reached it, and his wife came out to offer that we could stay for the night. “We’re showing a movie tonight,” she said. “We have a theater here.” We thanked them, but having already paid for our hotel we decided to try to make it back.
As luck would have it, less than a hundred meters away we ran into a surveying crew that we had seen working on the old road a half-hour or so earlier. We flagged them down and they waved us into the back of their pickup where we sat while they finished marking the boundaries of some land for sale. They only had one more to go, which they planted with the aid of a hand-held GPS dead square in a spiny patch of cholla. They were headed up to Sta Rosalia, so they offered to drop us off in Mulege. The bed was more comfortable and contained 100% less scallops than our last ride with the fishermen, and once we arrived in Mulege we bought them a six-pack of Tecate in thanks.
Cheers, Jessie!
Three species of the Fouquieria genus grow in Baja California, according to Baja California Plant Field Guide by Norman C. Roberts. The f. splendens variety of Ocotillo, with which I fell in love in Arizona, doesn’t grow quite as prolifically here by Mulege. It’s apparently quite useful architecturally, culinarilaly (its beautiful red flowers are edible), and medicinally. The f. diguetii (Palo Adan, or Adam’s Tree) is often used as a living fence or corral, and its bark may be cooked to make a wash for cuts. These two are the most common in Baja California, although they do have one rare cousin.
The f. burragei, which resembles the f. diguetii in that it’s more like a tree and less like a gorgeous spray of slender thorny whips (swoon!), is a rare endemic species found south of Mulege down to Bahia Concepcion. The book says little more than that about it, but I learned something else yesterday.
It hurts like hell when you step on it.
After our relaxing layabout at the beach of Playa Santispac, Rob and I struck out for Mulege. Being ornery, we decided to take a different route back to the highway, and we ended up on the old road that connects Playa Santispac to another beach (Playa Naranjas, I think). The road had a few shoeprints and a few ATV tracks, but otherwise we were alone, just us and the birds and the waves crashing onto the rocks below.
We hadn’t made it more than halfway when I stepped on a dead branch and one of the two-inch long spines went unchallenged through the sole of my shoe and the bottom of my foot. It came out clean, although it still hurts plenty today.
Oh, Ocotillo! How deeply I have loved you, and how deeply I feel the pain of your betrayal!
Although gravely wounded both in flesh and heart, I trudged on. We figured that this road would link into the main highway like all the others seemed to, but when we rounded the last bend the highway was nowhere in sight. There were two houses on the beach, both occupied by gringo couples. An older man told us that the highway was about two miles away, and that it would probably be dark by the time we reached it, and his wife came out to offer that we could stay for the night. “We’re showing a movie tonight,” she said. “We have a theater here.” We thanked them, but having already paid for our hotel we decided to try to make it back.
As luck would have it, less than a hundred meters away we ran into a surveying crew that we had seen working on the old road a half-hour or so earlier. We flagged them down and they waved us into the back of their pickup where we sat while they finished marking the boundaries of some land for sale. They only had one more to go, which they planted with the aid of a hand-held GPS dead square in a spiny patch of cholla. They were headed up to Sta Rosalia, so they offered to drop us off in Mulege. The bed was more comfortable and contained 100% less scallops than our last ride with the fishermen, and once we arrived in Mulege we bought them a six-pack of Tecate in thanks.
Cheers, Jessie!
Food and fast times.
The best breakfast, lunch or dinner. Fish Tacos, or Steak Tacos.
My new hair style.
Casa on the mesa.
Eric, is this where you left the Nova???
Sunny days in Mulege.
(Written Thursday, January 15)
If you had asked us a month ago what we would be doing in Baja, we would have answered that we’d be on the beach, playing in the surf. Sure, we got sidetracked by whales, cute towns, and taco stands (oh, the taco stands!), but today we finally achieved our dream!
Twice in the past week we’ve been driven past the white sand beaches of Bahia Concepcion, which lie tantalizingly close to sleepy Mulege. The first time was well after dark on the bus from Guerrero Negro. Bahia Concepcion’s coastline is primarily rocky shores, but its many curves shelter just over a half-dozen white sand oases. ¬Through the bus window the sand glittered in the light of the full moon—not a single human light shone in the entire bay, although we could make out the rows of RVs and palm-thatched bungalows.
There are only the slimmest of housing options on the beaches of Bahia Concepcion for people without an RV or tent, so we opted for a daytrip after setting up camp in Mulege. We were able to catch a taxi to Playa Coyote, where we had heard we could rent a kayak. It turned out that the sign that read “KAYAKS FOR RENT, 15$ A DAY” fell into that category of Mexican signs that may have once been correct but certainly were no longer troubled by that state.
Disheartened, we decided to strike out for Playa Santispac, where we heard from a Playa Coyote resident that we could rent kayaks. Even if they were mistaken, we reasoned, (and they were), we could at least get lunch at the bar we had seen from the road.
People we meet have been continuously surprised to find that we don’t have a car—apparently we’re the only backpackers in all of Baja. How do we get around? they ask.
Here’s one way:
We had just watched a boatload of fishermen returning to shore, and by the time we reached the main road they had loaded up their trucks and were off to town. We got one of the guys to take us to Playa Santispac in the back of their pickup, and I spent the entire time watching an army of scallops sloshing in their open bucket, certain that we would both be soaked with scallop juice by the time we got to our destination.
Playa Santispac also does not have kayak rentals, but it does have much more room than Playa Coyote, and we lay out Rob’s new Mexican blanket under a palapa and sat watching the little waves, reading and soaking up rays. Exactly everything we hoped would elicit the highest feelings of jealousy in our snow-bound friends. So look at some of these pictures—yes, we are smirking. Just a little bit.
If you had asked us a month ago what we would be doing in Baja, we would have answered that we’d be on the beach, playing in the surf. Sure, we got sidetracked by whales, cute towns, and taco stands (oh, the taco stands!), but today we finally achieved our dream!
Twice in the past week we’ve been driven past the white sand beaches of Bahia Concepcion, which lie tantalizingly close to sleepy Mulege. The first time was well after dark on the bus from Guerrero Negro. Bahia Concepcion’s coastline is primarily rocky shores, but its many curves shelter just over a half-dozen white sand oases. ¬Through the bus window the sand glittered in the light of the full moon—not a single human light shone in the entire bay, although we could make out the rows of RVs and palm-thatched bungalows.
There are only the slimmest of housing options on the beaches of Bahia Concepcion for people without an RV or tent, so we opted for a daytrip after setting up camp in Mulege. We were able to catch a taxi to Playa Coyote, where we had heard we could rent a kayak. It turned out that the sign that read “KAYAKS FOR RENT, 15$ A DAY” fell into that category of Mexican signs that may have once been correct but certainly were no longer troubled by that state.
Disheartened, we decided to strike out for Playa Santispac, where we heard from a Playa Coyote resident that we could rent kayaks. Even if they were mistaken, we reasoned, (and they were), we could at least get lunch at the bar we had seen from the road.
People we meet have been continuously surprised to find that we don’t have a car—apparently we’re the only backpackers in all of Baja. How do we get around? they ask.
Here’s one way:
We had just watched a boatload of fishermen returning to shore, and by the time we reached the main road they had loaded up their trucks and were off to town. We got one of the guys to take us to Playa Santispac in the back of their pickup, and I spent the entire time watching an army of scallops sloshing in their open bucket, certain that we would both be soaked with scallop juice by the time we got to our destination.
Playa Santispac also does not have kayak rentals, but it does have much more room than Playa Coyote, and we lay out Rob’s new Mexican blanket under a palapa and sat watching the little waves, reading and soaking up rays. Exactly everything we hoped would elicit the highest feelings of jealousy in our snow-bound friends. So look at some of these pictures—yes, we are smirking. Just a little bit.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Thanks for following.
Thanks for following the Web-log everyone. We are preparing to head north in the next few days, and we are getting the feeling that out travels are coming to an end, for now. Baja Mexico is great and I suggest that everyone travel here on foot at least once. The experience will be totally different than any cruise or resort can offer. Thanks to all of those who gave their advice, regardless if we wanted you to, or not. Ha ha. We can't wait to get back to the rain and coffee and our friends.
Until another day Amigos!
Roberto
Until another day Amigos!
Roberto
Shouts out from Mulege.
Me!
Lacey, this is for you.
Mom, this is for you.
Harry, this is for you. (Jessie photo)
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Hello, Mulege!
(Written Tuesday, January 13)
We woke early this morning to try and see the sea lions, but the wind was so strong that the fisherman wouldn’t have been able to get us around the island. We were sad more at not being able to support the guys at Eco-Union Tours than missing out at the sea lions, but we hope that we can catch something similar in Mulege.
We got our bags from the tiny hotel room and started walking out past the city limits, thumbs out and hopes high. Well, Rob had high hopes. I was pessimistic and growing more so with each step. Most of the cars gave us the “I’m just going a short ways” motion, which we soon began to laughingly interpret as meaning: “Sorry, man, but I’m just going to Mulege.”
Car after car shot past us with an apologetic wave, but right as I asked Rob if he thought it would work a maroon Ford pickup pulled up. We never got his name, but he was a guy about 55 or 60, from Mulege. He took us the whole way, and after about a half-hour of halted conversation we lapsed into a contented silence.
The scenery is gorgeous, going from a vibrant, spiny desert to turquoise seas with white sand beaches in a matter of yards. We drove along the Bahia Concepcion, which looks amazing if crowded with RV’s. There were still a few beaches that weren’t overrun with snowbirds. Next time we come down here it will be with a car and a tent, for sure.
Mulege is strange place—sleepy and on the surface not as touristy as Loreto, but with a pretty entrenched expat community. There seemed to be a lot of businesses with English signs, an expat-oriented bar, notices for AA meetings in English, and even an English radio station.
We spent the day exploring the town, and quickly found a great joint for steak tacos, Asaderos Dany, which will certainly become our new hangout. Tomorrow we’re going to scout out the beach and start working the ex-pat community for a ride to Tijuana. Our new motto: “Anything but the bus.” Tonight we’re watching soap operas with the volume down on the only channel that we get in our hotel room and trying to figure out who’s sleeping with whom. Right now an old woman with too much makeup is holding a gun to—wow, she just shot him! Oh man. Enough of this writing. Now the woman with the aggressively curly hair is holding her newborn and arguing with the man in with the slicked-back hair. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Besos,
Jessie
We woke early this morning to try and see the sea lions, but the wind was so strong that the fisherman wouldn’t have been able to get us around the island. We were sad more at not being able to support the guys at Eco-Union Tours than missing out at the sea lions, but we hope that we can catch something similar in Mulege.
We got our bags from the tiny hotel room and started walking out past the city limits, thumbs out and hopes high. Well, Rob had high hopes. I was pessimistic and growing more so with each step. Most of the cars gave us the “I’m just going a short ways” motion, which we soon began to laughingly interpret as meaning: “Sorry, man, but I’m just going to Mulege.”
Car after car shot past us with an apologetic wave, but right as I asked Rob if he thought it would work a maroon Ford pickup pulled up. We never got his name, but he was a guy about 55 or 60, from Mulege. He took us the whole way, and after about a half-hour of halted conversation we lapsed into a contented silence.
The scenery is gorgeous, going from a vibrant, spiny desert to turquoise seas with white sand beaches in a matter of yards. We drove along the Bahia Concepcion, which looks amazing if crowded with RV’s. There were still a few beaches that weren’t overrun with snowbirds. Next time we come down here it will be with a car and a tent, for sure.
Mulege is strange place—sleepy and on the surface not as touristy as Loreto, but with a pretty entrenched expat community. There seemed to be a lot of businesses with English signs, an expat-oriented bar, notices for AA meetings in English, and even an English radio station.
We spent the day exploring the town, and quickly found a great joint for steak tacos, Asaderos Dany, which will certainly become our new hangout. Tomorrow we’re going to scout out the beach and start working the ex-pat community for a ride to Tijuana. Our new motto: “Anything but the bus.” Tonight we’re watching soap operas with the volume down on the only channel that we get in our hotel room and trying to figure out who’s sleeping with whom. Right now an old woman with too much makeup is holding a gun to—wow, she just shot him! Oh man. Enough of this writing. Now the woman with the aggressively curly hair is holding her newborn and arguing with the man in with the slicked-back hair. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Besos,
Jessie
Loreto en foto.
Rocks
Sidewalk deathtraps are everywhere!
Four way stop or eight pack of beer.
Nice guy.
Tiny hotel rooms, surfing the net, and surprising the fishermen in Loreto.
(From notes taken on Monday, January 12th.)
After two nights of interrupted sleep in Hotel Junipero (the first night being church bells, the second night being a gaggle of chatty senoras talking outside our room at 5 in the morning), we moved to the Motel Palmas Altas in a quieter, cheaper, part of town. For a room that cost less than $20 we weren’t expecting much, but the comically small bathroom kept us laughing for hours, so I suppose we got our money’s worth out of it.
When you’re sitting on the toilet, your knees practically touch the door and your elbows brush the wall on the right and the shower door or the left. The door won’t stay closed without assistance. I didn’t brave the shower, but according to Rob it had plenty of hot water and was quite nice.
-----
The bus, we’ve found out, is not our ideal form of travel. But what else is there? Rent a car? Hitch hike? Fly?
After talking with a couple of Canadians in a coffee shop, Rob got the idea that we could try to go from Loreto to Mulege by boat. We went down to the harbor where the fantastic gentlemen of Eco-Union Tours, a cooperative tour company, debated amongst themselves what the price for a trip to Mulege might be. Apparently no one had ever asked them to go to Mulege before, and they were laughing, calling over more and more guys to discuss. From the looks of them, they were difficult men to surprise, so we felt accomplished.
Alejandro, the tour co-op operator, finally found us a captain willing to take us for $300 American—a bit out of our price range. There had been a pretty strong wind coming from the north for the past few days, so the going would be tough and probably take about 6 hours.
In the end we decided instead to get our boat kicks by going on a tour out to Coronado Island to see the sea lions and romp on our own private beach. It was scheduled for the next day (Tuesday the 13th). Unfortunately we weren’t able to go because of the wind, but we promised we’d spread the word.
Hey, everybody! Check out Eco-Union Tours in Loreto! These guys rock.
-----
Interneting has been difficult in Loreto, as the internet café we hit up twice had an abysmally slow connection. After a frustrating few attempts to upload Rob’s photos we all but gave up and went back to our doll-sized hotel room to sulk.
The coffee shop we’d gone to earlier in the day (the one containing the Canadians) promised wireless, and so eventually with renewed dedication we struck out for it, laptop in hand, stopping in front of the nicer-looking homes to search for signals.
We finally caught one near the waterfront and spent the next twenty minutes or so standing out in front of some guy’s house, alternately holding the laptop and uploading/typing. Thanks, unknown Mexican dude! We totally owe you.
To the rest of the world—keep your signals free! Think of the poor frustrated travelers just needing to get in contact with their families!
In peace and freedom of wireless,
Jessie
After two nights of interrupted sleep in Hotel Junipero (the first night being church bells, the second night being a gaggle of chatty senoras talking outside our room at 5 in the morning), we moved to the Motel Palmas Altas in a quieter, cheaper, part of town. For a room that cost less than $20 we weren’t expecting much, but the comically small bathroom kept us laughing for hours, so I suppose we got our money’s worth out of it.
When you’re sitting on the toilet, your knees practically touch the door and your elbows brush the wall on the right and the shower door or the left. The door won’t stay closed without assistance. I didn’t brave the shower, but according to Rob it had plenty of hot water and was quite nice.
-----
The bus, we’ve found out, is not our ideal form of travel. But what else is there? Rent a car? Hitch hike? Fly?
After talking with a couple of Canadians in a coffee shop, Rob got the idea that we could try to go from Loreto to Mulege by boat. We went down to the harbor where the fantastic gentlemen of Eco-Union Tours, a cooperative tour company, debated amongst themselves what the price for a trip to Mulege might be. Apparently no one had ever asked them to go to Mulege before, and they were laughing, calling over more and more guys to discuss. From the looks of them, they were difficult men to surprise, so we felt accomplished.
Alejandro, the tour co-op operator, finally found us a captain willing to take us for $300 American—a bit out of our price range. There had been a pretty strong wind coming from the north for the past few days, so the going would be tough and probably take about 6 hours.
In the end we decided instead to get our boat kicks by going on a tour out to Coronado Island to see the sea lions and romp on our own private beach. It was scheduled for the next day (Tuesday the 13th). Unfortunately we weren’t able to go because of the wind, but we promised we’d spread the word.
Hey, everybody! Check out Eco-Union Tours in Loreto! These guys rock.
-----
Interneting has been difficult in Loreto, as the internet café we hit up twice had an abysmally slow connection. After a frustrating few attempts to upload Rob’s photos we all but gave up and went back to our doll-sized hotel room to sulk.
The coffee shop we’d gone to earlier in the day (the one containing the Canadians) promised wireless, and so eventually with renewed dedication we struck out for it, laptop in hand, stopping in front of the nicer-looking homes to search for signals.
We finally caught one near the waterfront and spent the next twenty minutes or so standing out in front of some guy’s house, alternately holding the laptop and uploading/typing. Thanks, unknown Mexican dude! We totally owe you.
To the rest of the world—keep your signals free! Think of the poor frustrated travelers just needing to get in contact with their families!
In peace and freedom of wireless,
Jessie
Monday, January 12, 2009
Welcome to Loreto!
(Sunday, January 11, 2009)
(Note: these next few entries have been written over the past few days—sorry to post them all at once! Our access to internet has been pretty limited, and so as of yet we have no pictures of Loreto uploaded. We should soon! Scroll down a bit and start reading bottom to top….)
We got in last night around 11:30, after a frustrating bus ride with a driver who stopped for 35 minutes to eat dinner and gossip with the restaurant staff while all of his passengers sat on the bus, watching “Crash” in Spanish for the second time in a row. After exchanging annoyed looks with other passengers, I finally went and politely asked him what time we would be arriving in Loreto.
We checked into the Hotel Junipero, a spare but nice place right across from the historic mission, a fact we appreciated at first but which lost its charm when the bells began clanging at 5:30 in the morning. We’re told that only happens on Sundays, so we’re going to tempt fate for another night.
Loreto is wonderful so far, if a bit touristy. It’s lush and green with palm trees, and has an untamed air about it, as though the city is resisting development into resorthood.
The streets and sidewalks are paved with false cobblestones, drawn and sculpted into wet concrete—on occasion one stumbles across footprints that mar the illusion. There are shops with trinkets and prices in American dollars, signs in English. There are luxury hotels whose “Activity Directors” wander the streets with a predatory air, hoping to lure tourists into a timeshare with the bait of free gourmet breakfast and the chance to try some activities: “VIP Events.”
But right next to these are vacant lots fenced with ratty palm-leaf mats, where the young fan palms crowd into the empty space and the coconut palms tower above, maybe a rusty wheel well or abandoned shack to remind you that humans make their mark here, too.
We had a delicious breakfast and discovered a little new & used bookstore—El Caballo Blanco—where a nice old man sold me a book on the plants of Baja California. Look forward to being thrilled by my newfound discoveries, such as this one: Date Palms and Coconut Palms (both are introduced species) are the only two feather-leaf palms in Baja Califoria, the rest being fan-leaf palms. Cool, huh? I can’t wait to tell you about the different types of cactuses.
Besos,
Jessie
(Note: these next few entries have been written over the past few days—sorry to post them all at once! Our access to internet has been pretty limited, and so as of yet we have no pictures of Loreto uploaded. We should soon! Scroll down a bit and start reading bottom to top….)
We got in last night around 11:30, after a frustrating bus ride with a driver who stopped for 35 minutes to eat dinner and gossip with the restaurant staff while all of his passengers sat on the bus, watching “Crash” in Spanish for the second time in a row. After exchanging annoyed looks with other passengers, I finally went and politely asked him what time we would be arriving in Loreto.
We checked into the Hotel Junipero, a spare but nice place right across from the historic mission, a fact we appreciated at first but which lost its charm when the bells began clanging at 5:30 in the morning. We’re told that only happens on Sundays, so we’re going to tempt fate for another night.
Loreto is wonderful so far, if a bit touristy. It’s lush and green with palm trees, and has an untamed air about it, as though the city is resisting development into resorthood.
The streets and sidewalks are paved with false cobblestones, drawn and sculpted into wet concrete—on occasion one stumbles across footprints that mar the illusion. There are shops with trinkets and prices in American dollars, signs in English. There are luxury hotels whose “Activity Directors” wander the streets with a predatory air, hoping to lure tourists into a timeshare with the bait of free gourmet breakfast and the chance to try some activities: “VIP Events.”
But right next to these are vacant lots fenced with ratty palm-leaf mats, where the young fan palms crowd into the empty space and the coconut palms tower above, maybe a rusty wheel well or abandoned shack to remind you that humans make their mark here, too.
We had a delicious breakfast and discovered a little new & used bookstore—El Caballo Blanco—where a nice old man sold me a book on the plants of Baja California. Look forward to being thrilled by my newfound discoveries, such as this one: Date Palms and Coconut Palms (both are introduced species) are the only two feather-leaf palms in Baja Califoria, the rest being fan-leaf palms. Cool, huh? I can’t wait to tell you about the different types of cactuses.
Besos,
Jessie
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