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Cook and I could
say things like cerveza
and chipotle,
but when it came
to chatting it up
with the gas station
attendants or assuring machinegun-equipped
boys at the military
check points, Cherney was the
hombre. We’d push him in front of
us like a couple of geeky preteens
afraid to talk to the cheerleaders. “I
feel like Mexican” became a favorite
line at meal time. The food in Baja
was terrific, and in La Paz we found
the best shrimp fajitas imaginable at
La Panga. In fact, we ate them two
nights in a row since we’d decided
to drop anchor at this port, as cruise
ships often do. We found our favorite
hotel here, too, Los Arcos, which
was luxurious, reasonably priced
and overflowing with perfect tropical
ambiance. From La Paz we spent
two exciting days exploring Los Cabos
(The Capes), including its two
famous getaway destinations, Cabo
San Lucas and San Jose Del Cabo.
But our favorite finds in
this region were the more
real-world towns, such as
Todos Santos, an artist enclave
and home to the Hotel California,
purported to be inspiration for
the Eagles song (we don’t think so),
and San Antonio with its jewel-like
red and white church appearing like
a perfect ghost at nightfall. We didn’t
do tequila shots at Cabo Wabo or
buy T-shirts at the Hard Rock Caf.
Come on. We didn’t even take a water
taxi out to Baja’s famous rock
arch at Land’s End so we could say
we were there. That’s touristy crap.
We were living in another world,
and Cabo was a culture shock.
Initially, in our non-planning, we
had discussed taking the ferry from
La Paz over to Mexico proper for
an all-new ride up. But when it was
time to head north we all felt that we
would rather get to know Baja backward
than risk a boring route home
on the densely populated mainland.
We knew what to expect now and
were looking forward to retracing
our steps. We’d been pleasantly surprised
by how smooth and clean
Baja’s Highway 1 had been. Narrow
and plagued by animals, perhaps,
but still very rideable. We were also
impressed by how courteous Mexican
drivers are (at least outside city
limits). Oncoming vehicles would
consistently warn us of errant livestock
with hazard lights, and vehicles
we were following would clear
us to pass with a turn signal. (Even
though we continued to select our
own passing opportunities, we
found these signals were always appropriate.)
The unpaved secondary
roads are hellish, however, especially
on a heavy cruiser, and we learned
straight out of the sand to avoid
them. Most of the beaches on the
Sea of Cortez side are fully accessible
though (hard-packed traffic).
On our way north it was easier to
see beyond the trash that lines the
road -- the discarded goods and
animals -- and appreciate Baja for
its charmingly unkempt and unpredictable
nature. Think of it as
a beautiful girl wearing rags...with
clots of dirt in her hair...and also
had very bad teeth.
From the seats of our touring
cruisers we soaked up
the velvet-green color of
sage in January and the
white smell of salty sea air while
enthusiastically exchanging peace
signs with at least 100 children.
Even the darker side of Baja -- the
vultures hunched like gargoyles on
the arms of saguaro cacti and the
countless roadside shrines marking
untimely human death -- became
a part of the brilliance. This
certainly wasn’t Sheboygan, baby.
We picked up a few memories we’d
reluctantly bypassed on our more
harried journey south, including
a night’s stay in San Ignacio,
where we slept in yurts along the
lagoon. For real. The round Mongolian-style
tents really don’t relate
to Mexican culture.
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