RV CARAVAN TO BAJA -- PART III
Saturday, February 13
Off in the morning on the now familiar route to Loreto, we wondered how we would feel retracing from that point all the way north. It actually was a pleasure. We could view with much more leisure the things that we passed by so quickly on the way south. Also, the sun pattern was far superior. Coming from behind, it lit up the landscape. Colors were brighter and plants showed up in much better detail. How we enjoyed those marvelous desert succulents!
Returning to Loreto Shores RV Park now felt like going home. Down the wide, dirt road we went, turning into our same camping slots. I managed a small laundry job and cleaned up the motorhome a bit not realizing that another rig had suffered a disaster. While approaching the campsite, our friends Jerry and Delores tangled with a big tree branch overhanging the street. The roof of their trailer was badly ripped. We tried to be helpful as Jerry spent the afternoon using that good old duct tape to seal off the damage in event of rain. They had been so kind to us in our distress. We felt frustrated not to be of more actual help to them.
Sunday, February 14, Valentine's Day
In the morning we took all precautions, loading in extra water jugs and dumping thoroughly, in anticipation of four days of dry camping at El Requeson Beach. I wasn't looking forward to this part of the plan. The beach had been cold and windy the one night we had camped there coming south. I don't like to be without my electric blanket and I do like to flush!
The Wagonmaster asked for those with small rigs to go early to establish places for the others because the beach arrangements were informal - first come, first served even though a man does collect camping fees. We embarked on the short morning drive up the coast feeling a little giddy, after all, to be the advance team, driving on our own. The morning sun illuminated the wonderful desert plants ahead of us and soon we got a peep at the sea. Driving into the now familiar rocky entrance, we found Gil there ahead of us, and we were directed to a perfect spot on the beach.
We felt so good about our new acrylic window's performance too, that we celebrated with pancakes in the morning and grilled veggie burgers in the evening, sharing a campfire provided by our generous neighbors, John and Rosemary. During the afternoon, we joined the group to play beach dice, a game of no skill and lots of luck. Good fun. We determined to get one of those sets of rubbery dice for our family outings. Later we gathered at a campfire for singing and stories. It was a lovely evening.
The second day became very windy about 2:30 p.m., but Gil had again circled the larger rigs for privacy and shelter so that we enjoyed our gatherings regardless. By this time we all knew each other well, sharing a number of group meals with more wonderful food. Fabulous sourdough pancakes were provided one morning by the Foshers. Biscuits and gravy and eggs, another, by Gil and Pat and Chuck who seemed to be cooking for us constantly. Gil set up grills and griddles outside his Holiday Rambler and did breakfasts and dinners and things in between.
Eating together was such an unexpected bonanza, not just for the outstanding food, but even more, for the opportunity to become truly connected to so many fine people. Pat Fosher used up her sourdough by baking small loaves of bread, and she came by, delivering a couple of hot loaves to us. What a treat!
Daytimes, we walked on the beach in pleasant company, hiked up the hillside trail with new buddies, explored the other camps along the bay. We reconnoitered George's Ole, just north of El Requeson, a small hotel, camping and restaurant cluster and found it impeccable and very creative in that difficult and remote spot. Dinner there with Betty and Jack was a high point.
Somehow those four days slipped away. We did not run out of water. We did not freeze to death. We learned to run our engine a short while in order to restore our deep cycle batteries. I changed my clothes a lot. Light things for morning. Long-johns for evening.
We did make a great effort to conserve water and battery power. Bob warmed our water jugs on the spare tire during the warm hours. We stowed water bottles in the shower for flushing. A fresh produce truck arrived each morning, selling addictive little fruit tarts, breads, veggies, tortillas. Inevitable vendors came and went. By hindsight, I regret not purchasing a few more of their handmade wool carpets.
Thursday, February 18
Reluctantly, we left El Requeson behind. We could have just settled in there for a long stay. There were actually people camped there who planned to stay for a month. How they managed their sewers and such is a mystery yet. Perhaps it's just as well not to know.
On to Mulege, a brief and lovely drive on a beautiful windless morning. Mulege was located on a short river, muddy in color but with a good flow out of the mountains. It was good to see water of any kind on the land, Baja being so incredibly arid elsewhere. The setting was a natural oasis, with many palms. Villa Maria Isabella RV Park was located on a riverside dirt road about a mile and a half from town. Upon arrival, we were toured by van and taxi to see the mission church on the hill, the old prison compound and the lighthouse. We were treated to margaritas again at a small hotel and set free to explore the town.
We ended up with Jack and Betty at Los Equipales, a fine little hotel with an excellent dining room. Probably our favorite meal of the trip - three lobster tails with soup and salad for $9.95, not to mention the usual portion of chips and salsa. We advertised the place widely around our camp and a number of others took advantage of the handy "banos", excellent food and friendly atmosphere. The second day in Mulege, having just bargained for a lovely small carpet from the camp vendor, I felt inspired, and so Bob and I rode on our bikes to town for some exploration and shopping. We purchased some small pottery pieces I'd spotted the day before, from Anna the shop owner who proclaimed herself "an honest woman" and refused to alter her prices. "No Ma'am"! We also returned to a little corner shop and bought a lovely small wool hanging from a mother who had her two small children tucked into the corner.
Shopkeepers took siesta time seriously down in Baja. Shops snapped shut at noon and were closed until 4 p.m. So we ran out of shopping time and headed for our bikes. Happily we encountered Don and Ginny Bell in town with their tow vehicle and they were kind enough to transport our treasures back to the camp.
That evening was warm and comfortable as the group gathered for an outdoor Fiesta meal in the patio of the RV Park. The park staff catered the excellent food. More margaritas and another-in-a- series of elegant flan desserts. Costumed mariachis put on a colorful show and a pinata was broken for the evening's climax. By this time, we were all thoroughly spoiled. It was inconceivable that our time together would soon come to an end.
Saturday, February 20
Another sad goodbye, this time to Mulege. On route to Guerrero Negro, we stopped in the coastal town of Santa Rosalia where we walked past the square to the metal church designed by Eiffel of Eiffel Tower fame. The interesting structure reminded us of the marvelous corrugated metal churches in Chile located on the inland waterway.
It was another long pull from the Sea of Cortez, up the steep grade, onto the table land, past the volcanic area and into San Ignacio for a rest stop and revisit. We had encountered another caravan at our campground in Cabo San Lucas and had connected with Lenore Ryan, the mother of friends in Arcata. She and her husband were Tailgunners for that group. Her caravan was headed north too and was just now pulling in to spend the night at San Ignacio. One of their rigs had ventured into the sand and was hopelessly mired. Their people were gathered around trying to extricate it.
All of the campgrounds were tricky - trees in the way, sand, rocks, concrete posts or electric equipment dangling. In fact all of Baja was a watch-your- step kind of place. Sidewalks suddenly terminated. There were unexpected steps and drops. Buildings and fences jutted out here and there. Roads widened and narrowed without warning. Streets turned from pavement to rocks, and there were the ubiquitous "topes", the intentional and unintentional speed bumps.
Bob and I again took the opportunity to walk into small, sleepy San Ignacio. It was siesta time but the beautiful mission church was open and the tortilla factory operating. The church intrigued us again with its many curlicues and fine high bell tower. The Tortillaria was open for business and consisted of a tiny open air shop with three women hard at work. They were pouring flour and rolling dough into small balls. Then the balls went into a press, one by one, and were flipped onto a hot grill.
The fresh flour tortillas smelled wonderful and we tried to buy a couple to eat on the spot. But the cashier just handed us a couple off the griddle and waved our pesos away. Later we learned that they sell for 6 pesos a dozen. We felt like kids, getting a friendly handout, and we relished every bite.
The caravan called off numbers on the CB and formed up to continue west and north to Guerrero Negro for the night. This was a dull stretch, foggy going south and bleak going north. Even the plant life looked gray and discouraged.
Guerrero Negro was no more welcoming on our return. It was still raw and windy, and we quickly changed back to our sweaters and jackets. The yellow lights of the military base still glowed all night. The dust still blew. But we met a couple of the same dogs who seemed to remember us and accepted a few handouts.
Several of us elected to go to the La Pinta just next to the park instead of spending another cold night at Mario's open air restaurant. The meal service was slow but we were in no hurry. Waiters were warm and friendly, and the food, when it finally arrived on the table, was fresh and excellent. The $1 guacamole was memorable, done up with cheese slivers and chunks of avocado.
Again we enjoyed crisp, good L.A. Cetta Fume Blanc and wished we could find some to take home. It was early to bed with showers and other preparations that night, looking ahead to the next night's dry camp north of Catavina.
Sunday, February 21
Early on, it was discovered that Don and Ginny Bell had a broken spring on their trailer. Good men of the caravan consulted and did the best they could to wire or strap it up until it could be welded or replaced. Don and Ginny and the Tailgunners fell behind for repairs while the rest of the caravan moved on north.
It seemed like a long day of driving, the bright spot again being the boulder area, many acres of intense beauty in an otherwise drear and flat landscape. We had hoped to stay at Catavina again where the plants were still of great interest but we ended up, instead, at a dry camp set up in a rectangle of used tires.
Bob took off with Fred in his four-wheel truck to drive nine miles along a rutted road to the remains of an onyx mine. I chose to exercise by striding around the camp but watching for snakes on what appeared to be a likely terrain. We never were aware of reptiles. In fact there was a scarcity of wild animal life of any kind. I saw one small lizard. That was it except for the birds which were wonderful with beautiful hawks along the entire route.
Late in the day, the Bells and the Tailgunners, were cheered into camp, apparently successful with the repair of Don's spring. A wedding reception was in progress at the camp service building, Men were struggling in the wind with lengths of blue plastic in order to create a shelter. Mariachis arrived shortly, guitars tuned up and indeed, in spite of all, they made a party. We huddled for a time, listening to their electric guitars and eating our hamburgers or veggie burgers. Their party ended blessedly early and so did ours.
Monday, February 22
Washington's Birthday was not a big thing in Baja. The morning was even windier and dustier, if possible. Grit whirled in from the south, scouring our breakfast scene. Even our circled rigs didn't keep the sand out of the pancakes that Gil and Pat and Chuck were turning out with considerable fortitude. Baja, it seemed, generally suffered from dust rather than smog. Clouds of dust often hung over towns and inhabited areas. Most of us were troubled with nasal irritations; some had real allergy problems. I used a lot of nasal spray and shampooed very often.
After sandy pancakes, we set out for Colonia Vicente Guerrero and looked forward to the night's full hookups and our view of the Pacific. We entered the campground over the same unbelievable road, passing once more the junk yard, the enclosures, the few residences, back to good old Don Pedro's. The campground now appeared luxurious. All things are relative! I think Gil had method in his madness, choosing our camp of the night before. Again we ate with our group at the small adjacent cafe and had a gratifying evening. Bob ordered steak which was larger than his plate, with plenty to share with Ginny and Jack's two dogs.
Time was running out. Lots of sentiment was building around the group. We had become a family. What a special pleasure to end each day visiting around among friends.
Tuesday, February 23
Northward we went on Tuesday, a half-day's run to Estero Beach just south of Ensenada. We were surprised at how much scenery we had overlooked on the way south. There were hills and gullies and farming. Even some water ran in the stream beds from the recent rains. We'd been too distracted on the way south to appreciate what was around us. It was really a nice day of travel and we arrived just about noon at an enclave that included a hotel, some small shops, a museum and a grassy campground. By contrast, it was exceedingly glamorous and lavishly landscaped but, we weren't out of the woods yet. The hookups were as awkwardly placed as all the rest.
Entering the grounds through a tight gate, Fred and Marilyn swiped their trailer against a big rock wall. Their outside dual blew with a mighty explosion. Again, help was on the spot. Good men popped on the spare tire and worked at straightening out the damaged storage door.
Our group was scheduled for a bus tour of the city at 1 p.m. We were transported to the renowned Bufadora, the blow hole. It was a bright, sunny day and the blow hole was performing on schedule. We also visited the small Santo Tomas Winery and did some sampling before moving on to Ensenada itself.
There we stopped at the pride of the city, the Cultural Center. A former casino built and run during prohibition by Al Capone and group, it was acquired later by a woman and became a private residence and hotel. When it became economically impractical, it was partially razed and then the remains spared for community events and theater. The building that we toured was elaborate and very interesting.
Wednesday, February 24
Bob and I rode our bikes in the forenoon along the bay front. An extensive resort and development of private residences were there, as always some under repair or construction. In the afternoon we shared a taxi with Fred and Marilyn and Rosemary and John for a shopping trip into Ensenada. We had a brisk run through dozens of shops, mostly carrying identical goods and not nearly as fine as the craft items we passed up in the south. Bob and I were still looking for hand blown wine glasses and wanted another really good wool carpet. I also had in mind some pottery vegetable strings and some candlesticks.
Good wool handwoven carpets were not to be found, nor wine glasses either. I did buy some lovely pottery pieces and my coveted vegetable strings so went back to the camp tired and happy, but not too tired to take another spin out to a couple of local shops with Marilyn.
Later, I had just pulled off my shoes for a respite when Bob appeared with a handsome young man bearing an enormous box. Bob had noticed my pleasure in some lovely pottery in the Estero Beach Gift Shop and had splurged. He presented some fine hand painted pots and vases that were an exciting addition to our other finds. Now it was up to me to find where to stow everything in our limited space!
It took me one frenzied hour. We arrived at our farewell dinner a little askew and just as the margarita hour was concluding on the terrace of the Estero Beach Hotel. From then on to arrival home, we had to sit extra gently on our bench seat because of the delicate stuff stowed beneath it.
We cherished the good and satisfying final evening together. The hotel served a gracious meal and various friends rose to express themselves. Gil congratulated us for behaving well and praised our group spirit, which was always upbeat. Several awards were given. The group had arranged thank you cards and gifts for the staff who accepted our offerings with good grace. We were all unbelieving and most reluctant to part company. Hugs and promises were made all around.