Baja

Baja has been a dream of mine for years.  It was the unknown land south of the imaginary, yet very real line during my five sunny years in San Diego.  A place that makes you wonder… just what is down there anyway?  Some of my favorite authors have made the journey – Childs, Steinbeck, maybe Abbey, I can’t remember – regaling stories that tease the soul and the feet.

Baja – low.  But below what?  Alta California.  Before we hit San Diego we drove through the San Pasqual Valley east of Escondido, the site of a battle involving my childhood hero, Kit Carson, during the Mexican-American war.  A war I think I was taught in school, but can barely remember and ended with more territory for the US.  Baja California and the state of California (Alta) were once, Las Californias.  San Diego has always been the bottom of my geography, but sitting here in a shaded patio in La Paz, the perspective is a little different.  It’s funny to think of San Diego as the middle.

Our journey into the long, slender brother of Alta California began in Tijuana.  After preparing ourselves for the border, collecting the proper paperwork, reading about the process and (in my case) generally worrying, we were surprised to make the crossing with nothing more than a brief glance in the back of the van by an immigration officer.  “Que le vaya bien.”  Passports and temporary vehicle import paperwork are apparently a figment of my imagination.  

Welcoming us to Baja Mexico with open arms.  Photo by Amelia

Welcoming us to Baja Mexico with open arms. Photo by Amelia

We drove south along the coast in dismay.  “Was that it?  Did we miss something?”.  After a brief stop in Ensenada for ice cream and a Mexican SIM card, we booked on down to Pabellon for our first night Below California.  We were greeted with crashing waves, white sands, a whale skeleton, and two laughing, enchanted children (B and A) who paused and took time to watch the sun set over the Pacific.

Our first Mexican camp at Fidel's Pabellon RV Park.  Photo by Nate

Our first Mexican camp at Fidel’s Pabellon RV Park. Photo by Nate

Welcome to Pabellon.  Photo by Victoria.

Welcome to Pabellon. Photo by Victoria.

I can’t describe enough how much I enjoy driving the highway here.  A wandering two-lane dream that skirts the rims of salty bluffs with the sea below, winds its way up to the tops of mesas, down through flood-carved arroyos and washes.  The scenery is truly breathtaking and ever-changing.  Cactus, cirios, then flat nothing.  Sculpted granite rocks, oasis, then flat nothing.  Beautiful bays, hidden coves, the green rugged mountains of Loreto, then brown, flat nothing.  I could stay here forever… if it wasn’t so damn hot.

Desert scenery.  Photo by Nate

Desert scenery. Photo by Nate

More desert scenery.  Photo by Nate

More desert scenery. Photo by Nate

Nowhere, and we're in the middle of it.  Photo by Nate

Nowhere, and we’re in the middle of it. Photo by Nate

Desert flora.  Photo by Nate

Desert flora. Photo by Nate

Lunch break.  Photo by Nate

Lunch break. Photo by Nate

Since arriving here we’ve constantly fought the heat.  To sleep in during the cool mornings, or to hit the road and get to the next camp before it becomes a cauldron, that is the question.  And the Sea of Cortes!  Beautiful!  And just as hot as the mountains, but add ninety-something percent humidity.  Miserable.  The new AC compressor in Alta California put a large dent in our August budget, so we’ve been avoiding hotels, but when we hit Loreto, we wisely (and I don’t say this often) listened to Benjamin and found a cheap hotel with AC.  What can I say, when he’s right, he’s right.  The next day we escaped to the Pacific side where it’s ten degrees cooler, the dogs are friendly, and there are plenty of young children for Amelia to tend and play with.

Nate gets the van stuck.  Photo by Nate

Nate gets the van stuck. Photo by Nate

Searching for our lunch. (They were tasty).  Photo by Victoria

Searching for our lunch. (They were tasty). Photo by Victoria

Bahia de Los Angeles at the end of the day.  Photo by Nate

Bahia de Los Angeles at the end of the day. Photo by Nate

A reminder of what Baja can be like during a storm.  The road washed out in a huge storm a year ago.  Photo by Amelia.

A reminder of what Baja can be like during a storm. The road washed out in a huge storm a year ago. Photo by Amelia.

Waiting out the heat in Bahia Concepcion.  Photo by Nate

Waiting out the heat in Bahia Concepcion. Photo by Nate

A pleasant walk at the end of the day in Bahia Concepcion.  Photo by Victoria.

A pleasant walk at the end of the day in Bahia Concepcion. Photo by Victoria.

The fisherman at work.  Photo by Victoria

The fisherman at work. Photo by Victoria

Today, and for the next week, we find ourselves in the warm house of our new amiga, Angelica, who opened up her home to four stinky, sweaty strangers through Couchsurfing.org.  This was her first time receiving “couchsurfers”.  I hope she continues!   Benjamin will begin his scuba lessons soon, we’ll take a few day trips, and I’ll fix the stove and rethink our solar/battery setup.  These 100 degree days have been too much for the fridge and our house battery.

Our gracious host, Angelica, showed us how to make ceviche.  Photo by Nate.

Our gracious host, Angelica, showed us how to make ceviche. Photo by Nate.

The ceviche was delicious.  Photo by Nate

The ceviche was delicious. Photo by Nate

Come to Baja.  But when you do, do not come in August.  Do as the snowbirds do.  Learn from their  innate, migratory knowledge.  Follow their flying V formations of Airstreams, Fleetwoods, Shastas and Arctic Foxes in February and March.  Park your rig next to theirs on the beaches of Bahia Concepcion, drink their Coronas, play with their pool floaties and listen to their Jimmy Buffett.  But don’t stop there.  Leave the beaches and find the hidden places.  Seek out the waterfalls in the mountains, the secret opening to Picacho del Diablo, the campsite next to the giant cactus down a rocky jeep track.  Stub your toe on a bit of granite, scrape your arm on an ocotillo, inhale the intoxicating aroma of sage and sea, habla con los pescadores.

Baja.  Un sueño.  I’m ready for mainland Mexico, but I already know I want to come back here some day.  However, it will be a day when V and I have had just about enough of the long, dark Seattle winter.

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Showing 8 comments
  • Ruth
    Reply

    You all are great writers! I feel like I’m right there, minus the actual sweat! Amelia is next?? Great pics.

  • Heather
    Reply

    Beautiful post! Love how Jimmy made an appearance in your writing. I need to read the prior posts — I’m sure they’ll make me smile, too. Take care!

  • Nancy LeVine
    Reply

    Love your posts and photos. I get to step out of my world and enter yours for a brief moment. In the middle of Connection. Miss you!

  • Kim
    Reply

    Onward and downward! (Or upward, it all depends on your perspective, right?) Keep on truckin’ and tellin’ us all yer stories!

  • Kathi
    Reply

    Your writing is magical, as is the story itself. I feel like I’ve traveled a short ways with you all and can almost see Benjamin’s next cast as he stands in the water, and hear Amelia laughing with new friends. Maybe I’d even learn to like ceviche. You make me want to be a snowbird – one that takes those ‘just beyond view’ choices and learns to appreciate them as you do. Travel safe my friends and keep on letting us all share through your words.

  • Ronda Vanderbush
    Reply

    How interesting!!! I had no idea what the Baja was like and thought there probably wasn’t much to see there! Guess I was wrong!!

  • pablete
    Reply

    Nice pics, enjoy the road!!!!

  • Jennifer
    Reply

    Baja is a dream of mine, too. Thanks for sharing a bit of yours.

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