Soon we were bumping along the red dirt road through cool fog,
ocean crashing on the rocks only a few feet away from our car – we were finally
back at the coast. And we were, for the most part, alone. The scenery was
stunning, but after a while we began to question where we were, how far this road went, if
we should keep going or maybe turn back. Unfortunately, we didn’t have our camping
stuff and our food supply was down to some Nutella we bought at the Wal-Mart in
Rosarito, a couple bananas and the rest of a flat of Pacificos (one of Jordi’s
favorite things about Mexico is they sell the beer in flats). Just when we thought we should head back towards civilization, a big pick-up truck
came rolling out of a side road, coming
to a dusty stop right in front of us. Out the window, a friendly booming voice asked us
if we were lost. We ended up following John and Katy onward to
the settlement of Punta Cabra, and up the hill to their house. Luckily we had
plenty of those Pacifico's to share.
John was from Arizona and Katy was from L.A., but Punta
Cabra is where they made their home, one cement room at a time. Although
Americans can’t own land in Mexico, they were leasing the land for $1,000 a
year. The landlord, whose bright blue house sat cheerily in the middle of the
hill, essentially rents out plots of his acres for the gringos to build their
dreams. In this exclusive fiefdom of Punta Cabra, you are only allowed land if
the main guy likes you. If he decides he would not like you as his neighbor then... adios compadre.
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At John and Katy's house in Punta Cabra.
Misty views and tales of Baja adventures. |
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| Sacher Construction representin' |
But if you make the cut, then you enjoy sweeping views of the ocean, rocky
cliffs down to the waves, rolling hills dotted with homemade houses, quiet
trails along the water, abundant fishing, fun surf, friendly locals and a
community of expats – I could see why no one would want to leave. It’s a
completely different existence than the fast paced and crowded life many of us
succumb to. Here, a days excitement is a trip along the dusty roads to the
nearest tienda, or setting out in your boat to catch dinner for you and the
neighbors, or mixing cement for whatever remodeling you have going on. John and
Katy showed us their BB guns they use to shoot rabbits (apparently quite
delicious), their dirt bikes and ATV’s, the beach you can see from their property
where they caught more clams than they knew what to do with, the caves where the
rivulet of fresh water meets the sea, which attracted goat herdsmen back in the day, likely giving Punta Cabra (Goat Point) its name.
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| Picnic, with a lot of coastline just to ourselves |
Eventually we said au revoir to our new friends
and waved out the window as we headed further north on the dirt road towards the surfing beach John told
us about. We weren’t expecting anything fantastic since there was no swell,
but it was fun to check it out for next time. Although there were no waves, we
opened up the back of our car and had a picnic (you guessed it – nutella and
cheap beer) We contemplated taking the coast road north all the way until it
turned inland, eventually dumping you out at a little town called Santo Tomas.
But we also wanted to get through Ensenada before dark to minimize our
chances of getting lost, and the way we came had more paved roads. Thus we
turned back, happily satisfied with a little does of adventure in our bones. If
duty wasn’t calling, I like to think we would stay down there indefinitely. We do plan on
going back some day - when we have a map, a tent, and no one expects us home….
We bumped back the way we came, found the highway and took toll roads
to save time. We saw the sunset over Salsipuedes, and got on the lookout for
somewhere to stay. Jordi remembered a motel on the beach at K38 (just north of
Las Gaviotas), so we headed there.
After knocking at the gate, we were let in by the jovial owner
and shown our simple but mostly clean room (Jordi did have to kill one of those
huge nasty centipede monsters in the sink). Unfortunately, the tank was out of
water until the truck came to fill it up the next day, but we managed to
squeeze some drops out of the shower and then were on our way to find actual
food.
Puerto Nuevo was pretty mellow for a Friday night, and
everyone wanted us to buy trinkets or come to their restaurant.
“Free Tequila!”
Hmm, sketchy.
“Come try, es homemade!”
Ya, definitely not.
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| Puerto Nuevo... |
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| ...the only time we can afford lobster ;) |
What I did want however, were homemade tortillas and a
homemade blanket. After some successful bargaining I scored a gorgeous hand
woven blanket from central Mexico that smelled muskily of an old loom, not a
factory. To find somewhere with legit tortillas, a nearby glass blower pointed us in the
direction of a hidden place on the water. We sat by the window and ordered the requisite lobsters and
margaritas. Since we were practically the only people in there, we were waited
on hand and foot. The food was delicious and plentiful (we easily shared a meal), and everyone was incredibly friendly – I say
everyone because we met everyone from the waiter who brought us waters, to the
bartender who mixed our drinks, to the lobster guy who helped us chose a size, to
the tortilla ladies. They wanted to know how often we visited, if we were
scared of Mexico, where we came from, if we were on vacation. They were excited
and honored that we could speak Spanish. We said goodbye to our waiter, Felipe,
and the others, and left happy and full – or as they say more poetically in
Spanish “llenos y contentos”.
We made it back to Robert’s Surf Motel and crashed on the
bed. A few hours later I awoke to the Japanese banter of our neighbors on the
patio outside smoking, reading travel books and chatting. It was an ungodly
time of night and my first thought was they were going to the airport. But
then, no one in Baja has a plane to catch….so who knows what that was about. Shortly after we were awakened again when a food-poisoned Jordi became suddenly
and violently sick (thankfully we had bottled water). I eventually left our
room and walked out the side gate to the quiet ocean, mossy stones and an
almost full moon. The Japanese tourists, the yapping dogs, the sick husband all
back at the motel, and memories of a quiet, gorgeous and unknown Baja in the
moonlit black water.
EPILOGUE:
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The large Jesus statue
outside the motel |
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| Robert's K-38 Motel |
The next morning we saw the big tank being filled with water. Jordi was feeling better, so we surfed for a bit out front, and took nice hot showers afterwards. The hotel owner made us some coffee and we lay in lounge chairs by the beach, petting their dogs and drinking their coffee. After packing up the car, we headed to the border. We got in line, bought fruit bowls with lime and chili for breakfast and waited for about two hours to cross. We forgot to ditch the eggs in our ice chest, and had to go through second inspection. But after that, we were on our way home….
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| Surf and coffee |
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| A quiet morning |
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| Good times at the border |
