Playa El Quemado

We spent one evening chatting with Cheryl and Guy, travel stories about sailing from us and stories of fixing their truck in exotic places from Cheryl. Guy went bird watching while we tried to disabuse his wife from seeking it out travel by sailboat. Few sailors sail, ask Webb Chiles, but many use their boats like watery vans chugging from beach to beach. I have always loved driving and ever since I dropped the emotional appeal of being a pirate I find my travels more stimulating. As Webb puts it “vive la difference.”  

The occupants of the large RV make themselves thoroughly disagreeable announcing the firewood none of us was interested in was THEIRS and they stormed back to their palazzo with their wood. Guy collected some more wood and added it to their pile. They walked their dog looking away from us the intruders. In Mexico the nastiest people you can meet might be the foreigners. Very disappointing were these gringos. We all left in the morning and said goodbye to the lovely Aussies, eleven years on the road. 

We were on our own and I had scoped out the neighboring beach on foot. It looked perfect, so waving goodbye to the Australians we drove  around the hill to check out Puerto Escondido, a long time sailboat anchorage in a hidden (“Escondido”) bay. Nowadays it’s a development with restaurant store and gas pump. We did a quick drive by repelled by the feeling of Marina Del Rey South. 

iOverlander, the traveler’s app is fed by reviews and reports called “check ins” from users of the app. Our check ins are listed under our name thegoldenvan.com because we try to contribute not just use. We read the instructions on how to reach El Quemado Beach and as we departed the wide paved avenues of the development under slow progress we looked left and saw the dirt road that had to be the unmarked way to the wild camp beach. 

The dirt track passes through a check point apparently created by the Federal tourist development authority called Fonatur. The yellow trailer was so labeled and iOverlander reports they charge a five dollar fee in high season. Not now they don’t. We paid no fee and had no services, packing our trash, the most basic service van travelers require. 

A sign! Not strictly necessary but a nice effort to make us feel civilized, not wild campers. Layne and I figured later, as we swam, that winter residents get all sorts of enterprising services, delivery of water, bread or tamales and what not. We see no one in early May. Everyone has gone home. More or less: 

The road is ten minutes long but shows signs of grading probably fine to welcome winter residents. 

The water at this beach is quite cold. The curve of sandy beach is lined underwater by irritating ankle breaking slippery boulders making it an awkward walk to deeper waters. It’s a lovely spot ashore and we drove slowly among the thorn bushes looking for the beach front camp that suits us. 

We find a break in the bushes marked with a number 14 as this is formalized wild camping. We set up camp, Moonshade for our awning, a sand blanket for a door mat, a solar shower to wash with and chairs to lounge, a collapsing table to play backgammon and eat. Then we struggle through the rocks for a swim. 

It’s a pretty spot surrounded by huge sheer mountains jagged and impenetrable. Across the water uninhabited desert islands which hide the sunrise. 

Dolphins swim by in endless pods. 

Layne spares her ankles and gets out of the water in one piece, ready to cook, a pastime she enjoys. For simplicity we cook on electricity and have no propane to avoid dealing with foreign fixtures which plagued us on the boat 24 years ago. 

A kitchen with a view: 

This spot will be our home for four days. Isolated and largely alone, no contact with the outside world. Which suits us for the moment.