Baja California Sur- First Impressions

My routines have been disrupted by travel. There is this constant tug in my inner life between seeking routines and sticking to them and stepping outside the routine and enjoying the excitement of change. All my life I have struggled between these two states of being and never more so than since we landed in Baja California Monday morning.

In addition to my struggles to overcome my love of routine I find the remaining part of my personality is devoted to the awkward philosophy of contrarianism and from the outside this attitude can look like nothing more edifying than bloody-mindedness. People who dislike me think I dislike what everyone likes just because I want to be different or annoying or some other creepy reason. I wonder if perhaps I choose to be contrary to reject others before they reject me. 

Ask anyone who has ever visited Baja California and they will wax rhapsodic about this desert peninsula about 750 miles long littered with stunning mountain scenery, cacti, and beaches that most people only ever hope to dream of seeing. Ask me about Baja and you will get a different answer: read on.

If you have struggled to read the avalanche of words I have posted on this page since last December you will know I have enjoyed driving Mexico in a way few journeys, few moments in my life prior to retirement have fulfilled me. The past four months have been a continuous unspooling of exceptional moments and days, of extraordinary countryside and above all of life lived in full technicolor across mainland Mexico.

Mainland Mexico is as varied as any country of 120 million inhabitants might be, but along the highways and byways we have seen people up and about selling, doing being in a purely Mexican way. Almost all the time we have been alone on the road, the sole gringos for miles. Obviously we aren't pioneers! Far from it, but there are so few foreigners traveling, the chances of meeting on the road are remote. Suddenly we are in Baja where vans, California license plates and English speakers are two-a-penny.

It feels like a form of gentrification, the local life has been supplanted by the need to provide services to the explorers and adventurers who travel the week beaten paths through Baja of off-roading, surfing and kayaking amongst others. It's no bad thing to bring money to a community, especially a desert like this where economic opportunity is stifled by lack of resources but it wears on me.

Baja California Sur seems to live to serve adventurers in their carefully planned and fully resourced "adventures" in their playground that is Baja. This is Mexico-Lite, a place where English is almost universally spoken, or at least understood, where the campground offered to take payment in dollars (!) yesterday and where the history and culture of Baja California is ignored, unknown and forgotten. Wild camping in Baja is the norm and I love that, but to enjoy the Americanization of everything else is not the goal of my travels.

If you are afraid of Mexico, Baja is the state you first want to visit. This is not a place where you will get lost in Mexico or Mexican culture. It is beautiful, and in the south sparsely populated, and the roads are wide open and smoothly paved. At least having suffered the unmarked topes of Chiapas and the random potholes of winding mountain roads in  Guerrero, the little we have seen so far is easy driving. If your goal is to sit on a beach for a month you can do a lot worse than Baja. Indeed, even the grump-potato in me is looking forward to exploring the coast between Loreto and Santa Rosalia on the shore of the Gulf of California, flat turquoise waters, wild camping and splendid beachfronts.

One other note I should make here is that I am told that long stretches of Baja, including favored beach camps are extremely unlikely to offer cell phone connections so I apologize in advance if posts are a bit random for the period of our Baja explorations. We have pondered taking the ferry back to the mainland to complete our journey at some favored spots on the coast on the road back to Naco, Sonora the border crossing, then back to Bisbee Arizona. For the next little while we will devote ourselves to enjoying what Baja does offer and ignoring the reservations I have expressed here about its shortcomings. I think there is a great deal to enjoy whichever route we take back to the United States.

The Baja Ferry

The cab driver frowned. 

“Sunday is the worst day to take the ferry to La Paz,” he said mournfully like an undertaker ready to inter the cadaver. “Sunday it’s impossible to get on at the last minute.” Considering we had, in a heroic and highly unusual feat of organization for us, managed to arrive at the port in Topolobampo fully twelve hours before the ship was scheduled to sail, I thought his attitude was corrosive and unnecessary. I cut the van tour short and as he ambled away I turned to my now frowning wife. 

“We’re retired,” I said brightly. “ we can book the first available space, maybe in two weeks like the ticket lady said and enjoy the beaches here in the interim.”  I was rowing against the tide and Layne remained glum so we settled down to enjoy someone else’s misery as a young Inspector Morse got hung out to dry as his colleagues stuck numerous knives in his back. A misery shared is a misery halved. 
Rusty continued to snore in the dust under the postal van parked next to us in the vast spacious ferry parking lot.

 We baked the afternoon away watching young Endeavour Morse solve a convoluted murder mystery. Our mystery was simple by comparison: would Transportacion Maritima de California find room for our 21 foot Promaster on Sunday nights’s sailing to Pichilingue?  
It was six o’clock when a nice lady in a high viz vest knocked on the open side door. They had promised to call if they found room but she showed up in person presumably to deliver the bad news which seemed rampant around the docks. 

“We have room. The ship loads at seven. Be there.” I scrambled to get myself in order to run (at my age! at my girth!!) to get the precious ticket. I’m pretty sure someone felt sorry for us after watching us wait patiently all day, because they only charged us 4,750 pesos (US$263 approx) for our trip. I had expected three times that. I handed over my Visa card with joy in my heart. 

I don’t want to say I ever exceed Mexican speed limits but it’s possible I was driving faster than the 10 kph speed limit on the docks as we fell over ourselves to get in the all important loading line. 

Seven o’clock came. 

And went. Eight o’clock was the new seven o’clock according to a nice man also wearing a high viz vest who also carried a clipboard denoting High Authority on the dock. He kept checking it off with a yellow Sharpie. He must know what was going on. 

Eight o’clock came and went. 

A man in greasy orange coveralls came up and we allowed ourselves to hope…

“You can board…” Yay! “…on foot…” Huh? “… and have dinner. We start loading vehicles at ten.” We tip toed through the bowels of the ship we had so far only been able to stare at from the dock. This was where we would park, sleep and be transported to the mystical shores of distant Baja. 

Dinner was splendid, chicken stew, rice beans and corn tortillas and I felt myself becoming a rugged, Devil-may-care, Mexican truck driver. No feeble camper  van for me, as I munched myself into a macho Walter Mitty fantasy. 

Years ago I did get a Teamster job driving large trucks around San Francisco and Silicon Valley, fulfillment of a childhood fantasy. I failed alas to macho myself in that job as you might expect. One night I managed to enrage a real truck driver so badly I found myself running for my life through the pallets waiting to be loaded with him in hot pursuit screaming he was going to kill me, a threat backed up by a large steel bar and a severely crazed look in his bloodshot eyes. I was saved by his cocaine fueled frenzy running him out of stamina before he caught me. After he came out of rehab I gracefully  accepted his apology as I was still alive plus it made a good story, a fact I never told him lest that set him off again. I never, even now,  drive past the Richmond Ford parts distribution center without thinking of that memorable night. 
There was no drama on the Topolobampo docks. I put our recliner out and threw Rusty’s bed next to me. Layne napped in the van. Rusty and I watched the loading process which involved stevedores in specialized tractors grabbing trailers and maneuvering them into the bowels of the ship where we had walked, they at twice the speed of light with much macho revving.

 I wished I had been as slick at backing as they were. Then nothing happened for 15 or 20 minutes at a time. 

Ten o’clock came. 

And went. 

I started to get sleepy and took a nap. 

“Listo!” Mr Orange Coveralls shouted pointing to the little truck next to us. Then us. The little truck backed up the ramp so I made a circle and checked my mirrors. If they can do it…up we went, backwards. Piece of cake. 

If claustrophobia afflicts you this may not be the ship for you. We were wedged in, all of us, trucks parked inches from each other.  We went nowhere and slept pretending we were in a Pemex truck stop. The ship left at two am as I was momentarily awakened by the lurch and checked the time. I slept.

Sunshine woke me and I left Layne in bed nursing an aching back put out by a nasty Tope on the road to the docks (I was not speeding! Much).

To get to breakfast I had to figure out a route through the maze. I ducked weaved and tripped and doubled back and found the stairs at last. 

Breakfast was delicious scrambled eggs and beans let down by Nescafé coffee which we mixed individually in styrofoam cups.



The shower. Let us pause for a moment of silence in honor of the perfect stream of hot water in a large, difficult to lock chamber. Aside from the startled interruption by a well built truck driver who winced and pushed the door shut, the shower was prolonged and perfect. I wriggled like a double jointed snake to make my way back to GANNET2, not easy for me, and told Layne, she of the still aching back, breakfast  was vile and the shower cold. She made herself a smoothie. I took Rusty for a walk. 





He wanted no part of the ferry experience but he enjoys sitting outside so he sat and waited patiently as we chugged to shore. Various lost truck drivers appeared crawling under assorted trailers. I happily showed them the route I had discovered to get to breakfast.





They were as lost as we were. 

And then we arrived at 11:30 and the wedge of trucks unraveled in perfect order with no drama and then we were free. Except we weren’t. We drove all over the place in a long line of fierce truckers. First we paused to pay harbor fees. 

“Money!” The ticket taker laughed as I dropped our document case and Layne scrambled for 180 pesos. We waited for our official receipt which no one cared to look at on our way out. 

Then we had the military inspection. Another line. The Ejercito Mexicano has all sorts of  bizarre duties but checking offloaded vehicles has to be their weirdest least appropriate official duty. We got a nice young kid who enjoyed inspecting our home ( I try to cut them short by showing the officials, with great pride, our porta potty in its compartment. They usually recoil in horror and leave in a hurry). He warned us agriculture would confiscate our limes and avocados unless we hid them. “Let’s get out of here,” I said using a rude word for emphasis. I was tired of lines, deadlines, inspections, tickets and documents. The agriculture inspector was asleep in his pick up so we tiptoed by and I thought of those people who first come to Mexico eager to inflict themselves on authority figures unasked. Never volunteer, never be pro-active, go while the going is good is my mantra. 

We were in Baja finally and Rusty enjoyed his first walk, in no hurry to pee but rusty to wander off and enjoy the desert. 

We sat and looked at the turquoise waters and wondered how we could cram the whole peninsula into the next six weeks before our official documents run out. 

Baja California.

We have arrived in Baja California Sur after a busy few days of travel and ferry riding and other adventures. We are once again camped off a beautiful beach with excellent swimming and perfect temperatures. It really is Paradise! 

All this to say I will get back to writing it all up and putting it on this page as fast as my internet connection will allow. 

Thank you for your patience. 

Oaxaca Cooking Class

The idea of taking a cooking class came from a television cooking show of all places. One of the TV chefs mentioned learning all about Mexican mole (moh-lay)sauces from one particular person who lives and cooks in Oaxaca. So the notion of taking a cooking class was born. 

The artist in Layne expresses her voice in cooking so what had been a mere idea, a notion became fact once we arrived in the city of Oaxaca. Not only was she going to cook; she was going shopping. 

With a lifetime of shopping in exotic markets under her belt Layne wasn’t sure about the market part of the course. The idea was for the students to gather just outside Oaxaca and have a market walk through to meet and discuss ingredients. 

The class took her by surprise with the depth of knowledge.  Who knew there are 18 different types of mangoes? Or some avocados are grown with edible skins? 

Obviously peppers are an important ingredient in Mexican cuisine. Which peppers are best for stuffing…for mole sauces…the costeño Amarillo which is unique and rare and she is still looking for it…and the best of peppers to make salsa. 

You may have heard of chipotle peppers which are the quintessential smoked peppers of Mexico. However it turns out there are many more types that can be smoked for different dishes. These are edible avocado skins, which taste like regular avocados but don’t need peeling: 

Mixing peppers for new flavor combinations was also stressed in the class. 

Rate edible flowers were for sale in the market though they are endangered and not supposed to be for sale. Who knew? And they are not edible so don’t eat them! 

In the market sweet potatoes are boiled for sale not baked. Mexicans prefer the fibrous texture when boiled. (Layne prefers them baked!). 

Above the teacher was explaining terroir of peppers. The same peppers grown in different souls taste different. 

The white limestone demonstrated above is put into cold water and that stone brings the cold water to a boil!  Then the water is used to boil corn which is kept on the boil with a regular flame under it.  The stone takes the starchiness out of the corn. The stone van be re-used but it has to be kept wet to not lose it’s unusual properties. 

These unnamed flowers get peeled and the outer stem is chopped and cooked, not the petals. Odd. 

The teacher Yolanda demonstrates the class the properties of amaranth one of those vegetables which is one of those wonder plants good for your health and is cooked like spinach. Since then Layne has never again seen it for sale so we await to discover its flavor said to be nutty, and it’s health giving properties. 

Here we see tamarind pods which you can buy in a bundle and open up to snack on the sweet seeds inside. 

Tamale with black beans chile de arbole and sassafras as part of a tamale taste test. 

Sweet tamale with raisins and red sugar for color: 

Fermented corn drink which we will pass over as none of the students liked the stuff. 

And then the drive out to the school…

“Seasons of my Heart” is the name of Chef Trilling’s  ranch and her cookbook 

Where the famous mole saucier Susan Trilling had prepared dishes for the students to cook.

Chef Trilling leading the class. 

How to clean and cook cactus by grilling so it doesn’t feel slimy. 

The comal is made of baked earth to resemble an oven and the particular cast iron pan on the top is also part of the comal. If you lack a comal in your range an iron skillet will do, luckily. 

The pan on top has a slight depression around the sides. 

Much cooking underway. Layne was  nervous about showing up by herself but the other students really made her welcome and they had a good time learning. 

Every technique was explained and Chef Trilling didn’t assume anyone had any cooking skills to start with, just as well as Oaxacan cooking has its own skills. 



Soup making. 

Sauces. A pepian sauces is a mix that is used to actually cook the porous in with the sauce. 

Technically a mole is made first and is added to the protein which is cooked separately. 

This will become Christmas Eve soup (Caldo de Vigilia) with lentils, cactus and smoked fish: 

Chorizo prepared for moletes which are corn flour fritters deep fried with  the sausage meat inside. 

The corn hush puppy type moletes being prepared…

…and fried in the strangely shaped pan atop the earthen oven. 

The building blocks of soup: 

And the fritters; 

The final dishes. The class went way later than planned and it ended up being a twelve hour day. 

The dessert not so far mentioned, pay de queso ( farmers cheese pie). 

And at the van it was cold sandwiches and tea all day. 

The best, lasting tourist memory of our week in Oaxaca.