Altar Desert

It wasn’t nearly as hot as we expected it to be, even though the sun was out and the winds had died down. Even in the middle of the day temperatures stayed around a surprisingly comfortable 82-90 degrees. It looked like Death Valley as we left Rocky Point on the western highway up the coast. 

We stumbled across a rest area with some lovely desert landscaping and useful billboards explaining the volcanic origin of this desert with descriptions of flora and fauna.

Unfortunately the absence of a formal pit toilet, garbage cans or regular maintenance means the place was pretty revolting. 

As so often happens in Mexico grandiose capital projects come into being with no thought of upkeep or maintenance. 

Some sections of Highway 3 were freshly paved but most of it was a mix of horrendous potholes and heat rippled asphalt. 

This is the main road to California so bilingual signs are the norm. 

And of course the obligatory military checkpoint. We did get a cursory inspection by a young man fascinated by our RV cabinetry. All very cheerful and friendly. 

We ended up in a hotel in Los Algodones as there is nowhere secure to camp in this border town. But to get there we drove desert roads and agricultural roads alongside the Wall and finally drove into the town where Layne’s long awaited tooth implants are located. 

The coastal route is barely coastal at all. We passed the Salinas Eco Center where  friends have parked for the night. We had that tooth deadline but it did not look terribly appealing to me. 

The Sea of Cortez was largely invisible. 

We stopped and ate our tamales for lunch on a slight pull out. The breeze had picked up and the temperature was quite bearable. 

Rusty has been a little restless, a sign I think he is tired of our constant driving to make miles to meet the tooth deadline. It’s a sentiment we all share but his answer was to wander off a little and sniff the air and commune with nature by himself. 

I glimpsed the turquoise waters of the sea and thought of tropical places I have sailed. 

It just went on and on. Thank heavens GANNET2 kept humming along and we had no drama at all. 

When the tooth work is done we plan to drive across the border at Lukeville on Thursday and spend a few days visiting Arizona friends. The idea long term is to cross the US this summer wild camping along the way and be back in Mexico, possibly from Texas, October First. This time our target is Panama followed by South America. 

Man proposes and god disposes as the old timers used to say. 

Rocky Point preoccupations, money changing and real estate sales. 

The beach at Rocky Point. 

I finally got Rusty on the sand but he was on the lookout for dogs, a constant worry for him. 

San Carlos waterfront out of season. We much prefer this town to Rocky Point.  

San Carlos haircuts. $20 for both of us including a healthy tip. 

On the beach in San Carlos for one last day of swimming before we drove to Rocky Point:

Puerto Peñasco Or Rocky Point

I had seen pictures of high rise towers along the beach at Rocky Point, on the northern shore of the Sea of Cortez and I knew this town is a resort designed to appeal to desert dwellers in Arizona or inland California, but a short drive through town from our overnight stop at a beach campground revealed much more of this strange community. 

In the US Puerto Peñasco (“Rocky Port” in Spanish) is known as Rocky Point which is how I shall refer to it even though it is firmly in Mexico 60 miles from Arizona. It was founded in 1927 and was known as a shrimping port to harvest the warm waters of the northern Gulf of  California, also known as the Sea of Cortez. 63,000 people live here in a Mexican resort town built to cater to American visitors. 

It’s a desert town caught between the sands of the Altar desert which looks like nothing so much as Death Valley to my eye and the warm waters of the Gulf which have nowhere to go and absorb summer’s heat and throw it back as humidity. 

What most struck me as we drove through town was how shabby the place is. This is no Pueblo Magico, colonial architecture is nowhere to be seen. Streets are wide, lined with dreary functional homes and small businesses, and many side streets are unpaved adding to the air of dusty neglect. 

Reading about Rocky Point there is an airport with no scheduled flights and a cruise ship terminal half built and abandoned which is symbolic of the neglect this town seems to labor under. There is one road in from Lukeville/Sonoyta to serve Arizona (Highway 8) and one road in from California to the west (Highway 3) along the coast. If you want to visit Rocky Point you drive.  

Type “Rocky Point” into Google Maps and the search, unfazed, returns “Puerto Peñasco”!

This is a bilingual town where English is spoken, dollars are accepted and your status as a gringo visitor not interested in Mexico is understood. This is not Mexico for Mexicans. 

In addition to innumerable hotels there are a dozen RV parks of varying quality to serve snowbirds and retired Americans who cherish the low cost lifestyle and little else. You can drink at age 18 here and drive your ATV on the streets and buy prescription medications over the counter for little cost. What more do you need for a happy retirement? Or simply a weekend away from the structures of working life north of the border? 

We saw a woman eating tamales for breakfast at the laundry. Spontaneously she offered us one to taste and pointed us in the correct direction to buy more. She spoke fluent English which we discovered only after addressing her in Spanish. 

The laundry Layne chose was do-it-yourself and very swift and efficient it was too. We left the campground with nicely empty tanks and ourselves properly showered so once on the streets we promptly filled our 30 gallon water tank with purified water and cleaned our clothes, bedding, and rugs in one lovely stop. By ten am Monday we were ready to go. 

It turns out Rocky Point is two separate communities. The Mexican town is to the east as you see it here. 

Wherever gringo money is going it isn’t being spent here. Notice the sandy avenue unpaved to the horizon. 

The foreign enclave is separated from the Mexican town by a street named with no irony at all Rodeo Drive, or dust catcher alley in my mind.

In Spanish it is Artisan’s Market, several blocks of stuff for sale you only need as a souvenir of your vacation by the sea. On a Monday morning in June it was deserted. 

And then you enter no man’s land with the famous high rises in the distance. 

Road signs are in English and speeds are in miles per hour. 

Development here was kicked into high gear in the 1990s when the Mexican government supported creation of hotels to attract Americans to the beach. And now we see the results, a whole separate world.  

We drove around a bit looking out our windows at a world made not for us. I don’t suppose we will return to Rocky Point but at least now I know what this oft mentioned place is all about. I missed our shabby off season little RV park at the other end of town. 

We didn’t stop. We had three hours driving ahead, up the coast and across the Altar Desert to another Mexican town, that one built for Americans and their teeth.