The theme of this past year, since I began my stint as an unemployed traveler and freelance journalist, has been road trips. Following The Great KL&C Northwest Odyssey, the winds of adventure this time were blowing south, leading me to the great and vast southern extension of California that is Baja.
My travel partner KerryLynn would not join me on the road this time due to the potential dangers that accompany driving deep into Mexico. After enduring wild experiences reaching Los Cabos, followed by stormy weather conditions during the adventurous return journey where I barely made it home, I don’t blame her for deciding not to venture on the Mexican roads with me. KL was to meet me at my southern destination, as I was to pick her up from SJD Los Cabos International Airport.
Before embarking on my voyage south, there were a lot of preparations I had to make to ensure safety, survival and peace of mind should disaster strike. I knew there were large stretches of road that didn’t have cell service, so I loaded a two-gallon jug of water, a bag full of energy bars, tire and other automotive repair kits, a Fodor’s guide book called “Los Cabos & the Baja Peninsula”, a tent, a AAA road map of Baja California, and a sleeping bag, all in the possible event that I could be stranded somewhere in the middle of the Baja desert.
I also stashed six Js into a tiny secret compartment in my camouflage cargo shorts to help me relax after long days of driving.
They look like ordinary cargo shorts...
...then voila! A special pocket hidden underneath one of the cargo pockets.
I understand how controversial and dangerous a decision this was, but after vast deliberation both with myself and friends, I decided this would make the trip far more bearable and enjoyable. Some people enjoy drinking; I prefer to burn one down. Guide books and websites all blasted cautionary warnings not to drive at night because of livestock and road conditions, so I knew I would be rising very early each morning and driving anywhere from six to ten hours each day to avoid an evening drive. It seemed worth it to bring something along to help me relax at night. Plus, this article from The New York Times gave me some assurance that I wouldn’t be spending time in a Mexican jail in the unlikely, yet remotely possible event that I would be caught.
The Drive South
Day one of The Great Baja California Odisea found me crossing the border after a poor night’s sleep in the Sheraton Hotel, in the mission district of San Deeahhhgo. Part of it was the anxiety and excitement of beginning such a wild adventure. Another part of it was the uncertainty surrounding crossing the border with a vehicle. I have walked over the border to Tijuana twice before (it’s like walking down any other sidewalk, only you’re suddenly in a new country after walking a couple of blocks), but driving south over the border was a new experience. With six Js stashed in the hidden compartment in my shorts (I originally thought I had packed five, then found out on the second day of my journey that I had accidentally stashed six – what a pleasant surprise!), I approached the crossing.
Surprisingly, there was no traffic. Granted it was around 7:30 in the morning, but I had expected a longer wait to cross over. I entered a line of vehicles that weren’t declaring any customs, and fortunately the light that decides whether customs officers check your vehicle for contraband and drugs was green. I made it through customs with relative ease!
The drive from Tijuana south to Ensenada is beautiful. The roads are in great shape, and there are multiple lanes going in each direction. You have to stop twice to pay a toll that costs around $3 for each stop (this is probably how they keep the roads in fantastic condition), but considering the easy flow of traffic and amazing views of the Pacific Ocean, it’s well worth it. I heard a surf report on the radio earlier that morning in San Deeeahhhgo that said the ocean was flat. Despite this report, I saw an endless amount of very desirable breaks along the way. Countless surf spots with no crowds. If I wasn’t on a tight schedule, and had a wetsuit, I would have stopped at a few locations to catch some nuggies. Given the circumstances, I had a race against daylight that I didn’t want to lose.
After a brief stretch of road that included two military checkpoints (they just waved me through, I would discover later that they are far more concerned with drivers heading north) and a cluster of towns that slowed me down considerably, I stopped in a town called El Rosario to fill-up at the PeMex (owned by the government, it’s the only company in Mexico that sells gasoline), since my research told me that this was the last gas station for approximately 200 miles. The research was mostly correct. There were a couple of stops along the way where people sold gas out of huge oil drums. I didn’t want to take any chances of putting that potentially-unfiltered and unrefined fuel into my car. The stop in El Rosario proved worthy.
I also grabbed lunch at a small restaurant called Mama Espinoza’s. Apparently she’s over 100 years-old, and from looking at the pictures inside, I could tell this is a very famous stopping point for the Baja 1000 race. There were autographed pictures on the walls of a lot of the drivers, each telling Mama Espinoza how wonderful her food is. Based on reviews I read online, I tried the Lagosta (Lobster) Burrito. Yummy! It was a bit pricey, but well-worth it. I planned on stopping here during the return voyage and picking up some souvenirs, but I would later find out this would not, and could not, be the case due to unfortunate circumstances I would experience during the return drive home.
The final stretch of driving on the first day led me into the most barren stretch of desert I have ever experienced. Despite the isolation, it was amazingly beautiful. Cacti that reached heights well over 20 feet stretched as far as the eye could see. As I approached the remote town of Cataviña, you could see massive boulders the size of houses all along the road. I also saw a big rig flipped over, either from taking a turn too fast or colliding with another big rig (big rigs on this stretch of road are an insane wonder, day two of the drive south is where I realized how loco big rig drivers are).
I spent the night in Cataviña in a hotel called the Desert Inn. While a bit expensive, the room was excellent. After taking a walk in the desert (and barely avoiding disaster when a rusty nail tack that was laying in the barren and littered desert facing upwards punctured my flip-flop, and amazing didn’t break the skin of my foot) and enjoying a stunningly-beautiful sunset, I ate dinner at the hotel’s restaurant.
This rusty nail tack almost spelled doom on just the first day of the Odisea.
A Cataviña sunset is hard to beat.
I ordered beef fajitas but the waiter brought me shrimp fajitas instead. Ever since I experienced a horrific case of food poisoning in a surf trip to Mainland Mexico last year, I’ve become skeptical and afraid of eating nearly any kind of food south of the border. This is why I was more than surprised at how good the shrimp was. Tasty, great size, fresh, and coupled with the grilled veggies, tortillas, chips, salsa, Negro Modelo and shot of Don Julio, I was a happy man.
I was also an exhausted man, having slept a combined total of less than 11 hours the two previous nights. So after the 350-mile haul, I was out by 8 pm. I knew I was exhausted because my alarm went off the next morning at 6 am, and I was still tired. Despite my exhaustion, and relative ease in falling asleep, there was a clear sense of loneliness being in a random hotel room, in the middle of a secluded desert, and without my usual traveling partner KL. Not having any cell phone reception added to this isolated feeling (fortunately the hotel lobby had wireless internet, so I could e-mail the parentals and KL, letting them know that I was OK). The past few years I have found, as part of the maturation process humans experience in our constant evolution, a feeling of loneliness drifting away, replaced by a feeling of being alone. Similar to the great quote by Robert Dinero’s character in the movie “Heat” when he said, “I am alone, I’m not lonely.”
“I am alone, I’m not lonely.”
However, on this particular evening and in subsequent days, there was a sure feeling of loneliness coursing through my veins. To me, it is experiences like these that test our mettle, showing us what kind of person we are. Being alone in a remote desert in a foreign country, will bring out a mixed bag of emotions.
Day two of the Odisea found me back on the road, departing Cataviña at the crack of dawn to begin the most arduous part of my journey south. The length of the drive was over 400 miles, with the first third of the drive in the barren desert. And this is where I realized for the first time just how crazy big rig truck drivers in Baja truly are.
I didn’t notice it right away. Early on, truckers were driving at adequate and safe speeds, even giving me the signal when it was safe to pass them. However, after entering Baja California Sur and passing through Guerro Negro (surprisingly, the Federalies at the military checkpoint here didn’t ask for a tourist card, contrary to what was written online and in guide books) and then San Ignacio, the first of the crazy truck drivers began to make their appearance.
These are huge big rigs carrying massive payloads. And on stretches where I considered it safe enough to hit 70 mph, these big rigs would be right on my ass! And when I would pass a slower car, a big rig would be right behind, passing cars on narrow, windy stretches of road! I even saw one big rig pass another big rig (I saw this again later on the way down). Scary shit. The best way to paint this picture would be to imagine yourself driving on a standard U.S. highway, and to have big rigs passing you in the fast lane. Big rigs make a really strange noise I had never heard before when the pedal’s to the metal. I saw the second big rig of this trip turned over on its side, with Federalies at the scene. No doubt the big rigs here were taking sharp turns way too fast.
A big rig on its side.
Before reaching Guerrero Negro, I drove through the region's famed fog desert. It was a weird phenomenon to pass through, and a bit dangerous considering vision was very limited.
Baja California's fog desert, one of few in the entire world.
Shortly after passing the oasis town of San Ygnacio, I witnessed some of the most beautiful, photogenic views in my brief yet well-traveled life. After passing a very large and stunning mountain peak (I would later learn that the peak is called Volcán Las Tres Vírgenes, the Volcano of Three Virgins), I experienced what would be the scariest and steepest descent in my life. A freeway with a vertical grade that must have passed 10%. It was on par with many of the steepest streets in San Francisco. And while trying to navigate this stretch of road (even the big rig drivers are smart enough to slow it down here), I was blessed with spectacular views of cacti forests leading up to two separate mountains (one of them being Volcán Las Tres Vírgenes), with their peaks reaching nearly 10,000 vertical feet. An amazing sight. The road was too chaotic to stop and take pictures, but I found a few patches off the road that would be good places to pause and take photos on the return journey home.
After making it down the steep and curvy drive, I came across yet another amazing view. The Sea of Cortez makes an astonishing appearance, and with it different shades of blue and scattered islands as far as the eye can see. Along the coast here are beaches that rival the most beautiful I have seen in the world. I stopped at one of them just to take a breather, take a leak, and relax. There are quite a few of these beaches along the way, some with RVs camped for unknown lengths of stay. Most of these beaches, and their accompanying islands, make up Bahía Concepción, one of the most beautiful bodies of water in the world. A kayaker’s dream location.
The only downside to this part of the drive are the road conditions. Some parts are absolutely terrible, with potholes and a plethora of “topes” which are small speed bumps that force you to slow down when going through any town in Baja. Slow speeds are the name of the game here.
Eventually I made it to the end of my longest day on the road. The destination was Loreto, a fishing town that looked clean, calm, and fairly modern. I spent the night at a very pleasant hotel called Hotel Luna. I took a walk along the beach, and found a small bar facing the water that served a few basic Mexican dishes. I forked down some nachos (very tasty), then went home and passed out at around 8 pm (note that when crossing the border into Baja California Sur, the time zone changes to Mountain Time, so I actually passed out at 7 pm).
A view of Loreto's coastline from a nearby beach.
I slept long and hard that night, waking up at 7:30 the next morning. This was the first time during the trip that I felt truly refreshed from getting proper rest. Day three of the drive south was the most uneventful of the trip, and is probably the least appealing of the three days of driving. The spectacular views give way to cities and shrub deserts. There are a couple of random agricultural towns that I passed through on the Pacific side of the freeway (the road zig-zags back and forth along the Peninsula) called Ciudad Insurgentes and Ciudad Constitución. The roads were in good shape though, and I could tell this was another stop of the Baja 1000, as there were a lot of mementos from the big race all over town.
La Paz, which is the capital of Baja California Sur, is a big city. So big, in fact, that I got lost going through it. This was the only time during the drive south that I resorted to using the GPS device on my cell phone to get me back on the right track. Without my GPS device it would have taken me at least an hour to find my way. I was that lost. I eventually found the freeway, and was back on the road for the last stretch of the journey.
After seeing a couple of amazingly beautiful towns on the east coast called Los Barriles and Buenavista, I finally made it to my destination: San Jose del Cabo. It surprised me to find that the town was actually a really big, modern city. Car dealerships lined the road with brand new vehicles. Major traffic. Dirty air (this is one of the foulest parts of Mexico, cars emit exhaust like it’s going out of style; clearly smog checks are not implemented here). I found the apartment I was going to stay in for two weeks, unloaded my stuff, and then went in pursuit of the first beach I could find.
The beach was called Playa Palmilla, and it provided the perfect setting to leap into the Sea of Cortez and celebrate my adventurous feat! The water was warmer than I expected ( a trip KL and I took last April to mainland Mexico, near Puerto Vallerta, had very similar water temperatures), and I took a swim before heading back to the apartment.
I passed out early, around 9 PM. However, I was awoken at midnight to the sound of partiers in the apartment above. The neighbors were raging, and didn’t shut down the party until 4 am. Bitter, party of one that evening.
The next morning found me in slight disarray from the previous evening’s lack of sleep. Memories of my 18th birthday surfaced, when my Mom took my sister and I on our first trip to Hawaii. We had stayed in Maui the first part of our trip, and enjoyed the relaxing environment tremendously. The second part of our trip was a complete shock, because our hotel was based in the middle of Honolulu, and we had no idea how little calm and peacefulness Honolulu had. It lacked any sort of feel of being in paradise. And I found a similar feel in my first day in San Jose del Cabo.
As the day progressed, I began settling in a bit. I talked to the property managers to let them know the noise situation, and they seemed genuinely concerned. I took a stroll first to the Costa Azul Surf Shop, where I discovered that the winter season rarely has surf of any kind. This completely contradicted everything I read about surfing the Los Cabos area. All the guides I read said the surf was smaller, but nowhere did I read that it’s completely flat during the winter. It looked like a lake. I could find more swell in Lake Tahoe. Maybe the surf shops and hotels down here collaborated to make sure the public didn’t know this sad fact. I’m here to tell you the truth: Winter surf conditions in the Los Cabos area are miniscule at best. The woman who worked at the Costa Azul Surf Shop was very friendly, giving me a free rope tie for my surf leash, and in later days offering some surf tips and giving us great discounts on sunglasses and clothes. She also reassured me a little and told me that while the surf in wintertime is small, there are days where a modest swell will produce some waves.
The historic downtown area of San Jose del Cabo is quaint. Compared to the chaos and big-city feel when you first enter the city, the downtown area, while touristy, is a very nice break from the madness. There are a lot of police patrolling the area, which is probably the reason why everything is clean, calm and friendly. I met a fishing tour guide named Pedro who hooked me up with some Mexican schwag. Nothing new here. The price was a complete rip-off though. For a bag that looks like a half-ounce, he charged me 800 pesos (a little under $80 U.S.). And when I came back a short while after giving him the money, he asked for a tip! Interesting individual, this Pedro guy was. At least I had something to calm down my nerves.
KL, who was supposed to meet me on this day, pushed her trip back a day because she wanted to see if the situation with the neighbors would chill out. Fortunately, after walking to a restaurant called La Salsa that night (it was my third trip there, the owners are a family from Oregon who are really nice), and then hitting a bar nearby, I came home to quiet. While San Jose del Cabo is different from what I expected, I found myself starting to settle down and appreciate the beautiful weather and beaches.
San Jose del Cabo
Once KL and I were settled in to both our apartment and our general surroundings, we became extremely fond of both San Jose del Cabo and the Costa Azul neighborhood we were staying in. We frequented La Salsa regularly, where Barsen, Brandi and the rest of the crew were extremely friendly and helpful. They had wireless internet and even allowed me to use their phone (which was very helpful when my bank, Chase, suspended my account twice because they thought someone stole my card and was having a field day in Mexico).
Barsen (in yellow), Brandi, yo & KL outside La Salsa's Restaurant.
We also visited a neighboring restaurant called Costa Azul Restaurant a few times, where Mario (don’t know if he owned the place or was just a manager) not only served us great food and coffee, but he also had a connection for some green that was actually really good (by Mexican standards). However, it was the beaches that truly made us feel like we were in paradise.
Within walking distance from our apartment were a set of three different world-class surf breaks: Zippers, The Rock and Old Man’s. The Rock showed potential, but sharp, jagged reef sat just inches below the ocean surface where the takeoff point is. I know this because one day I pulled back from catching a wave there at the very last minute when I saw the potential disaster sitting just underneath the crystal-clear water. Zippers was non-existent. I never saw this famous break’s potential. Of the three, the only one that ever served any kind of consistency was Old Man’s. I only caught a few rides here, with one of them being on the last day of our vacation, but it was nice to be in warm waters and not have to deal with heavy crowds (I was all alone in the water the last two days I surfed there).
Catching a tiny little nug at Old Man's on my last day in San Jose del Cabo - notice how I didn't use a longboard like most pussies do.
Our most enjoyable day during the two weeks we stayed in San Jose del Cabo was a long hike that took us along a beach that started at Zippers and concluded at the beautiful Playa Palmilla. The hike was probably a mile in total length. The walk is absolutely gorgeous, and considering how isolated Playa Palmilla is, it made the entire day that much more enjoyable. This is hands-down the best beach in the entire area. Crystal-clear blue water, soft white sand, no crowds. It’s hard to find a better setting. Absolute paradise.
One of the views from our apartment. The hike started at Zippers (bottom left) and ended at Playa Palmilla (upper right).
KL took this shot of a pelican in flight during our hike.
A low tide on the hike back opened up interesting new pathways for KL and I to walk through.
We found ourselves saddened when leaving our apartment on the final day. We had an amazing view of the ocean, and we never witnessed more beautiful sunrises.
A typical sunrise in San Jose del Cabo. Stunning. We awoke regularly to capture the beauty.
The windows facing our patio gave off an amazing reflection of the apartment's view.
One of our neighbors were a pair of Aussies who provided great conversation and all-around friendliness. In all my travels, I’ve come to learn that Aussies understand what life is truly about better than anyone else. They’re just good, fun people.
Todos Santos
Todos Santos was the most charming, quaint, and pristine out of all towns visited on The Great Baja California Odisea. A fun little spot, it has amazing works of art, entertaining people (including an interesting character originally from Santa Cruz who called himself Bob, but is really named Ted. We met him in a bar called “Shut Up Frank’s”), and great taco stands all within town.
Todos Santos also has the largest ratio of gringos to Mexicans.
It’s the one thing that prevents this little city from being a fully, authentic Mexican town. I had read in guide books that ex-pats were taking over this area. The books truly underestimated their size. Ex-pats are everywhere. Not to say this is a bad thing, but it does take away the Mexican feel a little. Still, compared to the hustle and bustle of Los Cabos, this was a welcome retreat (damn were we spoiled; we had an apartment that overlooked the ocean, and I’m sitting here writing about a retreat to another beautiful coastal town).
We stayed at a hotel called The Todos Santos Inn. What a beautiful place this was. Situated just a couple of blocks away from the town center, it’s very hard to tell just how pristine of a spot this place truly is. The rooms don’t have TVs or radios, but they have high ceilings, nice beds, and old-fashioned Spanish authenticity. The courtyard and swimming pool is situated within a beautiful garden that houses humming birds who take baths in bird pools just feet from your face.
KL watches a hummingbird taking a bird bath.
A closer view of a rare occurrence to observe and enjoy: A hummingbird taking a bird bath.
The pool itself has a small waterfall with warm water streaming into the heated pool. The bar has excellent ambience, playing Frank Sinatra while serving any drink your mind can conjure up.
The day we left, we drove for over an hour on a small, dirt road to a surf spot named El Batequito (at the time, KL and I were very unhappy about the poor road conditions; little did I know then the length and condition of this road would pale in comparison to what I would be driving on later in the trip). A woman named Hailey, who was staying in the Inn and had friends living in town, suggested the remote location.
Driving through Todos Santos and hitting the dirt roads along the beach will lead you to El Batequito.
Vultures in Baja are pretty common, even on the beaches.
Cows along the road were fairly common, regardless whether it was a highway or a dirt road.
The surf was a heavy beach break that didn’t look appealing at all. There were a handful of other surfers there - none of them were in the ocean surfing. Coupled with a disappointing outing the day before at a spot just south of town called San Pedrito, the dogs of winter were abound on the southwest coast of Baja California Sur. I was amazed at how warm the ocean water was though – it felt warmer than the waters at Zippers and Playa Palmilla.
Despite the lack of good surf, the trip to Todos Santos was a very enjoyable experience. Todos Santos is a very special place that ranked among the highlights of the trip.
Cabo San Lucas
The epicenter of Los Cabos is also the most chaotic and grotesque part of the area. Stereotypically obese, loud and ignorant Americans litter the landscape. The tourists and venders thinned out a little as we ventured away from the Marina area, as you could feel a little Mexican authenticity in the areas surrounding the town center. Playa Medano, which is Cabo’s main beach, and the neighboring Marina are absolute chaos. Ugliness abounds. Fortunately, there is an opportunity to escape the madness and see the most beautiful part of the Cabo San Lucas area: Playa del Amor (Lover’s Beach) and El Arco, which is located at Land’s End and is only accessible by water taxi.
The water taxis all have glass bottoms so you can see the wide variety of sea life that swim in that part of the ocean. And the time we spent at Playa del Amor was very enjoyable. It’s a beautiful place. It actually consists of two beaches; one on the Sea of Cortez side, the other on the Pacific side. We stayed there for a couple of hours before heading back to Cabo.
Water taxis line Playa el Médano, waiting to take passengers to Playa del Amor (Lover's Beach) at Land's End.
This narrow pathway connects Playa del Amor (located on the Sea of Cortez) with the Pacific Ocean side.
A short hike up some rocks and through some cacti provides this view of the Pacific side, and the southern tip of Baja California.
We decided to make a quick stop at Sammy Hagar’s Cabo Wabo Cantina. It was pretty fun. We sat at the snack bar, ordering surprisingly yummy tacos, downed añejo shots of Cabo Wabo tequila, and drank a couple of cervezas. If the walls of Cabo Wabo could talk, they would have a novel-sized length of stories to tell.
The Cabo Wabo music stage, where a live band - some of them major headliners - plays every single night.
The Drive Home
My expectations of the drive home differed starkly from the reality of the impending journey. The morning of our departure, KL made a comment that didn’t resonate with me then, but in hindsight foreshadowed the events that would come. She noticed that it rained the night prior. I had noticed there were a few spots on the ground that morning that were wet, but took it for condensation. KL said it was rain. Because we didn’t have access to the internet, and the only news channel our TV at the apartment received was Faux News (meaning naturally that we didn’t watch any news programs), we were oblivious to the fact that California and Northern Baja were hit hard with a major storm. Our parents had made mentions of the fact during phone conversations, but when the weather’s perfect every single day, you tend to easily dismiss such tidbits of information.
After dropping off KL at the airport, I was on my way back to Loreto, where I stayed two weeks prior. Initially the weather conditions were nearly identical to what they were during the drive down.
A view of Los Barriles, a quaint coastal village about an hour north of San Jose del Cabo.
However, after I passed La Paz, I noticed the wind kicking up strongly. Very strongly as a matter of fact. I could recall only the Oregon coast rivaling the strength of gusts I was experiencing. I passed a bicyclist on the way, and was amazed that he was able to withstand the violent wind (it absolutely blows my mind that I saw approximately ten different groups of bicyclists on the trip there and back, especially when one of the groups consisted of a family that included children. Nuts.).
One of the many bicycle riders I passed by on Highway 1. La Paz is in the distant background.
It wasn’t until I reached the town of Ciudad Constitución that the rain started to fall. The rain was nothing out of the ordinary, but the road conditions were. There were patches everywhere of what initially looked like large puddles of water, but upon making impact with my tires turned out to be massive oil and grease spots. It was then that I first realized that these roads were not made to handle water. I was slipping and sliding repeatedly, and for an hour or so I had to drive at very slow speeds. Little did I know that driving at a sluggish pace would be the name of the game for the entire drive home.
After passing through the town of Ciudad Insurgentes, the road shifted east towards Loreto, and the weather eased up a bit. The rain lightened up tremendously, and as I approached my destination, the weather, while still very windy, was calming down tremendously.
First sightings of the Sea of Cortez after crossing the peninsula. It never gets old.
Loreto looked like it had received some rain, but upon my arrival, scattered clouds was all the weather presented. I was fortunate that Hotel Luna, where I stayed last time, was open again. After grabbing some tacos at a restaurant next door, I went upstairs to the hotel bar, where an older couple who was staying in the same hotel, and another gentleman, were seated at the bar.
The older couple were from Canada I believe, but it was the individual who was sitting at the end of the bar that I striked up a conversation with. I believe his name was Al, and because his father was born in Mexico, he was a dual-citizen (I could be wrong, but I think the law has recently changed where now you have to be born in Mexico to be a natural citizen). Al said he was from Campbell, CA, but was building a retirement home in Loreto. He shared stories about how thirty years ago, in 1980, when he was 30 years old, he drove a VW van all the way down the Baja Peninsula, and even took a ferry to the mainland, where his adventures continued. He also told me that before the Transpeninsular Highway (Highway 1 that stretches from Tijuana to Cabo San Lucas) was built in 1973, people actually drove all the way down on dirt roads. It sounded nuts then; thinking about it after finishing the journey, it now sounds straight loco.
Al was also driving back towards the Bay Area, and told me he was going to stay in Guerrero Negro the next night (the same city I was planning on stopping at), and recommended that I stay at the Malarrimo Motel. I didn’t see Al the next evening, but his recommendation was a solid one.
Through all the conversations that evening: Hotel Luna’s owner, Alberto; the Canadian couple; and Al; there wasn’t one mention of the storm that had, and still was, battering northern Baja. It seems to me now that Baja California Sur was, at least initially, completely oblivious to the happenings up north.
A massive flock of pelicans completely took over the Loreto marina.
The next morning I departed Loreto, and after fulfilling a personal promise of stopping to take numerous photos of the most photogenic part of the drive (primarily the area between Bahía Concepción and San Ignacio), I was about to begin the real adventure of The Great Baja California Odisea.
Where the road says adiós to the Sea of Cortez...
...and says hola to Volcán Las Tres Vírgenes.
The large peak in the distance is to the right of Volcán Las Tres Vírgenes.
The first challenge actually had nothing to do with the weather or roads. It was a military checkpoint. When calculating where the checkpoints were while enjoying one of the Js I rolled for the return trip, I failed to take into account a checkpoint that immediately followed the oasis town of San Ignacio. I had mistakenly left half a spliff in my ashtray. Upon seeing the checkpoint, I quickly grabbed the roach and stuffed it into one of my cargo pockets. While they didn’t search my car once on the drive down, my car was searched at all but one checkpoint on the drive north. Fortunately, like the other Federalies who searched my car and asked questions, they quickly realized that I was a harmless tourist just cruising along. It was a nerve-racking experience to say the least; the prospect of spending time in a Mexican jail will strike fear into any reasonable person (even if I did carry the legal amount, you just never know).
What happened after San Ignacio, and the military checkpoint, can best be described as frightening, hairy, freaky, scary, exhilarating, I could go on and on describing how I felt when I encountered the first real piece of evidence that Baja was hit with a major storm.
All along the freeways, there are unusual signs warning you of what in Mexico they like to call Vados. A vado is basically a large valley in the road, where a small bridge would be if you’re driving in the U.S.
Your standard Highway 1 vado.
Vados are usually located where a dry river bed meets the freeway. After the Odisea, I now realize just how much I have taken U.S. roads for granted. Imagine all those thousands of tiny bridges that you drive over daily, often times unnoticed. Now imagine if they didn’t exist, and instead the road dipped where the bridge used to be. That’s essentially what a vado is.
With conditions near-perfect during the drive down, I didn’t think much of the vados because they weren’t that extreme, and I was able to maintain a steady speed as I passed through them. Based on this experience, I thought I could do the same on the drive home. I was wrong. Absolutely, 100% wrong.
I was driving at a speed of 65, maybe 70 mph when I drove into what I thought to be yet another harmless vado. Only when I entered the vado, I saw a pond of water. I would use the word puddle, but that wouldn’t be doing this body of water justice. It was a borderline lake. At least a foot deep, and extending 10, maybe 15 feet in length. I was going too fast to do anything about it except hold the wheel tight and just hope for the best.
I hydroplaned for literally two seconds. When you’re hydroplaning, that is an awful long time. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. That’s how long I hydroplaned. Then when I hit the pavement again, I’m pretty sure my suspension instantly aged a year because I hit it with a loud thud. Keeping the wheels straight the whole time saved my car, and possibly my life.
I couldn’t believe what I had just driven through. I breathed heavily for a good few minutes, with my heart rate going extremely fast as I thought about what just happened. Apparently the signs warning you of an upcoming vado do mean something. Especially when it has just rained heavily. I took this experience to heart, and when I encountered the next vado, sure enough there was another pond inside of it. This time I was prepared, and gently drove through the body of water. This was the beginning of things to come. What I encountered a short time later made me realize just how bad road conditions in Baja truly are.
Shortly after passing the town of Vizcaino, I noticed a conglomeration of cars up ahead. At first I couldn’t tell why everyone was stopped. It wasn’t until I saw A FUCKING RIVER FLOWING RIGHT THROUGH THE FREEWAY that I understood. The current was moving fast, and it was impossible just from looking at it to tell how deep the water went. It looked very imposing, very scary, and clearly I wasn’t the only one feeling this way because there were around 30 people on each side of the road who had parked their cars, wondering what to do next.
Not the sort of thing you want to encounter on a foreign freeway.
After walking around for a while, talking to fellow Americans and ex-pats who were facing the same dilemma I was, a truck decided to go for it. They were tentative at first. They would start driving forward, then backing up, clearly questioning whether it was the right decision. Finally the truck went for it, and it made it through a lot easier than expected.
Slowly more and more cars starting making attempts at crossing the river. A big rig made it through easily, and even more impressive were some van-looking vehicles that had hardly any lift to them.
This big rig truck had no problems passing through.
This man pulled his pants up and waded to see just how deep the river went.
Only one of these two vehicles made it across. Can you guess which one?
The river did grab itself a victim though; a minivan attempting to cross stalled, likely from a flooded engine.
If you guessed the minivan, you win...NOTHING!
An ambulance passing through helped push the stalled minivan out of the river.
All this was happening at around one in the afternoon. An older American I was talking to was even more nervous than I was about crossing (granted his truck didn’t have four wheel-drive, but it had as much lift as my SUV). The river was noticeably receding, and I told him that I would cross at 2 PM. With more cars making the attempt and passing, I decided to take my chances. The old guy then tells me, “If you do it, I’ll do it.” Like that helps. At 2:06 PM, I sucked it up and went for it, with the older American and his poquito cojones following.
I made it through safe and sound, albeit with my nerves frayed and my hairs sticking straight up. I could have easily reached out and touch the water as I was driving through. A short while later I reached Guerrero Negro, a town known mostly for its proximity to lagoons that feature whale breeding grounds. Tourists visit the city for whale tours that allow them to get up close to baby whales. If I hadn’t gone on a whale tour just this past summer up in Vancouver Island, I would have considered taking a day trip.
When I first checked in to the Malarrimo Motel (it’s quaint, definitely a good place to stay given the location of the town and the lack of any appealing features outside of the motel itself), I walked to the bar to get a drink and maybe a bite. At the bar were two older gentlemen having an animated discussion. Immediately after I sat down, one of them asks me, “Are you a Democrat or a Republican?” I answered neither. He scoffed at me, saying that in the end all Americans are one or the other (he was from British Columbia; the man next to him was from Saskatchewan). I put him at ease when I responded, “Let me put it to you this way; I’ll never, ever vote for a Republican.” This seemed to make him happy, and the three of us started having a discussion about politics, the Baja 1000 (the gentleman is part of the over-60 team riding dirt bikes, he was 72 himself and looked to be in great shape), and his Baja home in Bahía de los Ángeles.
He mentioned that the isolated town resting on the Sea of Cortez had a paved road going there. This surprised me a little given the remote location of the city. The two gentlemen then expressed concern about whether Obama would be elected to a second term (I told them that it looks questionable now only because the other side doesn’t have a candidate yet), and they asked me questions about what makes Americans so conservative. I told them that there are three key components that make an American conservative: Ignorance, greed and selfishness. They seemed to like me more and more with every answer I gave them.
They left a short time later, and afterwards I started to sense a nervous energy around the motel. There were a surprisingly large amount of Americans and Canadians at the motel, and I soon found out why: To my horrifying surprise, a bridge south of Ensenada had reportedly collapsed, preventing all traffic from entering and leaving the Baja Peninsula. I had noticed the previous two days a rather surprisingly lack of big rigs and buses on the highway. I thought that maybe it was because of the weekend. Turns out they had been prevented from heading south.
Picture of a collapsed bridge south of Ensenada, courtesy of Ensenada.net.
I decided that night that I would drive to El Rosario (which is close to 300 miles south of San Diego) and stay at the BajaCactus Motel, where people have left great reviews about the price and ambience. I figured I could wait things out there until roads opened up. I hung out that night at the motel bar and restaurant, drinking and eating while chatting it up with a friendly local named Saul. Little did I know that the next morning would surprise me with very grim news.
The place was stirring that following morning. The news that came in to the motel manager was bad; not only was the bridge south of Ensenada out of commission, but as many as three other bridges had collapsed as well. Including one just south of El Rosario. Meaning that my plans had been altered. Furthermore, one American there was telling me that based on someone he knows in the government, the bridges and roads could be out for as long as 15 days!
Picture of the collapsed Vicente Guerrero bridge courtesy of BajaNomad.com.
Picture of the bridge gap south of El Rosario courtesy of BajaNomad.com.
At first I was in vehement denial about this news, but considering that the reports on the internet were questionable at best, and there seemed to be no solid sources of reliable news, I was at a loss. I started asking myself questions: Do I just stay at this motel until the roads open up? Do I drive through a desert that has no gas stations for over 200 miles, only to be turned around and potentially strand myself in the desert? I honestly didn’t know what to do.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one both lost and desperate to come back to the States. A couple of people said they knew of a dirt road that, while extremely long (it measured out to approximately 60 miles) and rough, would eventually lead to San Felipe, and from there one could drive north to Mexicali and enter the U.S. Slowly a group that numbered around 15, including some with large campers, decided to give this road a chance.
As the map shows, the dirt road starts in Chapala and ends over 60 treacherous miles later in Puertecitos.
I decided to give it a try as well. It felt stifling to just stay in Guerrero Negro. It had the feel of a Bakersfield. The Mallarimo Motel was a nice place to stop for the night, not to camp for days on end. I wanted to move on.
It took about two hours of driving north on the Highway 1 to reach the turn off to the dirt road at a spot called Chapala that hopefully would be permissible and lead us to San Felipe and onward home. As I turned right towards the Sea of Cortez and started what I knew would be a daunting task, a site beheld my eyes that made me think rethink this mission.
That body of water is called Laguna de Chapala. It's listed on the map as a DRY lake. It didn't look dry on this particular day.
Just a few miles into the drive, there was congestion.
Not the sort of thing you usually see on a remote dirt road in Mexico: Traffic.
A camper got stuck in an extremely narrow portion of road. The entire left side of the truck was tire-deep in mud. It blocked traffic going both ways, as a few Mexicans coming from the other direction couldn’t pass because of this camper. Everyone got out of their cars to not only help with getting the camper out, but also to rebuild this demolished portion of road with tires and rocks.
Eventually, after about an hour of working on getting the tires traction, fixing up the road and clearing a lot of mud, the camper got out. However, right when it got through, a camper coming from the other direction got stuck in the mud. The road was blocked again. At this point, it was past 1 PM, meaning there was less than four hours of daylight left. I didn’t want to wait around for another camper to pass, only to find other patches of road similar to this further up the road. Demoralized, I turned around and headed back towards Guerrero Negro, dejected at the notion of being stuck in the middle of the Baja Peninsula.
A thought then occurred to me. The town of Bahía de los Ángeles, the one that the Canadian Baja 1000 racer lived in, was actually closer than Guerrero Negro. Plus it had gas, places to sleep, and it was right on the Sea of Cortez. Granted it was a 41-mile drive off the main highway, but the gentleman said the road was paved. Plus, part of my decision to come to Baja was the pursuit of adventure. So why not check out a new town right on the ocean?
I drove to the intersection that marked the turnoff for Bahía de los Ángeles, and headed east. The drive was smooth and relatively easy, especially considering what I had been through thus far.
The drive to Bahía de los Ángeles, like most of Baja, is beautiful.
After almost an hour, I reached my destination: The picturesque, and very isolated, town of Bahía de los Ángeles.
The small village of Bahía de los Ángeles rests along the Sea of Cortez coastline...
...you can see the town lighthouse in the distance.
The town is apparently geared strictly towards tourists, most of them being fishermen and kayakers. Apparently these tourists didn’t come here during January, because it felt like I was the only outsider in town. I used my guide book to find a place called Los Vientos Spa and Resort (I didn’t see a spa anywhere), which was situated right on the beach. While there wasn’t any cell reception in town, the hotel did have wireless internet and a satellite TV, so I was able to watch the AFC and NFC Championship games (have fun in retirement Mr. Fav-ruh).
It wasn't the most comfortable of rooms, but it got the job done...
...plus having a porch right on the beach doesn't hurt.
The biggest downsides to the situation were the weather (windy and cold, most likely due to the storm) and the isolation. I was the only guest there, and it felt pretty weird and a bit lonely. Plus there was no hot water, and the power would cut out every half-hour or so. It was a weird place to be. The star show at night was unbelievable though, as I awoke in the middle of the night (the power was completely out) and went for a short walk. I also saw the craziest-looking bird earlier that afternoon while taking a stroll on the beach. I had never seen this species of Aves before, and unfortunately I didn’t have my camera on me to take pictures. After doing a little research, I discovered that the bird, which makes a very unusual bird call, is a Black Oystercatcher.
Black Oystercatcher photo courtesy of photobirder.com.
I awoke the next morning with the firm conviction that I was going to make significant progress in getting out of Mexico and returning home. With another day passed, the mud was drying, water levels lowering, and confidence brimming.
People were finding all sorts of ways to get across the floods. Some used ropes...
...while others used the assistance of bulldozers...
...and some just drove through the mud. Photos courtesy of BajaNomad.com.
Plus I read a report on BajaNomad.com that said the patch of road I encountered the previous day was the roughest part of the drive. I knew I was going to get through that dirt road and make to within a reasonable distance of the border. I filled my car up, and spoke briefly at the gas station to an older ex-pat who told me he’d been living in Bahía de los Ángeles for the past 16 years and tremendously appreciated the fact that its isolation allowed him to not deal with too many human beings. I learned here that this was the trend of ex-pats: To escape the madness and crowds of the U.S. for peace, quiet, and quality of life over chaos and greedy pursuits. I bid adieu to the town and made my way back to Highway 1, where I would make a second attempt at the dirt road that would hopefully take me home.
There are no proper words to describe the endless drive that day. It started with the craziest stretch of road I’d ever driven on – an extremely narrow piece of dirt and gravel held barely together with the help of tires and rocks. Some of the damage inflicted the day before by the campers was repaired, but it was still complete madness to be driving my car over a road that was five-feet wide and crumbling at the sides. Amazingly, I made it through this crazy stretch, only to start a tedious, body-aching, mind-numbing drive on a gravel road that was rough, extremely rocky (some of the rocky boulders protruding through the ground were 2-3 feet in height). I could never drive faster than 10 mph for the vast majority of this stretch of road. My mind was tested. My body hurt from constantly avoiding tire-popping rocks. Despite beautiful coastline accompanying me to my right during the vast duration of the drive, I could never appreciate it because the second my eyes strayed off the road, I would hit another rock or come dangerously close to driving off the road.
Boulders as far as the eye could see lined the landscape - and the road.
Six hours and sixty miles later, I experienced tremendous joy and relief when I finally hit pavement about 15 miles south of a town called Puerticitos. With a peculiar-looking island marking the spot where gravel met pavement, I celebrated by lighting up the last of my spliffs. One could never understand the joy felt at that moment.
If you see this rock, it marks the end - or the beginning - of an arduous journey.
Sweet, sweet pavement. The view was nice too. The rock marking the end of the gravel road is in the bottom right of the photo.
The road presented one final challenge as I attempted to reach the town of San Felipe by nightfall. The vados I described earlier were of a whole different breed as I approached San Felipe. These weren’t vados; these were straight dips in the road. Without slowing down to speeds of around 20 mph, I would have bottomed out when hitting each one. And not all of them had warning signs! Luckily, I made to San Felipe before it was completely dark, and spent the night in a motel called La Hacienda de la Langosta Roja.
Driving towards San Felipe, a lovely sunset marked my final evening in Mexico.
San Felipe changed a lot in the seven years since I last visited. Still beautiful, but a little dirtier and a lot busier.
Prior to reaching my final Mexican destination of Mexicali and heading home, I drove passed what I believe is Picacho del Diablo, which is the largest mountain peak on the Baja California peninsula. The peak and its neighbors were coated with snow.
I passed through Mexicali (which, in a nutshell, is a cleaner version of Tijuana), and made it home. It’s worth noting that in the drive between Calexico (Mexicali’s sister city on the U.S. side of the border) and San Diego, I passed through a state park called Anza-Borrego Desert State Park. Some of the views were stunning. The park consists mostly of mountains as far as the eye can see covered with boulders the size of houses. Beautiful place, and it’s less than two hours outside of San Diego. For anyone reading this in Southern California, make a trip here sometime. You can thank me later.
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The Great Baja Odisea was an adventure every person should experience at least once in their lifetime. At no point during this entire journey did I ever feel unsafe due to banditos or other violent individuals. In fact, every local I passed in the entire peninsula would smile and wave in my direction. I forgot how uncommon this sort of gesture is back in the U.S., until the first time I nodded and said hello to a person I walked past in San Diego. He looked at me like I was going to mug him. I knew right then I was back in the U.S. And like the majority of my travels to foreign countries, I was reminded yet again of a principle flaw in my home country: That people still put money first, and lifestyle second. Peace of mind, in addition to happiness in a mental and physical perspective, should always precede career and monetary ambitions. Life is too short to worry about how large one could make their bank account. It remains a said reality of life in the U.S.
As my drive back home to San Francisco neared its end, President Barack Obama’s first State of the Union address was airing on the radio. What an inspirational and honest speech. And it reminded me of a great Obama quote from not too long ago, one that is lost on so many Americans. "Focusing your life solely on making a buck shows a poverty of ambition. It asks too little of yourself. And it will leave you unfulfilled." Go out and see the world. You’ll be surprised just how much your perspective on life will change with each new adventure you experience.
Afterword
I need to give credit, and say thanks, to certain books, websites and individuals who helped with vast amounts of valuable information and advice that helped prepare me for this adventurous journey. Special thanks to BajaNomad.com and all of its moderators and contributors in the forum section who provided priceless advice, information and photos when I was stuck in the middle of Baja with no knowledge of how I was going to leave the country and return home. Thanks to BajaInsider.com for great information prior to the trip (their page on road conditions was worthless after the storms, but it was a great site in terms of preparation). Thanks also to Ensenada.net, the only Mexican website I could find that had any sort of road information. I have to thank John M., who made his e-mail address available on Craigslist to assist those wishing to make the Baja drive (his information and advice was priceless). Credit is due to Fodor’s “Los Cabos & The Baja Peninsula” guide book for helping me find places to stay when I was alone in the middle of Baja. I must thank the parentals for showing their tremendous support during the adventure, and letting me know that even when I didn't have cell reception for days on end, there were people out there thinking about me. And of course, thanks to the beautiful and lovely KerryLynn, the greatest travel partner one could ever have. She took amazing photos and was perfect company during our two-week stay in Los Cabos.
