See, thirteen is a lucky number. The air is still, the sun is out and it is already about 60 degrees.
One chore today: drop off laundry.
One goal today: go visit some small, out of the way beaches.
Well, I drop off the laundry. Eight and a half bucks for everything, pick it up at six tonight.
Scribbled on my receipt: 6pm HOY!
Great word, hoy.
We are on the road to the beach by 9:30, with our old friend Sergio, his yellow and green Chevy cab with Jesus looking through the back window, Mary leading us as she hangs from the rear-view mirror.
A couple blocks from home we pull over near the Pemex station and pick up his wife, who, it turns out, is going to join us for the joy ride today. Why not? The more, the merrier, and so we are off.
Over a mountain pass, cacti marching down, down, miles down the flanks of the mountain like a crazy man army, all skinny and waving their arms wildly. The road is a semi-straight line down the middle, and it disappears in the haze. I can barely make out the brown valley floor ahead, and the flat-lined horizon must be the sea, but there is no color yet. It is warming up.
Somewhere in the flats we turn left, heading to La Ventana. This is a small, laid back beach town right along a prime wind spot, so it is filled with kite surfers. By the looks of town, and the number of campers down on the beach, and the fancy "homes with domes" we pass, I'd guess that Canadians and US citizens outnumber locals about two to one.
"Homes with domes" is how I think of the big, fancy homes built by outsiders. Everyone wants a little (or big if you have money) dome on their roof, to look "traditional" I suppose, though I notice no locals seem to have domes. The low class dome is small, solid and painted some real obnoxious "look at me!" color. Better domes are bigger, with little fake windows that perhaps open up as air vents, and the best domes are tiled, full sized windows and would be about the size of an igloo for a family of four.
So, we drove through town, out dirt roads past the fancy homes, further until the road wound down to dead end at an empty beach. We spent a great hour walking the beach (Sergio and his wife were happy to hang out in the sun near the car; at every beach we went to they just hung out, napping, picnicking and just relaxing. I am pretty sure they thought we were nuts for walking so much...)
We walked the beach, saw great pits where turtles had laid their eggs (these beaches are protected turtle nesting areas, the eggs are gathered to incubate, then the turtles released), collected shells and coral (most of which we gave to Sergio's wife, who loved the colors) and just enjoyed the empty beach.
We drove back into town, down to a very busy, crowded section of beach, and found a little cafe to watch the kite surfers race in and out, in and out, as we enjoyed a beer and peanut-coconut shrimp.
Maybe an hour passed before we moved on to find the Bay of the Dead, Bahai de los Muertos. We got there as a fishing boat pulled up on the sand, the girl in the boat had the most beautiful yellow fish, about three feet long. It was a dorado (mahi-mahi). The pure, powdery white sand of the bay curved away about a mile, so we just started walking. The sand was hot, the air warm, if we had thought it would have been like this we would have brought our swim suits and just stayed here the rest of the day. So we just took our time all the way up, all the way back.
More coral and shells for Sergio, then we headed off down a dirt road, that soon turned to mud road, then almost a lake... Sergio was obviously having fun exploring too, as he just pushed on through the slick mud, water up to the doors; the old Chevy with bald tires sliding forward about a half-inch an hour. I am thinking I will just get out and push, but we gain a little traction and start moving out of the "lake" up onto dry road to see...
Another lake sized puddle, and another, and another.
Well, with Jesus pushing and Mary pulling, we slowly worked our way through it all, past the salt flats (piles of white salt gleaming in the sunlight) until we got out to the beach and lighthouse at Punta Arena de la Ventana. Across the way Isla Cerralvo sits; on the wide, windy beach are lots of those porcupine puffer fish and shells, the lighthouse is a slender, white exclamation point at the end of it all. Before we can believe it, it is time to go; we slip and slide back out the road, and return to La Paz just after sunset.
Things continue looking up as we head to Rustico for dinner. We have a good bottle of good sauvignon blanc (surprise!), Gnocchi with sorrento meat sauce & chunks of mozeralla, a huge salad, and margarita pizza. The best part is that is is NOT Mexican food! Nice break!
As we eat, the Cathedral bells ring, one tone not multi-toned, pretty anyway.
Walking to and from dinner was interesting. It is always eye opening to wander back off the usual tourist track and see where people live and shop. Walking down streets of nice, simple homes, next to abandoned mansions (who built it? Where are they? What happened?) next to empty, overgrown lots. Corner store, stocking primarily beer and chips, trashy, heavily lived in houses, the Pemex gas station and the Mega store that stocks a little of everything.
Everybody greets us: groups of men standing, talking and drinking, "buenos dias." Kids tinning or riding bikes, "hola" and a giggle. Roosters crowing, lots of dogs, the smell of bbq beef for tacos, or tamales cooking in the roadside stands.
A nice, relaxing day.