Letter from Baja
This is the first night we’ve had internet since we started our journey. Everything is just fine- the tourist trade is very slow this year due to all the turmoil at the border, but everything South of Ensenada has been extremely tranqilo.
We spent a lovely night at the San Diego Hostel USA. It is in a converted whorehouse from gold rush days and is really splendid, full of shabby grandeur, homemade art, and make-your-own pancakes. A room with a double bed rather than a bed in the dorms ran $60, which is darn cheap for a hotel in downtown San Diego, but fairly expensive as hostels go.
We got across the border with a minimum of fuss. Nobody checked anything, though we did stop to get our tourist cards at the border. Then we caught a $5 taxi over to the airport to pick up our rental car.
This is where things began to go seriously wrong. It turned out that the credit/debit cards that had always functioned like a regular credit card were no good for renting a car in Mexico- only a standard credit card would do, which neither of us had. We came within a hair’s breadth of being stranded in Tijuana and getting no farther South, but, after some debate, the highest manager decided that a credit/debit card would be OK if one of us had a balance in our account of over $1500, in case we decided to make off with their car.
I wish I could say I think this was a scam, but I actually think they thought *we* were really sketchy and took pity on us due to the fact that they have got to be hurting for sales this year.
However, they made us get the highest level of insurance, which brought our rental from being around $300 a week to around $450. ($900 total). Oof. Our car is a little mid nineties car called a Nissan Tsuru, which I don’t think they make in the US. It is not all that great, but nor is it terrible. I hope it doesn’t break down trying to get up into the mountains around San Ignacio- the slope was really, really steep on the way down into Santa Rosalia- I am more than a little afraid of the trip back up.
Blood money paid, we got on our way, a few hours later than we meant to. Instead of spending our first night in San Quintin as we had planned, we only made it down to Ensenada. We were a bit worried about that, since Ensenada has been a bit more violent than usual of late. We saw no sign of trouble during the day- in fact John in particular was quite taken with the town. However, that night we heard the car alarm going off in the motel lot. John went charging down in nothing but boxers and a bunch of guys went running. They had not actually been trying to break into our car, but into the SUV parked next to it.
We picked up some supply items in Ensenada- fuel for the Coleman stove, a cooler, etc. By the time we got on the road it was 11 AM. On the road we had our first roadside booth food, which was awesome. In fact, we have yet to have non-awesome food- the moles and salsas are exceptional, and the little limes that are served with everything are exceptionally flavorful.
We made it to San Quintin that night. I liked San Quintin quite a lot. We could not figure out how to get to the hotel we had originally planned on- it was down a dirt road and our map was a bit perplexing to figure out in the dark. Instead we stayed at a rather sad place- La Villa de San Quintin. It was a big, brand new facility which turned out to have a gourmet restaurant, but was pitifully empty. There were two other families staying there, both of them Mexican. In fact, we encountered almost no other Gringos other than ex-pats until Mulege.
The Old Mill, the hotel we had planned to stay at, was right on the water, so we drove down there the next morning to sample, but found no Isognomon. Instead we found out that the water was hypothermia inducing, much to John’s chagrin. He got in for about 45 seconds and came out with chattering teeth. Our antics attracted the attention of our first Gringo, a school teacher from San Diego who flew down to Baja with his girlfriend. He suggested some collecting spots, including a fantastic place to camp on a sheltered beach down a dirt road near Punta Santa Rosalillita (50 miles or so North of Guerrero Negro).
It was an amazing place to camp. The sky was so black that the milky way was clearly visible to the naked eye and each and every star could be discerned through binoculars. We could see the nebula in Orion’s belt and all of the seven sisters. However, the later it got, the more isolated we felt. The only company we had were vehicles that would occasionally case out our deserted beach for no clear reason. These vehicles seemed particularly menacing given how utterly remote we were- we had come down a literal maze of hazardous dirt roads to get there. Slowly a fantasy was built, based on the Mad Max style anarchy and precarious solitude of our position. We became more and more worried that the first truck that had passed had gone back for reinforcements, or that we were stuck in the middle of someone’s drug deal. Both of us were getting worried but went to bed. We were woken by headlights streaming into our tent. Both of us readied ourselves with dive knives and maglights, ready to do battle, but there was a low murmur of conversation from the vehicle and it pulled out and moved on. Later we were woken by what seemed to be footsteps on the tarp outside our tent. (A stray dog.) Thus the night passed, yet no sleep was had.
As it turned out, our remote beach was popular with surfers, and a couple of them had camped further down the beach. So much for our bandito dreams. In fact, everyone we talked to said that rural Mexico is as quiet as quiet can be, despite the turbulence to the North.
I need to go to bed, as we keep a 5:30 AM wakeup time. Next time I will tell you of the wonders of Punta Abreojos and the Bahia de Ballenas, of our crossing of the Desierto Central, the fantastic pastry shop in the half-abandoned copper mining town of Santa Rosalia, and our arrival in Mulege.
Buenas noches y adios,
Kendra
We spent a lovely night at the San Diego Hostel USA. It is in a converted whorehouse from gold rush days and is really splendid, full of shabby grandeur, homemade art, and make-your-own pancakes. A room with a double bed rather than a bed in the dorms ran $60, which is darn cheap for a hotel in downtown San Diego, but fairly expensive as hostels go.
We got across the border with a minimum of fuss. Nobody checked anything, though we did stop to get our tourist cards at the border. Then we caught a $5 taxi over to the airport to pick up our rental car.
This is where things began to go seriously wrong. It turned out that the credit/debit cards that had always functioned like a regular credit card were no good for renting a car in Mexico- only a standard credit card would do, which neither of us had. We came within a hair’s breadth of being stranded in Tijuana and getting no farther South, but, after some debate, the highest manager decided that a credit/debit card would be OK if one of us had a balance in our account of over $1500, in case we decided to make off with their car.
I wish I could say I think this was a scam, but I actually think they thought *we* were really sketchy and took pity on us due to the fact that they have got to be hurting for sales this year.
However, they made us get the highest level of insurance, which brought our rental from being around $300 a week to around $450. ($900 total). Oof. Our car is a little mid nineties car called a Nissan Tsuru, which I don’t think they make in the US. It is not all that great, but nor is it terrible. I hope it doesn’t break down trying to get up into the mountains around San Ignacio- the slope was really, really steep on the way down into Santa Rosalia- I am more than a little afraid of the trip back up.
Blood money paid, we got on our way, a few hours later than we meant to. Instead of spending our first night in San Quintin as we had planned, we only made it down to Ensenada. We were a bit worried about that, since Ensenada has been a bit more violent than usual of late. We saw no sign of trouble during the day- in fact John in particular was quite taken with the town. However, that night we heard the car alarm going off in the motel lot. John went charging down in nothing but boxers and a bunch of guys went running. They had not actually been trying to break into our car, but into the SUV parked next to it.
We picked up some supply items in Ensenada- fuel for the Coleman stove, a cooler, etc. By the time we got on the road it was 11 AM. On the road we had our first roadside booth food, which was awesome. In fact, we have yet to have non-awesome food- the moles and salsas are exceptional, and the little limes that are served with everything are exceptionally flavorful.
We made it to San Quintin that night. I liked San Quintin quite a lot. We could not figure out how to get to the hotel we had originally planned on- it was down a dirt road and our map was a bit perplexing to figure out in the dark. Instead we stayed at a rather sad place- La Villa de San Quintin. It was a big, brand new facility which turned out to have a gourmet restaurant, but was pitifully empty. There were two other families staying there, both of them Mexican. In fact, we encountered almost no other Gringos other than ex-pats until Mulege.
The Old Mill, the hotel we had planned to stay at, was right on the water, so we drove down there the next morning to sample, but found no Isognomon. Instead we found out that the water was hypothermia inducing, much to John’s chagrin. He got in for about 45 seconds and came out with chattering teeth. Our antics attracted the attention of our first Gringo, a school teacher from San Diego who flew down to Baja with his girlfriend. He suggested some collecting spots, including a fantastic place to camp on a sheltered beach down a dirt road near Punta Santa Rosalillita (50 miles or so North of Guerrero Negro).
It was an amazing place to camp. The sky was so black that the milky way was clearly visible to the naked eye and each and every star could be discerned through binoculars. We could see the nebula in Orion’s belt and all of the seven sisters. However, the later it got, the more isolated we felt. The only company we had were vehicles that would occasionally case out our deserted beach for no clear reason. These vehicles seemed particularly menacing given how utterly remote we were- we had come down a literal maze of hazardous dirt roads to get there. Slowly a fantasy was built, based on the Mad Max style anarchy and precarious solitude of our position. We became more and more worried that the first truck that had passed had gone back for reinforcements, or that we were stuck in the middle of someone’s drug deal. Both of us were getting worried but went to bed. We were woken by headlights streaming into our tent. Both of us readied ourselves with dive knives and maglights, ready to do battle, but there was a low murmur of conversation from the vehicle and it pulled out and moved on. Later we were woken by what seemed to be footsteps on the tarp outside our tent. (A stray dog.) Thus the night passed, yet no sleep was had.
As it turned out, our remote beach was popular with surfers, and a couple of them had camped further down the beach. So much for our bandito dreams. In fact, everyone we talked to said that rural Mexico is as quiet as quiet can be, despite the turbulence to the North.
I need to go to bed, as we keep a 5:30 AM wakeup time. Next time I will tell you of the wonders of Punta Abreojos and the Bahia de Ballenas, of our crossing of the Desierto Central, the fantastic pastry shop in the half-abandoned copper mining town of Santa Rosalia, and our arrival in Mulege.
Buenas noches y adios,
Kendra