After the hassle we’d had in San Diego with the van, we decided to save ourselves some time and fly down to San Jose de Cabo in the South of Baja California. Our flight was packed full of wealthy Americans with perfect teeth and fake appendages ready to party in ‘Cabo’. Five-star hotels and golf courses (vivid splashes of green in an otherwise barren landscape) are the order of the day here; tourists come for the lobster and tequila, definitely not for the local culture.
Keen to remove ourselves from Cabo as quickly as possible, we caught the bus to a little town called Todos Santos on the Western Cape of the peninsula. The roads were dusty, chickens roamed the streets, and old men sat on their porches putting the world to rights and enjoying the afternoon sun. We ate some amazing ‘vampiros’ – essentially open tacos with barbequed steak and guacamole – and then settled into the important business of discussing the world cup with the local ice cream vendor. Suffice to say, we instantly relaxed into this slower pace of life.
The next day we travelled down the road to a tiny settlement called El Pescadero, in the vicinity of several good surf beaches. We stayed at a ‘Surf Camp’ owned and run by a permanently stoned surfer-dude gringo (aged fifty going on fifteen) called Jaime. His advertised services included board and wetsuit hire and, crucially, a shuttle to and from the beach. As we no longer had our own wheels, this sealed the deal for us.
However, what we were to learn was that Jaime was good at dropping people off in the morning but not so great at remembering to pick them up. In the four days we stayed with him he managed to ‘forget’ three different sets of guests, including us. We were a little peeved it has to be said, especially as we got completely toasted by the sun. To boot, on our final night at the camp some exuberant Mexican teenagers crashed the place and held an impromptu party til 5.30am, playing the same three mariachi tunes over and over again with the volume most definitely turned up to eleven. Phil’s head very nearly exploded. On a positive note, we did get some surfing in and also met some really sound people (cheers for the lifts and the tacos Jared!)
La Paz, the capital of Baja Sur state, was a breath of fresh air. It was pretty, lively, and felt authentically Mexican, rather than pseudo-American. We hung out on the promenade, swam in the turquoise sea and marvelled at the national fondness for ear-splitting music.
However, after a week relaxing in Baja our feet were getting itchy for new adventures so we boarded the ferry and crossed the Sea of Cortez to mainland Mexico with our sights on the Sierra Madre - domain of cowboys, Indians and banditos.
Susie and Phil xxx
