Travel with Manfred

Travelogues from around the world

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Copyright © 1990 by Manfred P.. All rights reserved.

Dec 23, 1989 through Jan 1, 1990

Enjoying the Desert

Christmas without Luxury and Gasoline

by

Manfred P.

Keywords: Mexico, Baja California, Bahia de Los Angeles, Guerrero Negro, tourist, travel trip report, travel log, travelogue.

Saturday Dec 23, 1989

I decided, went to the bank, got myself some $300 in Pesos and was ready to go. This morning I put food and water for two days and two canisters with 6 extra gallons of gas in the car. The breakfast has hearty. As last step before hitting the road was to get Christmas presents for Ann and Walt. Then I started the engine. The first stop was Mission Viejo to drop off the presents, fill up the tank and spare canisters, then it headed southbound on I-5 to the Mexican border. At the border I got car insurance. $7 per day was a good deal. The customs clerk said "Feliz Navidad" and waved me through.

I was in Mexico. I took the wrong exit and ended up in downtown Tijuana, the biggest city in Baja with 1.5 million inhabitants. Traffic is horrible. Nobody uses turn signals and the potholes are of the size of soccer balls. 20 minutes later I was glad to be out of town and on a toll road to Ensenada, third largest city on Baja after Tijuana and Mexicali.

The beaches I saw on the way weren't great. Balboa beats them all. I guess one has to look more closely to find the beautiful spots here. By the time I arrived in Ensenada it was 4 p.m. I parked the car in a side street and was ready to explore the city and its 300,000 people. Food stalls are at a lot of street corners. I tried the tacos first. They ware all right but not exceptional. The city is actually a town that consists of three major "calle"s. I strolled around for a few hours and got an impression of whatever there is to see. Military stations, police headquarters, theaters, yard sales, bars, and so on. A simple coffee shop is my place for dinner. I have no clue of what it was called, but it was some beef and salad served on hard flat taco-sized tortillas.

At 9 p.m. I was ready for the sack. I made myself comfortable on the back seat of my old and big Dodge. Old cruisers at least have one advantage; they have lots of space and a back seat that is like a couch.

Sunday Dec 24, 1989

For breakfast I sipped real tasty coffee in a restaurant on the road. Passing through Santo Tomas and Colonet I reached San Quintin. I went off the main road to find out more about the real Mexico. All the roads are unpaved. Besides simple Adobe buildings a lot of people live in paperboard huts and other shacks. Nearly everything can be used as building material: car parts, beer cans and other junk. People stare at you but are friendly. I interpret the stares as not having seen too many gringos in this part of the woods.

I decide to hike around. In about 40 minutes I reach the beach that forms a U-shaped bay with a peninsula. Again, it is peaceful and quiet. It was so different in flair from the beaches we envision when we think of California and the Beach Boys. Another 40-minute hike takes me to an old, more or less abandoned, cemetery that was founded by the English. I greet all the people I see and we exchange a few words as far as my Spanish or their English permits. I walk across the pampas to get back to my car.

The next stop is El Rosario because I need gas. The guy at the gas station tells me that the station ran out of gas and that he doesn't know when he will get gas again. Nearby is a, what Mexicans call, restaurant. Most people would have been scared off, but I thought it is an original place. It so happens that a white couple drops in later and asks if they take a check. I had to laugh silently. What a joke! This place certainly didn't look like they take anything but cash. I thought they are gringos and maybe I could offer help. They didn't have any cash, only traveler checks, credit cards and a DM50 note. It turns out they are Austrians. Not that I could do anything with Deutsch Marks, but to help them I exchanged it for US dollars. After the financial transaction we could enjoy an early dinner together. After chatting and a "Fröhliche Weihnachten" I moved on. The next gas station is 76 miles south and with my spare gas canister I should make it.

On the way it gets dark and I stop to watch the colorful sunset. Why is it that deserts always have great sunsets? It was special, not so much because of the sunset but because of the time and day. My mind is on Christmas, it is reflective, maybe even a touch melancholic. I sit on the hood of my car and just stare into the desert where the sun minutes earlier disappeared. The sand hills change their color and it soon gets difficult to distinguish the individual dunes and hills. It is so silent. Nobody nearby or for miles. No people, no houses, no signs from civilization. It is only me, the safety of the car, sand as far as the eye can or could see and stars as far as the eye can cover the dark sky.

In the darkness the road winds its way upward. The headlights cut two cones of light into the darkness. For seconds the dunes appear in the light just to fall back into the darkness again. I enjoy the slow drive. I am in no hurry. There is no place I need to be; there is nobody waiting for me. I can enjoy the now and the here. With every turn in the road, I take pleasure in the strange visual forms that pop up in front of me in the headlights and before I can actually see what it is the rock formation, the plant, the vision is gone again. The fact that they kept their mysticism to themselves without revealing more than a brief glimpse kept it so interesting. Having a good imagination and the right mindset helps to play this game.

The road goes up and up and leads away from the Pacific coast. Soon mountains and cacti surround me. I stop a few more times to indulge in the darkness. By 9 p.m. the first ranches and buildings of Cataviña show up. I stop at the gas station just to find a sign "Hay no gasolina extra". "No unleaded gas". Shit, but I decide that this should not spoil my Christmas evening. I will worry about it tomorrow.

The Mexican way to celebrate Christmas is to stand around a food stand, drink beer, play loud music and to throw crackers and other detonating devices. Remember that these villages have just a few inhabitants. Half the village gathered. After the loud celebration with the Mexicans, I split and went star gazing. One can see so many stars out here since there is no smog and no light pollution. It is really amazing. Lying on the hood of my cruiser I did more staring and gazing. I was impressed. Before I kissed the day good-bye I had another dinner in the car and opened my Christmas present that I brought along.

Monday Dec 25, 1989

While I was talking to people to find some other possibilities to get gas, more and more Americans gathered at the gas station. Everybody was talking about the same theme: gas. Sometime later a couple named Mike and Ann joined us. They had some spare gas, which they had for emergencies and of course they were willing to help. But it was by far not enough for everybody. The only solution was to stick together and to share in one way or another. After more talking we could come up with a solution that could satisfy everybody. Mike and Ann sold 5 gallons of their precious liquid to Dan and Miguel. I gave them what I had left in my spare canister so that they - or should I say we - would make it to the next village called Bahia de Los Angeles, or L.A. for short. Part of the solution was that I would leave my car behind and that Dan and Miguel would give me a lift to Bahia de Los Angeles. That is what I call pooling "resources".

After I stored the necessary items, i.e. sleeping bag, tent and my toothbrush in their car we suddenly found someone who would sell 10 gallons of gas for $20. To be on the safe side I bought it but our plan stayed unchanged. Per mouth suction the Mexican pumped it from a bucket into my gas tank. Then we were on our way to L.A. The ride was fun. We had lots of things to talk about. Dan is from San Diego, buys solar collectors in San Diego and sells them in Baja California to make some money. He also has a small boat in Mulege, which is their final destination. Miguel is from Washington state, a basic environmentalist who lives by the motto "live simple so that others might simply live". In other words he wants to avoid any impact on the environment and nature. I was in good company.

On the downhill stretches we turned the engine off to save gas. Nonetheless, we were running on empty when we came close to Bahia de Los Angeles. Just before the last hill we met Steve again whom I knew from Cataviña. His Ford had broken down and was now on the side of the road. We gave him a ride to town but could help no further because we were running on gas fumes by now. On the last hundreds of yards down to the beach just before town the engine died. Now we were really out of gas. At the gas station that we reached on foot we just heard the familiar words "posible mañana" (maybe tomorrow). We were camping right at the beach where our car died.

Before it got dark I went to town. As expected there isn't anything exciting to see or do. Two restaurants and two grocery stores make up a fifth of the village. In the restaurant I was pretty shocked. Dan warned me that everything is expensive, but this I didn't expect. $6 was the cheapest meal on the menu. Meals in Irvine are cheaper.

When I left town it was already dark. Our campsite was about 4 miles away but there weren't any lights and of course no paved roads. I didn't even find the dirt roads and just walk through the pampas following my gut feeling. A few times I stumbled in the darkness. After what seemed a long time I reached the sea and met some people. I asked my way forward. One place where I asked was at Tono's place. One of the Mexicans did not hesitate, he put me in his beach buggy and tried to find the spot after I gave him a rough description. Just minutes later he found it. This is one of the many examples of the friendliness of the Mexicans.

As a second dinner we three enjoyed clamp shells that Dan and Miguel picked up at low tide near our camp. Boiled in seawater they were tasty and delicious. The day ended with more talking at the campfire. The weather was warm and I slept well. A good ending to a good day.

Tuesday Dec 26, 1989

It was already kind of late and time to paddle back. In the morning when we left, the sea was totally calm and we sneaked up on some sea lions that were playing in the bay. But now things changed. A wind came up and the waves got bigger. We were already paddling for an hour on our way back and it got worse and worse. Three feet high waves are sufficient to scare you a little bit in a tiny kayak. In the morning I took great care not to get wet. Now I couldn't care any longer. From time to time a wave rolled over our kayaks. Needless to say that I got more than wet. The coast was still far away and didn't seem to get any closer. I was more or less exhausted and my mind went "10 more strokes, 10 more strokes, I know I can do it, just another 10 strokes". Finally after a long struggle we safely arrived at the beach but we couldn't figure out whether we had to paddle north or south to our camp. Everything suddenly looked alike. Since we couldn't make up our mind I jumped out of the kayak and ran along the beach from where it is much easier to see the different camps and buildings along the bay. The other two followed in the kayaks. At last we made it to our camp.

For dinner we had to improvise: one fish, cheese, and noodles in a pot cooked over an open fire. Since everything is so dry, a single match is all it takes to start a fire. On the evening stroll I met some more nice Americans. Friends of Mike and Ann got stuck at this place. Not because of missing gas, as you might guess, but due to a broken clutch. It appears that too many people have bad luck. We were chatting for a long time, sharing our experiences in Baja including the partially bad ones but also the good ones. They invited me to a glass of wine, my nightcap for the day.

Wednesday Dec 27, 1989

In the early afternoon I joined Dan on his trip to town to sell some of his solar collectors and to ask for gas. Thereafter I hiked around meeting another bunch of Canadians who brought along 8 kayaks and will go south to Mulege by kayak. In the late afternoon I helped Miguel search for food. We found oysters and sea-lettuce, which is similar to sea wheat. For dinner we had noodles with sea lettuce, oysters and tortillas. A decent meal which most of the ingredients so fresh. As every evening before we go to bed we sit around the campfire and talk about this and that.

Thursday Dec 28, 1989

Dave and the others are not quite ready so I have a chance to give them a helping hand. In return they spoil me with homemade apricot sauce, cookies and beer. The massive 4x4 pick-up truck easily fits us six and makes 65 mph without any problems on the tough Mexican roads where my boat would rattle like hell at 40 mph. This pick-up truck surely is the right toy for this environment. It sort of flies over all the potholes. At noontime and after a pleasant talk they dropped me off at my car, but not without giving me a lunchbag. I, what did you expect, couldn't say no. I wonder for a moment and even today why people always spoil me. Believe it or not, but it is hard to say good-bye.

A deep breath to get over it. Finally I sit in my car again and head south. The next gas station is open but doesn't have any "extra" (unleaded). After another hour I reach the next one. Again: no extra. My goodness. There is no gas between San Quintin and Guerrero Negro. I am smiling though and happy that I bought those 10 gallons. Who knows though what he sold me. Maybe leaded one. At least it wasn't water. I would have noticed by now. Just an hour before sunset I reach Guerrero Negro. And, yes, celebration, they have gas here. I fill up the tank and the canisters. The gas station attendant rips me off. The old trick. He clears the display on the pump and quotes me a higher price. I am lucky to have gas so I don't care.

Guerrero Negro is a town like all the others. Pretty boring, but I don't mean that in a negative way. It just means that there are no man-made attractions. The only difference is that it starts raining. I stroll through the main street and do some shopping: coffee beans, chili pepper, four pounds of figs and more. The restaurants are slightly overpriced. Major income of this town is salt which is exported to the US and Japan. As soon as it gets dark I settle down in a restaurant to put something hot into my stomach. With my hunger satisfied I am heading for the car as it starts raining again. After a few minutes I am pretty wet and I decide to wait in a restaurant until the rain shower is over. The whole restaurant was filled with Austrians and Germans. At the moment I didn't feel like talking so I quietly ordered to kept to myself. The other guests obviously thought I am an only-English-speaking gringo and started talking about me in German. How amusing! I didn't show any emotions, with a poker face I sat there overhearing their discussion.

As the rain stopped I left and walked to my car. I made myself comfortable on the backseat. Just as I was about to fall asleep a Mexican cop came and asked me to move my car to another spot. I followed his instructions and he pointed me to a spot where a few others had already gathered to spend their night in their cars. I joined them there. Looks like the have a special plaza for people who want to spend the night in their car.

Friday Dec 29, 1989

I explore the big salt flats on foot. They are vast, miles of shallow ponds, miles of white colors, miles of salt. Occasionally a truck full of salt rushes by on the salt road. It is flat and hot, ideal conditions to harvest salt. In the bays off Guerrero Negro, migrating whales have one of their traditional places to give birth to their young. The water is especially warm here as it is far south and shallow. After birth and their first weeks, the whale families head north into colder waters along the US Pacific coastline.

Guerrero Negro is the southernmost point of my Baja tour. It is below the 28th degree. They have a special gate on Mexicana 1 to remind you of that fact. Under the gate it is also time to adjust your watch. You entered a different time zone, PST+1.

At noon it is time to head back north, to start the trip home. On average I make 35 mph. Here in Baja California del Sur one is out of the range of US radio stations. The only one I can pick up is Radio del Sol which has plenty of static. In the middle of the afternoon I am back in Cataviña. Meanwhile the gas station has gas but about 40 cars are lined up and the waiting time is more than two hours. I talk to a few people in line who are coming from the north about the gasoline situation there. It didn't sound too bad. I take the chance. Instead of wasting two hours I skip this gas station and hope for the best.

Driving north the weather constantly changes from rain to sunshine. It is great. The high desert is formed by a sea of cacti with a beautiful rainbow in the middle and black rain clouds in the back. The book that mentions the two inches of rain per year must be wrong. In the last two to three days it must have rained one inch already. The sunset is outstanding again. This time it is not red but yellowish. Ever seen a yellow sunset? The rain keeps on hitting my windshield until I stop driving for the day in the early evening not long after the sunset.

Saturday Dec 30, 1989

Later, but still early in the morning, I joined two Germans for breakfast. They explore Baja on foot without a vehicle. I am impressed and think that this is quite adventurous. Good luck to them.

Slowly did my car take me north through the desert. I enjoyed the scenery, the radio, and the warm air. There was no rush; I just cruised in a relaxed fashion. Took breaks when I felt like it.

I originally planned on spending the night in Ensenada and to be passive, i.e. watch a movie. They have three theaters in Ensenada but the choice of movies was terrible. The only movies available are wild west stories and brutal ones where at least five people get killed every ten minutes. I didn't want to settle for such a second class movie and decided to change my plan by going to Tijuana.

On my way south days ago I wanted to get away from the border as quickly as possible and therefore took the toll road 1-D. Now I had time and to see the difference I took the old surface road instead. The old road runs much closer to the beaches. The houses along the beach with palm trees and satellite dish are owned by Americans that figured that real estate is cheaper here than in Southern California. Today's sunset wasn't breathtaking at all. On the way, another vehicle broke down at the side of the road. Since I am not a mechanic and have no idea about cars I couldn't help much, other than giving the two Mexicans a ride.

Rosarito, 15 miles south of Tijuana, is another typical American-flooded Mexican town. The usual shops offering pottery, rugs, tourist junk, beer and liquor line the streets for miles. As I reach Tijuana it is dark. Following the signs for San Diego I reach the world's busiest border crossing. I am one of 30 million people that move from country A to country B here every year. The line is pretty short and in 30 minutes I am on US soil. Luckily I find a parking spot just minutes from the border crossing and only minutes later I am back in Mexico, this time on foot.

Tijuana is a bustling city. What astonished me most is how different Tijuana looked from my last visit in January 1989. Much more neon lights on Avenida Revolucion, more discos and more drunken Americans. It is a pleasure to stroll through the streets that are packed with people, with music everywhere, lots of action, and plenty of nightlife, which I am not used to. Anyway, I search, as usual, for a quiet, simple and modest looking restaurant (that attracts no Americans) where I consume a strange looking tostada and tea.

With what is going on tonight on the streets I know that tomorrow's New Years Eve will turn the city into a madhouse. I am already looking forward to it. At the same time I am also already looking forward to being back in Irvine, my current home. Until 1 a.m. I stroll through the city, which is the richest one in Mexico. I discover shopping malls that can compete with their counterparts in the US. Tijuana has a portion of extremely poor population, but there is also a part that is rich and where he drives a Lincoln and she wears the newest perfume of Giorgio. Somewhat unplanned I happened to end up in a movie. Sylvester Stallone's "Lock Up". Not necessarily a good movie, the typical violence and action movie. Nearly everybody was dressed up for the movie and the night-out. And the girls were made up like for the highest social event. Needless to say, they all were better dressed than I. After midnight the city calmed down, with still plenty of noise or music, whatever you want to call it.

On my way back to the US side of the border, I had to observe one of the things I truly despise. Drunk driving. I had to watch people that could hardly walk, stagger to their car, get in and drive off. Nothing I could change today but it is worth thinking about it.

Sunday Dec 31, 1989

Now I throw myself into the jungle of curio shops and vendors to do some haggling. Already yesterday I started searching for hand-woven rugs or wall hangers of the type Ann is interested in. Well, I didn't have much luck in Rosarito. Wherever you look you find rugs with abstract patterns and some simple motives. I start asking around for what I, actually Ann, is interested in. The dealers show me a few pieces that are not at all satisfying before they hand me over to another dealer on my request. After we played this game four times I at least find someone who has three rugs with a realistic motive or scene. However, all three of them are lacking detail and shades of color. The first price he mentioned was $120. From past experience I know that things usually go down to a third of the initial price. But there is no point in haggling and dealing as all three rugs are ugly and I hate them. The only place to get better ones would be a town near Mexico City they say. Maybe. I have spent hours looking without finding anything remotely of interest. I was drained and tired of rugs. Time to forget the rugs.

The search for an acceptable rug has advanced the time to 9 p.m. So far it is not a real madhouse as I predicted yesterday. Not yet. That could change over the next 3 hours. Just minutes ago I saw the first stretched limousine with Mexican license plates. Not surprisingly the Americans flooded the city. Sorry, I have to correct myself. They flooded Avenida Revolucion between 1st and 7th Avenue. In the early evening I coincidentally stumbled into the red light district. Prostitutes are lining up on 1st Avenue and cops walk by. Some laws don't seem to be strictly enforced. Nearby was a market with a tiny amusement park. I try a few dishes, which I never had before.

In the late evening I check out the US babes and the Tijuana señoritas. The babes show off in the newest fashion wear and some of them have so little clothing that I feel sorry for them. They must be freezing. In the evening it got cold and I feel comfortable in a sweater and jacket. Watching the "babes" is like watching a soap opera on TV. One minute you see love, the other minute a couple dashes out of a night club and she yells at him "Keep your f*cking hands off me and don't dare to ever touch me again". And then there are the US teens who don't pass the ID check at the disco entrance. Poor things. You might say I should mind my own business. Today I get amusement out of watching other people. Dressed as they are, I have to say they definitely want to be watched and noted.

The señoritas have the tendency to get sizable buns as soon as they are older than 18. But there are plenty of exceptions, i.e. slim señoritas. For a while I pause watching and have a drink in a restaurant. An older, maybe 50, American tells me how Tijuana changed in the last 20 years and what places he likes most in Mexico. He seems to have been everywhere. His suggestion was to fly to Guatemala and start from there going north to Mexico City. Sounds great. But there is always a catch. From where do I get the time for vacation? Minute by minute we are getting closer to midnight. Finally the countdown. Five, four, three, two , one, bang. Welcome 1990.

Monday Jan 1, 1990

By 2 o'clock I sit in my car on I-5 heading towards Los Angeles. Everyone is driving extremely carefully and sticks to the speed limit. This I have never seen in my life. No traffic jam on I-5 and nobody speeds. Everyone is too afraid of getting pulled over by the CHP. I have to say thanks to my car, which didn't let me down on this 1,000 mile trip and safely brought me home. At dawn I pull into the parking lot in front of my apartment and fall into bed.

All in all it was an unusual Christmas and New Years Eve. It was the first Christmas without a Christmas tree. Not completely true. In a way it is a matter of perspective. I actually had the most wonderful Christmas tree you can think of. The green was formed by the cacti that surrounded my car as I parked off-road at Christmas Eve. No other Christmas tree had so many lights as mine. Zillions of stars, bright and dim ones, lit the sky above me. Good enough for me.