Baja Road-trip – A provocative vacation across the border

I honestly don't know what I was taking a vacation from (I can only pretend that the American School in Switzerland and Naturalists-At-Large are hard jobs), but where better to get away from the bustle of Ventura and SoCal than Baja California. It must have been the tedious, brain-rotting Internet surfing from the NAL warehouse that pushed me to make a break for the border. The hardest thing about taking a trip to Baja is all the research and subsequent travelogues that scare you about making the simple trip down south. When it came down to it, I needed to get just a handful of things done to ensure a great trip: fetch my passport and snorkel from Joshua Tree, acquire a car (easier than it sounds), insure it, get a good map and a campground guide, get some extra gas and water storage (it's true-I did go to Wal-Mart for that), and point the newly acquired Subaru south.

The day to day story of my adventure is really the least exciting part of the trip. It's true that lounging around Loreto and roaming the Bay of Conception was ridiculously comfortable and the rewards many: the incredible food, fun backroad driving, 70 degree water, cheap margaritas, and easy, fun snorkeling. Though those classic vacation activities were great and memorable, the recompense for the time spent was the enjoyment and change of perspective afforded to me by experiencing the Mexican culture on the home front. In other words, the people were great! from the kindest women at the taco stands to the bar tender with a silly grin and a easy hand; the flirtatious, yet good-hearted and goofy, AK-47 wielding, 18 year old military boys and the talkative and jovial retired ex-pats that have undoubtedly had some Mexican friendliness wear off on them. For every one highway bandit and cranky military official that we at first were always on the lookout for we instead encountered a hundred kind, helpful people. Since neither the bandits or shady military officers actually ever presented themselves to us, I don't know what the ratio would be.

Turns out getting into Mexico is easier than crossing from state to state. I literally turned to Jenna with a quizzical look and asked if we went over the border. The hours long lines for US incoming customs on the other side of the highway were the the answer. I would guess if you weren't committed to reaching the salty sea you'd turn the car around immediately in Tijuana vindicated that Mexico was a hopeless ghetto of broken down buildings and smelling of sewage. I'm still pondering the reason the street fronting the huge concrete and wire wall the separates the US from Mexico is the roughest part of Baja we saw – I'm guessing its the combination of the peso with awful American TV and radio stations leaking over the border. Whatever the case, as soon as you reach the coast you see the honest influences of the American dollar – high-rise condos and cute second-home communities complete with English billboards announcing incomparable prices. After the high quality toll roads along the Pacific, Hwy 1 leaves the cooler ocean coasts and makes a reasonably direct southeastern line for the Bay of Conception and the Sea of Cortez. I will not lie, this is a long leg of the drive (maybe 300 miles), but the roads, while shoulderless and frequented by pushy truck drivers, were in better shape than the Internet logs and AAA would have you imagine. Mexican drivers were no more erratic than Italians and their cars generally don't go as fast. Nearly 50% of the license plates are from the US western States, with a surprisingly large group of British Colombians.

The Baja peninsula is a desert. Fresh water is amazingly scarce, the interior deserts are dry and endless, yet maintain a diversity of desert fauna far exceeding any place I've visited in the Southwest. Diverse forests of saguaro, cerios, yucca, chollas, ocotillo, joshua trees, cresote, smoke bush, and others were often tucked into Joshua Tree NP-esque granite boulders (No climbing, but seemingly lots of bouldering waiting for development in the 100 degree heat). While I'm on the subject once we reached the sea the fauna of the salty waters rivaled the diversity of the desert forests. We saw pelicans, Mexican eagles, osprey, frigate birds, dolphins, and amazing array of reef fish including colorful angles bigger than my head, and what I think was a desert fox. The whole peninsula had no shortage of wild lands and consequently wild life.

Solar-powered and depending on water deliveries the smallest villages string themselves along the desert highway, sometimes just one family's house and taqueria. Pulling off to get coffee or soda was always something of an adventure, some places were clean and we'd decide to stay for fish tacos or a yummy bean and egg breakfast, some just brick and tarp shacks against the side of a windowless house said 'stick to coffee and Coke.' Our own inspection of the eateries must have held some weight as both mine and Jenna's stomach was fine the whole trip (of course our other postulation was the regular supply of tequila the offered a daily purification of our gastrointestinal tracts). Whatever the case, if you went to Mexico with a car-load of Costco snacks you'd be missing my favorite part of Baja: myriad fish tacos and fresh prawns out of a cooler on the street (to later be marinated in tequila and skewered over a driftwood fire).

The front wheel drive Subaru I somehow luckily procured grew up in San Diego – it was yearning for a little off-road adventure. We drove for miles along the shores of the Sea, over salt flats, through sandy washes, down narrow and rutted tracks ending in palm oasis, around headlands with two tires in the sea, with no goal except that perfect swimming spot or shady campsite. Now's my time to brag: free camping 5 out of 6 nights, never used the extra gas or water, never got stuck in the sand, never got a flat tire! I know how much everyone dreams of their perfect Baja-mobile: 4WD super van with a winch, gas cans dangling from the side, sand tracks on the roof – and don't get me wrong surfing Baja Sur on the Pacific side or getting lost for days in the desert interior would diffidently warrant a sand worthy rig but the truth of it is months of adventure could be had along the Sea of Cortez in a 2WD with a couple sea kayaks on top (oh, look at me planning my next trip already). Mulege' and Loreto were undoubtedly our favorites towns and with both we were able to find amazing cooked food and cheap market food and purified ice. They had a feel that American money had spruced up the place, while the locals had both jumped on the band wagon and retained some of their culture (someone with a more intimate experience with these places may argue otherwise). Snorkeling and camping at the Sea beaches above, below, and in-between these towns came easy.

We waited over a hour getting back over the border. I was excited about taking a shower and rinsing the days of salt out of my hair, which I could have easily done in Baja if I paid for camping. We pulled into a shining AM/PM to get gas and pee. SUV's were glistening, a kid with bleach blonde hair was coming out the front door with a half-rack of Bud. I thought, 'I'm back in California.' I immediately recognized the same feeling I have every time I return for Switzerland. How is it that America (ns) can think that 10-lane freeways, cookie-cutter strip malls neighboring cookie-cutter sub-developments, an Applebee's and a Starbucks just a short drive, a TV and Internet browser in every home, and a brand-new car in every paved driveway is something that needs to be exported to every other country in the world? If we continue to blindly pursue the American dream I'm gonna guess the first two things that'll be lost before we can put our finger on it: cuisine and community.

Photos: 1) Forest fire in the palms, 2) Highway 1 through the interior, 3) Amazing beaches below Loreto