(Contd.)
Several months after the Baja 1000, I’d thought about those rocks I saw near the beaches of El Conejo. I just had to get back to them. You know how it is, when you think about something you saw and can’t get it out of your mind; you just have to do something about it.
Eureka! I found a good excuse. My wife and I were going to celebrate our 27th anniversary (I think) in January, and my birthday was the day before that, so I talked her into going to La Paz for about four or five days. She thought it was a great idea. Little did she know what was behind this devious mind of mine. Nonetheless, I was the hero of the day.
We took Air Mexico which dropped us in La Paz. An hour later, we were in a “cabana” of the Hotel La Posada, located next to the Grand Hotel, also on the beach. Man, it was outrageous. The temperature in January was like 88 degrees, no wind, the water was about 81 degrees, the first thing we did after we checked-in was to get in our bathing suits and order two “Grande Margaritas” on the rocks (no salt, no strawberries, mangos, berries, nothing), with none of that touristy crap. The margaritas were just like they were supposed to be. It was Wednesday evening and we sat by our cabana for a few hours planning what we were to do in the next few days. I know what I wanted to do but how would I broach the subject. Should I just say, dear, I want to take you on the Baja course and show you a beach, a desolate beach with lots of rocks, but I don’t think they are rocks at all because I saw them moving? Right, she would just look at my near empty, third round of “Grande Margarita” and like the others had said before, “I think you’re too drunk or out of my mind. You want to go off-roading on our vacation?”
For those of us who have been married a long time, you finally learn how to play the game. We were there for our anniversary (and my birthday, but that really didn’t count for much); I had to come up with something she would really like first. She wanted to visit the 20th Parallel, so we did. She wanted to drive south on the Pacific side to look at the sites and eventually get to Cabo and maybe stay there one night, we did and tried to do that.
Thursday, we left early from La Paz and by early afternoon we were about to check-in at the hotel at the furthermost point of the peninsula, the Fiesta Resort. It was a buck and half a night, so I said OK. What the heck, I’m the last of the big time spender. It will earn me points. We walked through long halls, made a right, made a left, then another right. It was stuffy, it was strikingly hot in the halls, and it smelled like a cheap motel in Las Vegas. The bellboy opened our room, and we might as well have been in Las Vegas, because there was no uniqueness to the room: Small windows with a view of the bay, but not exactly what we wanted. There was a small, dinky bathroom, where nothing fit right. A Motel 6 in Mojave was ten times better. We looked at each other and she said it first. “Let’s get out of here! This isn’t Mexico. We might as well be in L.A.“ Yes!” I said. I was off the hook--save $150.00 for sure.
We left Cabo and I suggested we drive back along the Sea of Cortez side, maybe we’ll find a nice restaurant and maybe a more typically Mexican hotel.
We drove about an hour and then we came to this absolutely grand entrance to a place. It was called Hotel Palmilla. Today, presidents and heads of state stay there for vacations. Back then it was still spectacular but perhaps not as expensive as it is today. Firstly, it looked like Mexico. That was point one, with a palm-lined driveway leading to the main building. Secondly, it faced the beach, every room with a magnificent view of the Sea of Cortez. Thirdly, just as you entered the lobby to register, to the left was this grand bar and a person was standing by the front door. She said, “Welcome to The Palmilla. Please come in, your free margaritas are waiting for you.” I’ve never been known to turn anything down that is free and especially a free margarita. So we walked into the Crab Bar. There were only a couple of people at the bar plus my wife and me. We sat in one of those large, deep, very comfortable chairs, watching the beach while the waiter showed up with two large margaritas. One sip and we knew we were in the right place.
Immediately I thought, “We’ll stay here tonight, we’ll have a great dinner, take a walk down the beach, get her all excited (if you know what I mean), and by tomorrow, I can ask for anything.” That was the plan.
We sat for about 45 minutes and went through two of those tasty margaritas. The room was starting to get filled. I started prepping her about the Pacific side and how beautiful it was, except that there were no hotels, no campgrounds, no villages—nothing--just serenity and miles and miles of empty, white, sandy beaches waiting for us—like Paradise. “Where’s this place again?” she asked. I told her it was on last year’s Baja course, through the Saguaro Forest, which is also an incredible site “that you must see.”
Then she said it, (can you believe she said it?) “Maybe we can go and check it out tomorrow. Do you want to?” she asked. I said, only if you want to, my dear, this is your weekend. (Jejejeje!)
It was all set, the next day we would drive back to La Paz on the rented VW bus, pick up some supplies and head north, find the racecourse and then turn left towards the Saguaro Forest and drive to the beach--the place that I’ve been thinking about for almost three months now. You see how smart you have to be?
As we were about to get up and go register, a lady came into the bar and told us, your dinners are ready in the grand dining room. We thought it was odd, we hadn’t registered yet and we were offered our dinners? So I said to the young lady, we hadn’t ordered our dinner yet, but we would like to return later. She said, “No, your dinner is ready. Would you like to join your other friends?” “What other friends?” I thought to myself. We followed her nonetheless.
We entered this massive dining room located on the mezzanine of the hotel. The view was truly spectacular as every table (there must have been a hundred or so), had a terrific view of the ocean. Wow, I said. This is one hell of a place. My wife then said, “I think we’re not supposed to be here. We don’t know any of these people. It must be some kind of private party or a convention.” I told her to relax, we’re in Mexico, we’re in Baja, anything can happen.
Indeed some guy got up and said welcome to everyone, who, by the way, were mostly Americans. We were on our third margarita by now, so I wasn’t listening that well. Everyone applauded and I got up and cheered. My wife pulled me down and said, “Are you crazy? None of these people know you. We’re going to get kicked out.” I said, “Relax, babe, everything will be fine.” No sooner had I said that, they started to bring the first round. It was pea soup for goodness sake. Pee soup in Baja? You’ve got to be kidding me? I took one taste and pushed it aside, she did likewise.
Then came the salads, your typically, basic, COSTCO-type of mixed salad with ranch dressing. It was awful. So I called the waiter over and asked him, we didn’t order this salad. I would have preferred ripe red tomatoes with olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic, you know?” He told me that salad was not included in the American plan. He walked away and we both stared at rabbit trash. Maybe we should get kicked out. So far, dinner had not been anything to brag about.
Then the main plate came. Remember, we are in Mexico, in Baja, land of fish and crabs, and lobsters, and shrimp and shark stakes and incredible tamales, tacos, fish tacos…The waiter brought our plates, which contained a slab of roast beef, a scoop of mashed potatoes with gravy, about twenty-five green peas rolling on the dish and a basket of rolls. That was the main course, in Baja, in Mexico!
While the other senor citizen “gringos” were devouring their plates, she and I made a hasty retreat out of there. We’ve had at least three margaritas for which we didn’t pay, and tasted bits and pieces of some of the worst food I’ve ever stumbled upon. We ran out of the restaurant, past the front desk and made a bee-line to our parked car. We peeled out of there and we were back on the road again, just laughing our heads off, like two high school kids, pulling a prank on the teacher. Can you believe we almost had that crap for dinner? In Mexico?
She was in a great mood as was I. Things were looking pretty good by now. While driving I was already planning the next day’s trip to the Pacific.
It was getting dark by now, about 6:00 p.m. and we saw a sign on the highway, pointing east, that said in Spanish: “The best food and drinks in all of Baja!”
We made a quick right turn and headed down on a dusty, rough trail for about five miles. We looked at each other several times thinking that this may not be the right move but we had already seen two other signs saying the same thing: “Best food and drinks in Baja.” Our curiosity got the best of us, we needed to see this place.
We finally arrived at the beach. There it was; another gorgeous beach, a cove actually, but where was the motel and the restaurant? We saw no signs except for a little sign over the door of a large Quonset hut, which said “entrada” (enter). We parked and entered the place. It looked like a church made out of tin. There must have been over a hundred tables with every kind of table cloth you can imagine and every kind of beer being advertised on the front and on the back of the folding chairs. At one end, there was a bar with about 10 seats and behind the bar there was an Altar, a genuine Catholic Church Altar, except this altar had rows upon rows of booze. All kinds of “licores” from Mexico, the United States and liquors from around the world.
An older gentleman behind the bar told us to sit wherever we like and he’ll bring us the menu. Within five seconds he was there also asking what we’d like to drink. We said beer, and he said, in perfect English, “You’re from the United States? Yes? Look at that bar; does it look like I only serve beer?”
Indeed, upon closer inspection, he had every bottle of liquor that I knew and then some. So then he dared us to ask for whatever drink we’d like, and he would bet us that if he didn’t have it or could not make the drinks, everything we drink would be on the house. How’s that for a challenge? I told my wife, “Ask for the weirdest drink you can think of.”
The wife asked for a Crystal Pilsner beer from Peru. She had had it when we last visited my home country. She loved it then. He wrote it down on his pad and never said anything more. Then I wanted to be a smart ass. I’ve tasted a special single-malt scotch whisky from Scotland, which is sold in England and as far as I know, it has never been exported out of England. The reason I only have had it is because it was brought to me from England by family. I said I’ll have a double shot of “Isle of Jura,” with a seltzer-water chaser. He then asked what we wanted to eat, and I said two tamales, rice, beans, and my wife asked for lobster. Being a smartass I also asked for “concha” (conch) as an appetizer. He wrote it all down, turned and went into the kitchen. I said to her, at least we’re going to get free drinks. There’s no way this guy will have what we asked.
A minute later, the old guy comes out with a cold Crystal beer from Peru, and not only a double-shot of “Isle of Jura” scotch, but the bottle next to it, which I immediately recognized. Holy shhiit, you have the stuff!
With a cocky, proud look in his face, he said, “Si senor. You want to try for something else?”
Dinner came and it was delicious. Best we’ve had anywhere. Her lobster was huge. My “conchas” were perfectly dressed up, spicy, hot, tangy and absolutely delicious. We had hit pay dirt.
Once dinner was over, we paid $12.53 (in dollars) for the entire bill. I thought it was wrong, that he hadn’t added correctly. I asked him to please check the bill, that it didn’t seem right. He took it back and using his old, hand-cranked adding machine he came back apologizing. “I’m sorry! I overcharged you. You are from the U.S., so you don’t have to pay our local taxes. Here’s your bill, $11.97." I found it incredible. I thought we would have to pay a lot more!
Then we asked the old man where is a motel/hotel. “Right here, senor,” he said, pointing towards the beach. Indeed there were ten “palapas” in front of the water, probably twelve-feet in diameter, no windows, but all covered with mosquito netting where windows would be, a bathroom and a queen size bed. Torch lights on the outside and a kerosene lamp inside. He lit one and showed it to us. They were clean, the bedding looked clean and the bathroom was big enough to take a shower. She said, “This looks great, let’s take it.”
I know my wife, if she were to see a spider, a “cucaracha” (cockroach), a small little field mouse; she would jump through the ceiling, crawl up the walls and want to leave immediately. I asked her to think about it, we could drive an hour or so and be back in La Paz. No, she wanted to stay there, so we told the old man, we’d take it. “How much?” I asked. He said, “For you my friend (sounding more like a Jewish vendor from New York), $7.50 per night and it includes breakfast.” Wow!
We agreed but then he invited us back to the bar. “It’s too early for you to go to bed, let me show you something.”
We followed him to the bar and sat in front of his altar. For the next three hours he made us taste just about every strange liquor he had up there. He had bottles from Russia, India, Bangkok, New Zealand, Sweden, Scotland, even from China. Every time he filled a half of a shot-glass for us to taste, and there was a story behind each drink; how he got it, where and when. Three hours went by in what seemed to be just fifteen minutes. Finally he said, “Listen, I’m sleepy, but you guys can stay. Drink what you want and just leave the money on the counter.” With that he left.
We sat there looking at each other, already well lubed, and wondered; who would leave a bar-full of drinks without supervision? There was no one else in the bar. I walked behind, grabbed a Bohemia beer, she wanted a Martini, and we sat there listening to a scratchy old radio. Another hour went by, and we finally decided to end this night. I stood up, left a $20.00 bill on the bar and went to our beach “palapa.”
Next morning we took a walk on the beach first and returned to the Quonset for breakfast. The old man, greeted us, asked how we slept and what we would like for breakfast. “Huevos Rancheros for both of us,” I said “and, yes, thank you, we slept terrific.” After breakfast the bill came and I went to pay it, when he said, “No you don’t owe me anything, the breakfast comes with your room. And here’s your change back, $6.50.” I asked why? And he told us that we had only drunk $13.50 the night before and that was our change from the $20.00 I had left.
This crafty old man, knew exactly how much we had drunk. Apparently, he knew the level of each of the hundreds of bottles behind the bar and he could tell which ones we had drunk out of. Amazing!
We left early for Las Paz. Went into La Posada, changed clothes, grabbed a few extras, then stopped at a liquor store and picked up beers, tequila, lemons, chips, sandwich meat, ice and a cooler to take with us. Two hours later we were at the course turnoff near Las Pocitas and on our way to the Pacific and the sand dunes and vast beaches. It took us another hour to get there, maybe more because we stopped to look at the Saguaro Forest. It’s incredible how many of these tall cacti lined the dirt road. They looked more like giants standing over, watching the road. She was impressed, but a bit worried. “Are you sure you know where you’re going? She asked. Needles to say, I said, “Of course. I know this part of Baja like the back of my hand.” She worried about what I had said the night before. “What if something breaks on the car or we run out of fuel or something, you said there’s no one around here. Maybe we should go back.”
I stopped, open the cooler and got out two cold beers. I told her to relax that we would be at the beach soon. It didn’t help. All the way down the trail to the beach she kept insisting that we ought to turn back. That it was foolish for us to be all alone. She kept saying that she had heard of gangs of robbers who prey on tourists. She kept reminding me to drive slowly so nothing would break on the bus. “You’re going too fast, you might wind up with a flat. Do we have a spare? Is the car running too hot?” I pointed out that a VW is made for this type of terrain and no, it’s not running too hot, because it doesn’t have any water to heat it up! “No water on the radiator! Are you crazy?” she yelled.
AT THIS POINT: I won’t take up too much of your reading time to go through the explanation I gave her about a VW air-cooled engine. She was convinced…well almost.
I had to do something about the situation because she was growing unsure with every turn. So I stopped and went for a couple more beers, and she said, no to the beer, she was already bloated; in fact, she had to stop and relieve herself anyway. She walked away from the car with a handful of tissues. She kept asking, “Are you sure no one is coming this way” I assured her that we hadn’t seen anyone for over an hour since we left the highway (Oops!), which didn’t help, because now she had something else to worry about. Oh, dear.
It took her all of fifteen minutes to find the right bush to squat behind. If I had to go, I would have just unzipped and done it right there, but ladies, have been raised differently, I guess. She finally came out of a bush with a wide grin on her face. In the meantime, I had poured a double shot of tequila on one of the glasses we’d borrowed from La Posada, cut a lemon in half and gave her the salt shaker. I said, “Take this, it will stop you from wanting to pee for a while, it’ll also soothe your nerves and you will be a happy camper.” Hehehe!
Although she rarely has anything strong to drink other than wine or beer, she was game for it and before we got to the beach, we made several more stops to not only soothe her nerves but to take care of mine as well.
Now at this point, I must tell you that I’m purposely telling you this story from the very beginning of our vacation, so you would get the full gist of our trip to La Paz. I believe it will make more sense once I get to the moving rocks. So relax, more is coming…
Its Friday nite and I've been down with the "Mint"flu so some great entertainment would be good! 
