Our Man in Baja Sur April 7, 2023
Un Chinito Pecando,
And She Showed me the Way. (faux-Eagles)
In Oaxaca de Juarez, the heat of the dry season has settled over the city. The tent people continue to occupy our street, and the squalor only grows as the squatters reach their second month of protest, with more promised. Urine stench in my neighborhood is palpable and not in the least palatable. My anonymous source is ready for a getaway, and so am I. We gladly accept an offer to serve as nannies to my grandson Theo, as his parents have a wedding party to attend. In a colonial backwater of the old Spanish Empire, called Baja Sur.
The town of Todos Santos is older than most settlements on the tip of the Baja Peninsula, where the Pacific Ocean meets desolate desert hills of saguaro cactus. The seasonal whale migration is almost complete, but some stragglers are still making their way north, blowing mist and wagging their tails in sight of the shoreline. The rest of the stragglers are Americans on the beach.
The town was made legendary by the Eagles, and tourists flock to the Hotel California for their souvenir photos, although the hotel was built long after the song became a hit. Indeed, the Eagles successfully sued the gringo owner for peddling Eagles paraphernalia and insisted that a disclaimer be posted that the faux-mission-style tourist trap inspired absolutely nothing, except, that is, a bustling commercial scene.
This part of Mexico is thoroughly Americanized, wherein visitors and expats far outnumber locals. Accommodations along the coast range from palatial house rentals to sandy RV parks, allowing retirees to live the dream on their own terms. Most have electric generators, which come in handy when the wind blows.
We are sent with young Theo on a wedding mission to purchase some acoustic guitars. A 45-minute bus-ride across the peninsula brings us to La Paz, which is truly Mexican. Here Vanessa is in her element. Not only does she find a cheap hotel in the the old city center, she quickly makes a friend of the hotel owner, who gladly offers to show off her favorite beaches on the Sea of Cortez. But even if one does not find a friend with a car, public transportation to each of these beaches is freely available, on the hour, for only 60 pesos.
We arrive at El Caimancito Beach and are surprised to find the parking lot almost empty, even on Easter week. More shocking is the free parking, despite a gatekeeper, who waves us through. Even the public restrooms are free, something almost unheard of in Mexico. The man informs us that there was, in fact, a fee for both parking and toilets. However, a change was made at the start of last year, when the new Morena government took over Baja Sur. “The beach belongs to the people,” he proudly exclaims.
What remains to be seen is whether Baja Sur might be a suitable next home for us. It would certainly require a taste for ceviche, because seafood is the singular specialty of this region. This is no surprise because Baja is a barren, arid landscape, yet with one of the most fertile marine ecosystems on the planet. Steinbeck wrote glowingly of the Sea of Cortez 80 years ago, and the attraction has not dulled. He was here in the blistering summer heat, but neither of us ever had to live through the hurricane season. Or the substantial sewage problem. The tip of this peninsula is a magnet for Pacific moisture. Proper housing might demand a concrete bunker and a good air conditioner, at least until the power fails and we all wish we had a generator and enough clean water.