Three days ago, after a very cold half night spent at Los Angeles airport, I arrived at Cabo San Lucas airport to start a short trip through the Baja peninsula before my return to Thailand. This was to serve several purposes: 1. To warm up after the cold temperatures I had experienced in Canada, 2. To re-new my acquaintance with Mexico after my travels in that country in earlier years (albeit many),  and 3. To listen to some real-time mariachi music.

The first thing I found out, and I had known before from reading on the Internet, was that in Mexico it certainly is not as cheap to travel as it is in Thailand. The cheapest hotel which I saw on the website AllMexicoHotels.com clocked in at 450 Pesos, or Baht 1,300 ($ 45.00). As it turned out, it was quite acceptable to my standards but the same thing  I could have had in Thailand at about Baht 600. With the prevailing temperature the air-conditioning in the room was quite unnecessary.

Cabo certainly is a tourist town. Everything is geared to the Gringo trade. Even so the bank clerk at the airport, where I changed some US$ into the local Pesos, when he looked at my drivers license, which I produced to give my name for the filling out  the requisite form (he had refused to see my passport, it had to be a “drivers license”) seemed to be at a loss. I gave him my Thai driver’s license, which is in Thai script as well as in English. For nationality he put down Russian !! It see,s they have made their way to Mexico also already. For everything, hotel registrations, bus tickets, you have got to give your name, and nothing else, passport number and address are unimportant.

Even as we flew over the country, it appeared to be a total desert, bare mountains and gravel desert. On the ground this was confirmed, gravelly surface with dry shrubs and cactus. Only where water was applied, and there must be some underground, trees had been planted, and green plants showed. Driving into town one could see many new residential and hotel developments, each with relatively luxuriant plant growth and foliage, but there seemed to be very few people around  them, all vacant timeshares? At every street corner is a real estate office. Now, a “tropical” paradise that close to the border (1300 km) with the US must be attractive to some, but not to me. It is still far too cold at 15 degrees C at night, although warm enough for comfort when the sun is shining. But prices, as far as I can see, are only marginally lower than in the US, and to have to irrigate to see greenery is just not good enough for me.

The next day I took the bus (fares 3 times as much as in Thailand, and almost the same as in the US) to La Paz, the provincial capital of Baja California Sur, 160 km to the North. Where Cabo had been a exclusively tourist town, in La Paz I saw very few tourists. Sprawling all over, the real town centre was relatively miniscule, only some 10 city blocks around the tiny zocolo (central town square).

On the Internet pages I had consulted, it said that the nightlife was concentrated on the Malecon (seaside promenade). This must have been the very low season. There was only was couple of restaurants that I saw and one disco populated even while the sun was still up, by a horde of youngsters, and I mean, what seemed to be in the EARLY teens. By 22:00 the town seemed to be dead.

One more day saw me up here in Loreto, after a bus ride of about 220 km, crossing the peninsula from East coast to West and then to the East coast again, passing

through some rugged mountains on the last stretch. There was a little bit of farming done (one could see the concrete irrigation channels along the edges of each field), and there were some crops, but nowhere could I see open water.

Loreto, a small town, is again tourist country, or rather foreign retiree country. But what I see makes me wonder what the retirees see in it. Sure it a historic town, over 400 years old, the first European settlement in this area. But there are only 2 or 3 of the old buildings left, and the town is DEAD. I made the mistake in eating out last night at a place frequented by those foreigners. What a show of make-believe!. Orders for food had to be made with the chef himself who circulated among the tables. Once the sun had set it turned bitterly cold with a fresh biting wind building up from the mountains, and I started to shiver. I had put on a T-shirt under my normal shirt but had neglected to bring my wind breaker also. Everybody around me seemed impervious to the cold, in shorts and shirt sleaves and chatting over the obligatory bottle of wine. What contrast to dining in a restaurant in Thailand with my family, where you can sit in comfort in the mild evening air in a garden setting, and really enjoy your food and drink, and at a THIRD of the cost. Needless to say,, I am still looking forward to hear some mariachi. There was a musician at this place playing some characterless Gringo music, again in shirt sleeves, and he seemed to be oblivious to the cold wind.

Mulege, 1 May 2010

On the bus out from Loreto I met this guy who appeared to be a gringo. Yes, when I asked him, he did speak English, he was in fact an American citizen, living near San Francisco, although born in Colombia from parents of mixed ancestry, German and Colombian. In fact his grandfather had been a German archeologist who had discovered some famous ruins near Cali. He was on his way back to the US after several months in this area. Being an enthusiastic diver he had been all over the world, including Indonesia, Thailand and many South American countries. He had been to Phuket and been diving there. He was traveling on the cheap, staying with local families, which was easy for him as he spoke Spanish fluently, in fact had been born into the language. No apparent income, was living from a Trust out of his father’s law firm, with more income to come for him out of the trust once his son reached a certain age. So with exchanging experiences the two hours on the bus to Mulege went fast.

Mulege is a quaint little town, and I am glad I decided to stop here. I had been warned before I went on this trip that Mexico is dangerous now, with robberies and kidnappings etc. Well, so far I have seen no evidence of this, and certainly Mulege is universes away  from such conditions. You can practically walk form one end of the town to the other in 15 minutes, and even here they  have taxis. But they are mostly idle waiting for customers. A novel system they seem to have here in this part of the country. Taxis, even in bigger towns, do not cruise through the area looking for customers. They are parked at recognised places and you can call one from every public phone box at no cost by dialing a special number *333.

My dining experience last night was better than the night before, the bill smaller too. This time I went prepared in long pants and sweater . Perhaps not in style with the locals but certainly comfortable for myself. I had a steak, which was so tender I could not believe it was beef. With it a couple of Modelo Negra black beers. Even though adequately clothed towards the end of the meal it got rather cool, and I was glad to return to the hotel. Had a pleasant conversation with the waiter, since I was the only guest apart from another small party. He said I was the first guest during his tenure there who that came from Thailand.

When I had looked at the departure time table at the tiny bus station, I got an unpleasant surprise. Out of this town there were only 5 buses going North and  clustered around departure times between 15:00 hours and 21:00 hours. It seems, the long almost empty stretch between Santa Rosalia and Ensenada is traveled by buses only during the night. This screws up my travel plans somewhat. I had planned to travel by daylight hours only so I could see the countryside and stop over night at a couple of places throughout this stretch. But now I have to re-arrange that.

Guerrero Negro, 2 May 2010

So I thought I had the system licked. I bought a ticket for the short ride to Santa Rosaria, about 57 km North. There, at this somewhat larger  place with ferry connections to the mainland, I thought might be more bus connections to the North. And I was right, there was another bus in the morning from there, which by using it I would be able to travel during daylight all the way all the way to Ensenada. But at this time there was another 5 hours of daylight left, enough to travel as far as Guerrero Negro. Santa Rosalia did not make the most interesting impression, so on the spur of the moment I decided to get back onto the same bus and travel onwards.

Here at Guerrero Negro I saw there was another day bus North leaving here at 07:30 hours. But that seemed rather early too get yup in the cold so I decided to take the one at 11:30.  This morning when I showed up at the bus station at around 10:00 I was told the 11:30 bus was full, and I had to buy a ticket for the next one at 19:50, so back to night travel after all, arriving at Ensenada at the godforsaken early hour of 04:30 !!

As pretty as Mulege had been as ugly Guerrero Negro is. The town of some 10,000 is here only because of the large salt flats, which generate most of the income for the people here. There are also lots of hotels and motels for the tourists passing through by car, but as I found out at all other places, they are empty. Whether it is the season or a general economic depression, I do not know.

Not only is this place unappealing, but also the further I travel North the cooler the temperatures get. I am back to wearing my sweater all day again (almost), and I still have to hear some Mariachi music. It seems, like the cafes in Thailand, Mariachi is dying out here too, at least as  daily entertainment for the common people, and is replaced by the uncultured American pop music products.

Again back in Mulege, as small as the place was, there were at least 3 real estate offices. There were picture of pieces of desert, most of them next to the sea mind you, which were for sale for around US$ 100,000 per house lot. Just plain sand or rocky ground, not a tree in sight, and virtually bare of any other vegetation. Who would be tempted to build a house there? Even if you could grow some trees, how many years would they take to grow up?  On the lots where there was a house, it was an unsightly bare block of concrete, with hardly any vegetation around it. The benefit which could be claimed for such property could only be that the sea water is clear, the temperatures a little bit warmer than the other side of the border, and the prices only a little bit cheaper.

Los Angeles, 4 May 2010

Well, I have finally arrived at the end of this trip, and am staying at the hotel near the airport which I had pre-booked, as tomorrow morning is my flight out. From the Greyhound bus station, where I had arrived from the border. I had planned to travel by the L.A.. Metro to my hotel. The system I had expected to be a subway type, but I was expecting too much in the land where the car is God. It tuned out to be a light rail transit system, mostly at street level and sometimes elevated. The trains traveled quite fast through, and when crossing streets, street traffic was kept off the crossing by barriers.

As I got off the bus, from looking at Google Earth I had determined that I had to cover about 2 km to the nearest Metro station, so I approached one of the waiting taxis. “What is your destination?” which I answered with “The nearest station on the Metro (subway) Blue Line”. It turned out the taxi driver, a black woman, had  no idea where the Metro train stations were. So I gave up and just walked, using my GPS, knowing approximately which direction to go and how far.

The hotel, although the cheapest I could get here on Motel row  (US$ 45.00), and ofearlier vintage, is quite luxurious compared to what I had experienced during the last week. There are all kinds of free extras, like free coffee and fresh blueberry muffin for breakfast, a glass of free  champagne in the evening, wine and beer at reduced prices for supper, and best of all free shuttle service to the airport.

Now back to where I left off in Guerrero Negro. The bus trip to Ensenada was uneventful, and I did get some sleep. At Ensenada it was just getting light, and the bus station counter staff not really awake. When asked where is the bus to Rosarito, the lady told me “Go to bus # 82”. So I did, it was full, but the driver bade me enter, and, since there were no seats free, I did the entire 1 hour trip standing up.  But when we got to Rosarito, the bus just kept on going the other 15  km to Tijuana, as we were on a  freeway. I thought I had told him I wanted to get off at Rosarito, but am not sure now. Obviously everybody was going to the border, and to just get off the freeway for one person, was just not in, especially if he was a gringo. This was the only time in Mexico I was not treated with courtesy.

Well, now that I was in Tijuana already, should I backtrack and get on another bus back to Rosarito? Here I was at the border post already, and had no idea where the nearest bus station was. I could see the long lines of people and cars trying to cross the border. Was it wise to backtrack to Rosarito and add time to my travels tomorrow? How long would I have to wait to cross the border? Originally I had wanted to overnight at Rosarito, which I thought was safer than Tijuana, the infamous red-light border town, after hearing all these stories about robberies, and gun battles in the streets between the Mexican military and drug smugglers. Then I told myself, it cannot be all that bad. If I am just careful and circumspect, nothing is going to happen to me, and took a motel in the centre, about 2 km from the border, which ahs the red-light district nearby.

What surprise ! When I took my afternoon walk, I walked right up to there, and all looked quite peaceful and safe. So later I decided to make a night of it, leaving my credit cards and valuables at the hotel, to check the area out, and had a great night. Here, of all  places there was mariachi music, at least in the bars which the locals frequent. The beer was cheap, 2 beers for the price of one ($ 3.00), and as I cruised from bar to bar, sat down here and there, had one beer after another, and listened to this wonderful music and watched the locals amuse themselves, dancing, I was really happy. These were all ordinary people, the “real people” I call them. The Mexican ladies, as a rule, are not pretty, rather fat, and even many young girls already have a “spare tire” around their belly. But they were ‘real people” enjoying themselves, and I did hugely enjoy myself watching them, of course the beer helped overlooking their deficiencies. By midnight I was ready  to go to bed, and already many of the bars, while not closing were getting quite empty. It seems only the tourists, and there were hardly any in that area (it must be the off season), want to dance the night away until the early morning hours. I was not robbed or set upon during my walk the 2 km back to my hotel. It is the same story all over again. A very few bad incidents are blown up and magnified by the media, and their reports give the impression that the place is totally unsafe.