Baja, Mexico: Mulege -> Bahia Concepcion -> Loreto (Day 4: 12/24, Wednesday, Part 1 of 2)

Breakfast in Mulege at Las Casitas, a hotel and restaurant. It's freezing this morning, and Las Casitas a) is open and b) has a cracka-lackin' fireplace.

The whole place is covered with souvenirs that range from interesting to the "I bought this same thing when I was 17 and in Cancun" to completely baffling. I'm looking but not buying--my days of irresponsible consumption, I think, finally behind me.

I dine on huevos con pescado--hey, fish for breakfast? We're in a coastal city, there's an open patio area with chirping birds, I'm warming by the fire, let's try something new.

Wrong and wrong.



The fish tastes like something out of a freezer bag, cooked, put back in the fridge, then reheated...but less fresh. Again, I find myself worrying down unpalatable food down cuz you shouldn't waste perfectly, um, "good" vittles. Oh, well. Here's hoping the next meal will be better.

Our next destination is Bahia Concepcion, an area dotted with clear-water beaches. We stop first at Playa El Burro, but it's more of a weigh station for RVs, a beachfront "resort" of presumably rich, old Americans who have chosen to winter, in their massive conveyances, at this particular beach. I'm not overly troubled, am neutral about whether to stay or go, but Eric is not impressed, and we move on.

Our next stop sounds promising; El Requeson's attraction is a tombolo, a spit of sand surrounded on two sides by water. When we arrive, though, the beach is another RV wonderland, and while pointing out the mangroves in the distance, Eric has a minor conniption about how the RVs most certainly are negatively impacting the fragile beach ecosystems and insists (to me) that the Mexican government should be charging a fee (greater for tourists, smaller for citizens) to help conserve its beaches. I'm less (really, not at all) disturbed, as I haven't considered such things--I'm too absorbed and stimulated by the newness of what I'm seeing, my travels. I'm looking at a sand spit, I'm dabbling my toes in water and fish are flickering away, there are mangroves in the distance. Those RVs don't really exist.

I'm content to pitch the tent here, but, again, Eric's not having it--the weather's still shite--and we head back towards the car. Just before we drive off, though, Eric points out what looks like two birds sunning themselves atop massive cacti. They're both facing the exact same direction, completely immobile, with wings outstretched, like flashers, like men in trenches or wool overcoats selling fake Rolexes attached to the interior lining of their outerwear.

I, like a good Asian, want to take pictures, but Eric laughs, saying, "They're not real."

"Oh," I say. "Okay."

Further down the highway though, what should I see, but another one of these birds sunning itself in exactly the same way. Only, this time, it's perched on a garbage can. We stop for photos, but I spend some moments muttering, "Not real, my ass" at Eric.

Cuntsticks.

Loreto and it's here we finally experience some of the subtropical climate we've been promised. But after checking out the beach-side camping grounds, we are not impressed--it's merely a strip of rock and pebbles--so we make a quick decision to grab a bite, then head for La Paz, a town Eric's friend Rosie prefers to Cabo.

We stop at La Palapa, Spanish for a palm-leaf shelter, for lunch. No walls, just a roof thatched with palm-leaves, and it's mostly gringos with a smattering of locals. I hoover two types of ceviche, fish and pulpo (octopus), and a fish taco.



Mm. Que rico.

I don't know why I'm having so much ceviche, probably because it's one of the more unconventional items on the menu (relatively speaking), particularly the octopus, and I'm unusually receptive to the new and unfamiliar. This is only partly conscious, the other part, something more enigmatic, ineluctable.

And then, we're outta there.