Last week JD and I said goodbye to Anika, Kara, Nate and the kids, who joined us at Punta Bufeo for one glorious week, and packed up our truck camper, southbound for La Paz. We have a month to explore the 1000-mile Baja peninsula before returning to the Punta Bufeo Yacht Club. This and the next few blog posts will represent an experiment in “posting on the fly,” a notable departure from my tendency to work on a draft for weeks or months before publishing it. Hopefully, we will capture a few more (lighter-hearted) memories this way, while I continue learning to embrace a little imperfection!!

As we pulled out of Punta Bufeo, our friend Julio raced to catch us on the quad to say goodbye. After a not-so-quick stop at Rancho Grande to fill up our camper with aqua purificada and our truck with fuel, we were on the road for Guerro Negro, for the annual migration of California gray whales at Ojo de Liebre. On our way down we turned around to explore new country at the turn for Santa Rosalillita (yes, I spelled that correctly!). We followed good pavement all the way out to the Pacific, where we turned around again at the site of a partially constructed, abandoned marina, before spotting a non-descript gravel road leading to the Pueblo center, marked with a single, tell-tale blue directional sign commonly used on the Baja to identify points of interest. Binoculars helped us read the sign from a distance, on the paved road, while still in our truck! The road led to a small intersection amidst a few houses and a small tienda, where we asked if we could camp on the beach. The shop owner, a distinguished señora, easily said yes; when I asked if we should pay someone, she said simply, no. We pulled over a few 100 feet to a spot just above the sandy beaches of the Pacific, cooked up a quick dinner of salmon burgers and salad, and looked out the windows of our camper at the shore, north winds howling. After dinner I began reading to JD from “The Forgotten Peninsula: A Naturalist in Baja California”, by Joseph Wood Krutch. In between chapters, JD said that he had the feeling we were started on a new chapter of adventure. We have begun talking about possibly finding a place of our own down here; whether he was talking about that, or just our drive down the Baja peninsula, I wasn’t sure. And it didn’t matter, at least not in that moment. We climbed up into bed after dinner, and I continued reading to him as he quickly fell asleep. I silently read for a few more minutes, then turned out the light, embracing the darkness. And the sound of the waves of the Pacific, right outside my bedroom window.

We woke up after nearly 11 hours of glorious, restful sleep. I do love to sleep! Over breakfast, we both noted how tolerant the Mexicans were of us pulling up in front of their houses, blocking their view of the ocean, neither requesting or expecting a dime. JD asked, rhetorically: how would we react if some Mexicans came and began to set up camp in front of our beach house back at Bufeo? I sheepishly agreed that I probably wouldn’t like it – and agreed that this is a problem! I vowed to be more generous and tolerant in the future. We exchanged turns reading to each other from various publications on the Baja; me from a Sierra Club publication entitled “Baja California and the Geography of Hope,” him from an article out of a scientific publication on the geology of the peninsula. I reflected, as we read and talked, how we were indeed turning a new chapter. Since I quit working in April of 2019, together we have navigated the final years of mom’s illness and death, moving my father to Ohio, a global pandemic, and the illness and death of our beloved dog, Pelli. It’s somewhat hard to say, given the state of the world at large, but as I write these words, JD and I have much to be grateful for: we have our vaccines and booster shots, we are reasonably healthy, as is most of our extended family. He and I are finally able to travel again. And, as we sat together in our camper, deciding where to go next, I realized again how nice it is to have no cell reception to distract us from each other; to be able to share our interests in travel, nature and this Mexican culture; and how my own interests in all of these things are returning, after a multi year hiatus in which I turned inward, answering the call from my inner landscape of grief.

We got back on the road for Guerro Negro (“black warrior”, named for a whaling ship wrecked in the bay). We made a beeline for Shari Bondy’s office, Whale Magic. Shari greeted us at the door, and we had a lovely conversation about her lifetime of conserving whales, and sharing them with the world. Sharing their love, she called it. Indeed. We booked a tour for Tuesday, as soon as the winds were forecast to be calm, and headed out to camp at Punta Viejo. Driving through an estuary leading out the the point, we saw dozens of great egrets, several great blue herons, and a scattering of reddish egrets. Along the road to our destination, we encountered a Mexican man, hunched over, walking directly into the wind and accompanying clouds of salt and dust. We offered him a ride; he turned out to be one of the owners of the campground where we were headed! We rented a palapa from him, and sat inside our camper hiding out from the wind, watching camp dogs hunt wading birds in the surf. At some point, the man we’d rented from returned, knocking on our camper door, and asking if we wanted dinner. We agreed to shrimp dinner for two at six, and when the time came, walked over to a restaurant located inside a lean-to structure. He greeted us at the sliding glass door, and invited us inside. The earthen floor was covered with ground sea shells; a chicken roamed freely on a couch behind the sole rectangular dining table, where an older Mexican woman was gathering her belongings and inviting us to sit down. A young, well-dressed Mexican couple was already seated and eating meals of shrimp cooked in foil packets; we sat down and they quickly engaged us in conversation, modestly apologizing for their nearly fluent English! We learned they were from Mexico City, had flown in to La Paz, where they rented a car and were on a 10-day road trip. We swapped stories of language, careers, places and travel, learning that they were internet technology and medical professionals, had been dating 4 years, and were hopeful to visit the US (family in Chicago) for the first time. JD and I enjoyed delicious, simple meals of shrimp in butter and garlic, also cooked in foil, and warm tortillas. Our hosts sat quietly in the back of the restaurant as we carried on our conversation, our dining companions clearly excited for the ability to practice their English with Americans. We finished our dinners, paid our tab, and JD and I returned to our camper for another restful night’s sleep – eager to greet the whales.