Marty Magic Blog

We greet the day as usual with sunrise salutations atop our roof.  Marshall calls up from the gateway of his property below and asks how the sky looks from above?  We report that the southern horizon is an ominous gray but there is blue sky to the north.  We take our beach walk before coffee, while the weather is holding and make a long circle up and back along on our beautiful beach. We leave tomorrow and if the storm comes in, this may be our last beach excursion on this trip.

The Beginning of Storm Sonia

The rain starts to fall shortly after we get back from our walk and I make our morning coffee as the rain begins to fall. We pull our Mexican cowhide chairs under the cover of our palapa and sit drinking our coffee but the wind begins blowing the rain in sideways and chases us indoors.  Our solar power is depleted and Art powers up the generator so that we can charge our electronics and I type contentedly watching the rain fall and the palm trees blow.  I am absorbed in my writing and don’t really notice the storm gaining intensity but I take note when Art starts to pack and do many of the chores needed to shut the house down before leaving.  He calls me outside to admire the texture and color of the ocean and I am hit by the blast of the wind and the pelting rain.  The ocean looks like an undulating, stippled Serrat painting, an ominous black line defining the horizon. The banana trees on the property in front of us are whipping in the wind and Art is worried that the roads into town may become impassable to us in our rental car.

Our stomachs growl so I scrounge in the coolers and slice and fry Anaheim chile peppers to make my skillet version of chile rellenos.  As I do so, I put together a box of perishables to give to Marshall should we leave which is looking all the more likely as the storm intensifies.  The windows in the house are rattling and although we know that our house has withstood many storms and even one or two hurricanes, I tell Art that I do not want to be scared during the night and we agree to leave in one hour.  While I wash and put away dishes, Art consolidates our minimal trash into three small plastic bags and puts these in the rental car and runs the perishables next door to Marshal.  He brings our incinerator can upstairs, burns the combustibles and moves the recyclable cans and bottles down to the garage. We cannot leave any food remnants to attract rodents or insects so I scour our minimal kitchen and clean the bathroom. Art instructs me to fill our kitchen basins with water and to use and flush the toilet one last time before he shuts off the water and the generator. He is drenched from his many trips down to the garage and out to the car but we are in good spirits, exhilarated and charged by the storm. We zip our suitcases and make a final check of the house, double check for our passports and thump our suitcases down the slippery tile stairs to our rental car.

Making Our Way in the Rain

Our windshields are swishing on high and water is already pooling in places along the dirt road.  Art maneuvers the road cautiously but when we reach Punta Gorda he speeds up slightly to get past this section, lest a huge boulder from above be dislodged in the rain and crush us. Rivulets of rain water are turning into small streams and cutting new topography on our already challenging coastal road.  I praise Art for his driving but he reminds me that we aren’t there yet. Should we break down or get stuck today, it is unlikely that a Good Samaritan would come to our rescue. Our car jostles back and forth as Art maneuvers around rocks and ruts along the slick muddy road but I am rather enjoying the adventure until we come to a 20 foot across flooded dip in the road. Not knowing how deep the water might be, Art takes off his shoes and socks and wades through the water feeling for rocks and potholes. The water is only up to his ankles so we decide to risk it and he drives quickly into, and happily out of the flooded area.  The rain continues to come down and we encounter a few other flooded parts of road and are happy that we made the decision to leave today.

The rain abates somewhat when we arrive in town and park. We assume that it will be easy to find a hotel and walk a block to El Encanto to check their rates.  Although they have rooms, $180 is more than we want to spend and they suggest Hotel Colli, just a few blocks away on Miguel Hidalgo Street.  Art remembers seeing this hotel and we inquire of their rainy day rates and secure a room for $700 pesos, about $55. Hotel Collie is just off the Zocalo and is darling. Our room is on the third floor with a balcony overlooking the rooftops. This hidden gem has numerous courtyards, benches and tables to relax at. Although our room is small it is immaculate and charming and has free underground parking. Art goes to bring our car around and I take a few things upstairs but head immediately back down with the intent of helping Art with our luggage. I step outside the lobby to call Alisha, scanning the street continually to watch for Arts return. After 20 minutes when he has still not returned, I grow concerned. Several military trucks have been circling the block with 8 soldiers in the open back of each and there are two police cars at the edge of the Zocolo, lights flashing. I begin to worry that Art has been picked up by the Mexican army or police and step back inside the hotel lobby to inquire (what?) of the receptionist. I encounter an irritated Art pacing in the courtyard, wondering if I had been picked up by the Federali?  We vent our frustrations to each other and unanimously decide that after the events of today, a happy hour margarita or two are in order.

Storm Sonia Clearing

Our first stop is the stylish bar of an upscale hotel on the other side of the Zocolo.  We order two mojitos and toast to both storm Sonia and to Barcelona where we enjoyed mojitos on many evenings. The drinks are as watery as the weather and no one else is at the bar to exchange storm stories with, so we leave and walk along the covered arcade to the Tropicana Hotel and Restaurant, an iconic hacienda style hotel with heavy hewn wooden beams and frescos painted upon the stucco walls.  Wishing to be happier, we sit at the bar, order two-for-one margaritas that are served in large glass goblets, and recount our adventures of the day.

Sports Bar, San Jose del Cabo

Happy Hour, San Jose del Cabo

Tropican Hotel, San Jose del Cabo

It’s not quite 5:00 P.M. when we leave the Tropicana and Art would like to stop in at a sports bar to watch a game. This is not a everyday request and today is not a typical day so we allow ourselves to be led upstairs to yet another happy hour watering hole where we are served vile medicinal drinks. 30 minutes later, we leave and walk back to the Tropicana Restaurant to have dinner.  A traditional Mexican band is playing and we sit stage side and share a ceasar salad and a chile realign dish. The waiter prepares the salad at the table with great fanfare, cracking and whisking eggs and adding anchovies. A few couples get up to dance and we join them but when the music ends, we walk back to our small hotel room and sleep.

It’s another beautiful day in paradise and after greeting the sunrise Art and I walk along the beach and turn up the second arroyo towards a friends vacation house. Art spent time with them last week and although they have returned home, Art suspects that their wireless is still on.  We stand outside the house and Art checks his e-mail before we return back along the beach to our simple casita. One gets very creative when living off the grid.

Dia de los Muertos Fresco

It is Saturday and Dia de los Muertos.  Every Saturday there is an organic farmers market in San Jose del Cabo and today’s market should be especially festive.  I love going to the farmers market and we drive the bumpy road with anticipation.

Organic Market, Musicians and Performers

Organic Market, Musicians and Dancers

It is as much a craft and music festival as it is an organic market and has a late 60’s vibe to it.  We park in the dirt lot and walk into to the market following the sound of the music and the aromas of the food.

San Jose del Cabo Organic Market Vegetables

San Jose del Cabo Organic Market, Artisans

We make the familiar circuit, buying lemonade and organic tostadas and admiring the various craft displays. There are many jewelers and the displays remind me of how I started out in 1978. Beaded jewelry and leather wrist bands are pinned to draped table cloths with umbrellas or small canopies sheltering the vendors from the intense sun.  Most of the sellers are young and many have children toddling behind their booths. The artists are a diverse lot; some indigenous indians with traditional crafts, infiltrated by a number of young American and European artists who have gravitated to this friendly and supportive artist community for the season.

Cemetery, Dia de los Muertos

Cemetery, Dia de los Muertos

I want to experience Dia de los Muertos and we have been advised to visit the cemetery. Although we have never been there, it is easy to find and  it is abloom with “fresh” artificial flowers. This may sound like a contradiction but in the intense Baja sun, fresh flowers would wilt in a matter of hours. Today is the day that most families visit and pay remembrance to their departed loved ones. Each grave is freshly adorned with multiple bouquets of artificial flowers.  The trash cans are overflowing with last years discarded and faded bouquets. Many families gather at graves but this celebration is mostly a private affair and after circling the main walkway we leave, not wanting to intrude.

Although we nibbled at the market, we are again hungry and Art drives us to an open air taco restaurant that he discovered last week during his “hitchhiking” adventure out to our house.  I always enjoy being in the local’s district, away from the tourist part of town, but am not impressed by the food.

We always have odd errands to run when we are in town.  The process of finding a specific screw or tool needed to repair or build something at our house seems to delight Art. We walk from lunch to a hardware store and Art passes a drawing of a screw that he needs to a man behind the counter. Art is motioned behind to a row of bins to do his own search, but the desired screw is not available and we leave empty handed.

It is 3:00 P.M. before we begin the drive back home along the coastal road, our car refueled and with 2 bags of ice and 2 x 5 gallons jugs of water.

As the sun dips low, Art and I walk the road to Zacs, inhaling the hot, dusty, and fragrant desert air. We choose a small table at the edge of the restaurant to catch whatever breeze might drift our way.  We enjoy our usual libations and share a plate of shrimp as our dinner. This is a simple paradise.

Our Baja schedule is usually one day spent at our house and on the beach alternated with a trip into town the following day. Today is a stay at home beach day and we greet the sunrise from our rooftop perch, savor our coffee from our terrace and take a morning beach walk.  I write the morning away while Art putters below in his garage building wooden work platforms and creating a jig to convert the contractors saw to a chop saw.

At 1:00 P.M. I drive alone around the curve of Punte Gorda where I get cell phone reception and call Alisha to check on business. My “phone booth” is a gravel turn out overlooking the Sea of Cortez and one of the most beautiful coastlines on our planet. The waves break a translucent turquoise and the low tide has exposed a flat stretch of rocky tide pools.  Art would like to have internet at the house but I rather enjoy this once a day drive and to not be tempted or obsessed to check on messages every few minutes. I have a Mexico phone plan and when I have either Telcel or Moviestar bars on my phone, I can download my e-mail and make limited phone calls.  Alisha has a few questions but there are no fires to put out.

“Phone Booth” overlooking the Sea of Cortez

Returning to our casa, I call to Art to jump in and we drive north towards La Fortuna where we hope to have lunch. La Fortuna is a tiny Ranchero community, approximately 10 miles, (30- 40 minutes) along this unmaintained coastal road and Art is dubious about making the drive. I am behind the wheel and he curses loudly when I near the crumbling edge of the road or maneuver too roughly over ruts and rocks.  We rock and roll slowly and cautiously up the coast,  past the abandoned and dilapidated dreams of beach front estates and past gated, guarded and well tended estates.  There are arroyos where the road dips down and where sand has drifted and blanketed the road.  I pause at the tops of these rises to study my course of action and drive as fast as I dare downhill to gain enough momentum to make it back up to the other side and onto firm ground. Naturally, I do not want to get stuck but that would be an adventure and we would certainly be pulled out by a Good Samaritan passing by in a 4 wheel drive vehicle. Mostly, I do not want to get stuck and give Art the pleasure of saying “I told you so!” I venture down and up a few more sand filled arroyos fishtailing through one in a soft cushion of sand but gaining firm traction on the far side. We are almost to La Fortuna when I come to the top of a sand filled gully and I am fearful of. Although I can taste the shrimp tacos and long for the sweet pleasure of this authentic Baja experience, I turn the car around.

The photos below are from March of this year when we were able to drive the road.

Restaurant, La Fortuna, East Cape Baja

La Fortuna, East Cape, Baja

It is close to 2:30 P.M. when I pull into Zac’s for lunch. (By the way, their shrimp tacos at Zacs are excellent.) Art shuffles through his pesos to pay the bill but needs 50 pesos more and turns to me. I pull out my wallet and hand him a 50.  Art looks incredulously at me and growls that I have just handed him a 50 Euro bill ($70.) I quickly rummage forth a 50 peso bill ($4.25) but not before Art has darkly imagined me spending 50 Euro bills as 50 Peso bills during past several days. I smile sheepishly and tell him that this will make a good journal entry.

I have invited Marshall for dinner and at 5:00 P.M. he calls up from his palapa to ask “what time?” and if we have seen Charlie, his dog? I call back, telling him that I will start cooking soon and he goes off for an evening swim and to look for Charlie. I peel and mash avocados and mince fresh garlic, readying the guacamole for our sunset appetizers. Marshall does not return and the sun sets with another blazing fanfare.  It grows dark and there is still no sign of Marshall. Two hours pass and Art drives over to Zac’s to inquire if anyone has seen him? Art and I eat all the guacamole and I am well into the bottle of white wine when Marshall and Charlie return. We are relieved to see them both alive and wait for a dramatic excuse but there is none; he simply bumped into a neighbor and presumably one beer led to another. He asks if dinner is still on and although somewhat annoyed, I rally up and soon serve up a steak and quinoa pasta dinner. We spend a pleasant evening visiting with our neighbor.

We have fallen into a morning routine of waking before sunrise and climbing the wooden ladder up to our rooftop terrace to watch the sunrise.

It is cool, breezy and gray this morning but just before the sunrise the sky turns subtle shades of pinks and lavenders and Art welcomes the day with a sunrise salutation.  We see Marshall already on his way to the beach with Charlie, the dog, leading the way and wave a greeting. I do stretches on the cool and dusty tiles and after the sun has broken free of the horizon I descend the ladder to begin the important task of making our morning coffee.  We position our chairs at the corner of our terrace and drink our coffee serenely, pressured only by the choice of ocean or mountain view?

Ocean or Mountain View?

We decide to walk into the desert this morning before the day grows hot. I suggest one of the arroyos since the dessert is a lush green this early in the year but Art wishes to climb one of the cactus clad rocky knolls just north of us. I’m game but hope that all the desert critters are sleeping in and choose my footing carefully to avoid cactus and thorn bushes and any early rising rattle snakes.  I make it three quarters of the way to the top but I am wearing sandals and the climb grows steeper and the rocks more jumbled.  I choose to sit on a boulder and wait while Art conquers the “mountain.” I inhale the view along with a very pungent scent. I don’t know what bush, cacti or flower emits the odor but it is unusual and not entirely pleasant.

Ocean vew from a rocky Knoll

After our hike, I make another pepper and onion frittata before we drive over to Dave’s and Shelly’s to look at the Toyota 4 Runner that they are selling.  Art seems more interested in their Surette Rolls battery line up than the proposed car but we go for a drive anyway. Art takes the wheel with Dave in the passenger seat and we venture down a sandy arroyo and out onto the beach. It’s wonderful to be out on the sand with no fear of getting stuck but the vehicle is 23 years old, the same vintage as our marriage and although the price is right and the rust spots are not much of a worry, Art wishes for a newer model that is less likely to have mechanical issues. How should I interpret that?

At 3:00 P.M; in need of supplies and anticipating the first Thursday night Art Walk of the season, we drive back along the coastal road to San Jose.  Our first stop is a consignment shop where Art shows me a faded oriental carpet that will be a considerable improvement to the worn carpet that we acquired with the house. We are resisting spending a lot of money on a new carpet that, in one or two seasons will also fade in the intense Baja sun.  We arrive close to the shop’s 4:00 P.M. closing time and make  an offer on the rug,  but the head honcho, who can make the decision does not answer his cell phone and we leave empty handed.

Mundane errands beckon but after we finish, we return to the Old Town to enjoy the Thursday night Art Walk. It is after 5:00 P.M. and the diminishing light on this overcast day casts a silvery halo over the church and the gazebo in the downtown Zocolo. There are several clusters of easels with paintings exhibited and a local group is doing a fund raiser, serving hot dogs on long tables shaded by white canopies. Children are gathering, most wearing costumes and the beginnings of a festive night is unfolding. We walk from the Zocolo into the art district stopping in at a new gallery exhibiting exhorbantly priced acrylic paintings.  Wine goblets with a few sips of wine each are handed to us and we linger longer than the art warrants finishing the wine. Halloween has fallen on the first Thursday art walk of the season and the district is bustling with both tourists and families with their children in costume.  A group of Mariachis stroll the cobblestone streets and crowds follow to hear the lively music. We pop into a few galleries and accept libations when offered.  At the Ida Victoria gallery, on a side street at the very top of the main artery of galleries we meet Chef Tadd Chapman who has prepared and offers us exquisite octopus canopies and blueberry mojitos to promote his new restaurant the Juan Sanchez. Our friends, Dan and Laurie Henning show their sculpture at this gallery and at some time in the future, we hope to own a  Brent Lynch painting who’s work is exhibited here.  This may well be the best gallery in San Jose del Cabo.

We had plans to splurge on tonight’s dinner and the La Panga Restaurant on Zaragosa Street, recommended by friends of ours.  We are however impressed by Chef Todd’s gourmet treats and walk instead to the main tourist street to investigate the Don Sanchez restaurant. The menu, although pricy, looks enticing and we allow ourselves to be escorted into the interior of the restaurant and out back to an enclosed patio. The candlelit ambiance is lovely and a soloist guitarist serenades the diners softly.  We sit down in anticipation of a memorable meal and evening. The waiter hands us menus and places an I-pad with the wine list between us.  I am pleased to know how to navigate the I- pad and quickly choose a glass of Pino grigio from their by the glass options.  Art orders a blueberry mojito since the taste he had at the gallery earlier was much of what brought us to this restaurant.  20 minutes later my glass of wine arrives but Art is still waiting for his drink.  We come to find out that they have no blueberries and are “picking” them.  Only now does our waiter takes our order but they are out of the seared ahi that I choose so I settle on a crab cake appetizer for my entrée and a beet, arugula and blue cheese salad as my starter.  Art orders a poblano cream soup starter and a parrot fish entrée. Arts mojito finally makes its appearance and when an “amuse” arrives our irritation dissipates and we and savor the morsels slowly and sip our drinks. My salad is good but in need of more greenery and less of the blue cheese and dressing. Art’s soup is nothing special and my crab cakes, although flavorful, are slightly burnt on one side. Art offers me a taste of his Parrot fish which is excellent. The bill, including tip and tax is exactly $100; not excessive had the service and food been what was expected. We feel that this restaurant has potential and that we hit it on an off night.  We may give it another try at some point.

Art drives us mindfully and slowly home, along the rocky and rutted road without incident. It is 11:00 P.M. when we turn off our solar lights and fall to sleep to the pounding of the waves.

We wake before sunrise and climb the ladder up to our roof to watch the sunrise psychedelics unfold.

East Cape Baja Sunrise

It is spectacular show of vermillion, purple and orange climaxing with the blinding rays of the sun radiating up from the horizon.  Downstairs I boil water over our propane stove and with our French Press, make coffee at least as good if not better than Starbucks. We sit on the terrace gazing at the reflective blue of the ocean until the brilliance forces us to turn our chairs towards the majesty of the desert mountains, a collage of subtle purples and muted greens in the morning light.

Zacititos Beach Wave

The day is growing overcast but threatens to be a hot one and we set out on an early morning beach walk.  We take a circuitous route because Art wants to show me the newest construction monstrosity up the coast from us. Overall the architectural design of the new house is pleasing, but its infinity pool and a raised walkway out to the palapa covered terrace intrude far onto the beach. It obliterates the previously pristine ocean view of an old time resident. Undoubtedly, this will also happen to us but in the meantime we take great pleasure in the modesty of our house and its ocean and mountain views.

Zacititos Beach

The New House on the Beach

I write and putter the morning away, cook a simple pepper and onion frittata on the stove top that we eat in the open air ambiance on our terrace. Less is sometimes more.

All of Zacatitos is invited to a party tonight and I’m anxious, not knowing what to expect or what I should bring to contribute.  Potlucks are challenging enough with a supermarket around the corner and the modern conveniences of a fully equipped kitchen.  Art assures me that we need not contribute anything more than drinks.  Not wanting to arrive famished and find that there is no food, I insist that we have a light dinner at Zac’s beforehand. It is dark when we leave the restaurant with only casual directions to the party; follow the main road back towards Punte Gorda, turn right on the dirt road just before the point and follow it around until we hear the music. We make several wrong turns, backtracking and retracing our route before I determinedly set off on foot, down a rutted and rocky road with my solar lantern in hand to ascertain if the presumed road is passable to our rental car. Art drives the car behind me lighting my way and I feel exhilarated in the adventure. The desert night air is cool and smells of sage, sea and dirt. I want to bottle the fragrance. I motion Art over and around obstacles and ruts in the road sorely wishing for a four wheel drive vehicle but we soon hear the rhythm of the music and follow the rock and roll beat and park at the end of a row of envyable 4 wheel drive vehicles.

We enter the open gates of the property, moving towards the music and the lights spilling colored star dust across a cement pad where silhouettes undulate to the rhythm. I recognize Herb, playing the electric guitar and am soon introduced to Dr. Dave who later on will make music on the keyboard. Two other guitarists strum out the beat and a petit dark haired woman sings vocal. The party is not as big as my imagination; perhaps 30-35 guests; dancing, drinking and talking about the things that one talks about if one lives off the grid in Baja. I recognize a few faces and weave my way towards the modest kitchen to contribute my bottle of wine. Most guests are drinking beer or tequila but I locate a cork screw and pour Art and myself a plastic cup of wine to share. For me, socializing is not always easy but I am happy to meet more of our neighbors and to connect the dots between houses, faces and each person’s unconventional pursuit of happiness in this eclectic community. The music is loud and danceable and Art pulls me onto the cement floor where lights spin and sparkle and I happily gyrate and watch the guests from afar. The party is not wild but there is magic here tonight. No police will arrive to quiet us and there are no conventions to uphold. It is retro and timeless and all inclusive. We mingle periodically and Art, much more the social butterfly, introduces me to people whom he knows, some aging hippies like ourselves, many in quirky costumes and each one with a story to tell. We stay until the music ends and drive a less rugged route back to our Casa on the knoll.

The rugged topography below of weathered red rock mountains is breathtaking.  Aluvial fans spill forth from the mountains and arroyos snake  patterns in the landscape in their determined quest for the sea.  Irregular fingers of land dip into steely blue water and creamy ribbons of sand outline the jagged shoreline. Half moon coves, the intoxicating color of Pariaba tourmaline, form jeweled scallops along the coastline.  Small islands, the lost puzzle pieces of this aerial landscape, float weightlessly in an ocean of blue.

Wild Baja Sea of Cortez _Photo credit – Huffington Post

I am making my 4^th trip this year between San Jose, California to San Jose del Cabo and the journey is much of the joy. Whereas the other three escapes here have been to recharge, write and design, this trip is timed to experience the Day of the Dead and to be creatively inspired. Visions of sugar skulls are dancing in my head!

Art picks me up at the airport in a Ford Taurus rental car. He has already spent a week in our off the grid beach bungalow but without the luxury of a car.  He abhors renting cars in Mexico and when he landed last week, he opted instead to walk a mile from the air port to the bus station to catch the local bus into San Jose. The sun is blazing and his first stop is the local market where he purchases a straw hat. After refueling at a local taco stand he walks to the tourist strip to procure a taxi ride to our house; 35-45 minutes away depending on the road conditions.  The second half of the drive to our house is a rutted dirt road and the taxi drivers all declined the fare. Not to be discouraged, Art asks the price of the ride to Buzzards Restaurant at the end of the paved road. Art agrees to the 200 peso price but first goes to buy a fat black marker and to find a piece of cardboard.  Having procured these essentials he returns and engages a taxi ride to Buzzard’s. Dropped at the end of the paved road, Art writes ZAC’s in bold print on his cardboard sign and begins to walk the dirt road paralleling the pristine coastline.  One car passes and the occupant’s wave but the second car stops and Dr. Dave give’s Art a ride to our doorstep.  We now have yet another friend in our small off the grid community.

Art walking the road with Burros

Although I am a rather good sport, Art knew that I would not be amused to repeat his mode of transportation out to our beach shack and yesterday, he rented a car and meets me at the airport holding a cardboard sign with Marty Magic printed boldly in black marker. It’s a good thing because with a week’s growth of beard and wearing his straw sombrero, I might not have recognized him.   Each trip down here becomes easier as we make connections and learn simple tricks to surviving in Baja. BBB is a 10 month new, rental car agency, a mile from the airport and operated by Gringo Gary. Unlike the airport based car rental’s that charge exorbitantly and grimace when they learn where we wish to drive the car, BBB’s rates are $40 a day and  Gary was undisturbed when Art tells him that we will be driving   up the East Cape.

Art maneuvers our car out of the airport and along the main road into town.  A week apart has been good for us and we chat happily leaving the stress of our California life at home.  Before stopping at the Mega Store for supplies, Art takes me to a small tile shop he has discovered in an industrial part of San Jose. We admire small decorative tiles, choose several and run a few other mundane errands. Picking up supplies at the Mega Store is our final stop and we loose track of time in the immensity of the place and find ourselves driving back in twilight, our rental car heavily loaded with 2 x 4’s, tiles and groceries.

The fading light and long shadows makes traveling the rutted and rocky dirt road challenging and Art takes it cautiously uttering only a few four letter words when our rental car scrapes bottom. I feel a sense of magic and anticipation as we bump along and I see the familiar landmarks. The road parallels the shimmering Sea of Cortez below, an indigo blue in the twilight.  The mountains are jagged purple silhouettes against the western sky, quickly turning to rose as the sun dips low behind them.

Sunset over the East Cape Baja Mountain Range

Gravel crunches as Art pulls up into our driveway and we carry our supplies upstairs. I quickly appraise our small play house and am pleased with the improvements that Art has made during the past week.  Our futon is no longer on the floor but rests on a wooden platform that he has constructed using the discarded futon frame, saw horses and his ingenuity. Two new dressers divide the living area from our sleeping space, replacing the disintegrating wicker ones that came with the house. (The dresser saga will be recorded in a separate entry.)  I step onto our terrace and inhale the 360 degree view, the western sky now ablaze with streaks of red and orange. We stow the perishables in the cooler, grab our Ikea solar lantern and walk the dirt road in the direction of Zac’s.

Zac’s is the only commercial establishment in this small enclave and is the watering hole and gossip center of the community. We climb the stairs up to the large open air Palapa and Carlos and Jesus greet Art by name and welcome me back.  It is Taco Tuesday but early in the season and just a few tables are occupied. Jesus brings Art his usual margarita and me a glass of Pino Gricio and we dine on a combination of fish, shrimp and carne tacos and enjoy the comfortable and familiar ambience of Zacs.

Decompressing at Zac’s Bar and Grill

I sleep fitfully this hot and breezeless October night