Baja - The Connections Continue

I have always wanted to drive to Baja. I have a four-wheel drive truck; I need a vacation; I have been graciously invited to stay with friends, so why not? So, we loaded up our truck and headed South on a 2800 mile (round-trip) odyssey.

We started off with a three day pediatric continuing medical education course in San Diego. We stayed at a wonderful, upscale hotel (for once) and visited with our youngest son, who is an RN working in a local emergency room. We couldn't wait to start our real vacation, so at 6 AM, we were in our car heading for the Border. It was an uneventful crossing at that time of day; taking only a few minutes. For those of you that have never ventured past the tacky trinket stalls of Tijuana, you have not seen the real Mexico, or met the real Mexican people.

First stop: Ensenada for breakfast. Next Stop; La Bufadora - the site of an unusual blow-hole; a geyser caused by the ocean, located just a few miles from Ensenada. Twenty years ago, this was once our southernmost point in traveling the Baja. It was a tiny, seaside community with no electricity. A handful of fisherman shacks lined the picturesque hillside. La Bufadora is now no different than Tijuana - a tacky, tourist trap. This little community has been irreversibly ruined in my opinion. If you are looking for a ceramic donkey or a blue sombrero, this is the place. We took a picture of the blow-hole and quickly left; disappointed.

Final stop of the day: A long trek, hundreds of miles and hours south on the Baja Highway to the town of Guerrero Negro - Scammon's Lagoon is one of the three mating areas for the grey whales on the Mexican coast. This was our goal for the next morning. We have most likely seen some of these same whales in Vancouver Island and in the inland passage of Alaska. I doubt they will recognize me.

That night in the restaurant, we met a Canadian couple that spends a month each year volunteering at a local orphanage. They have been coming for four years now. They drive down in their travel trailer during the cold Canadian winters. Working in the orphanage warms their souls, more than their bodies. On our next trip (and there will be a next trip), we plan on dropping off a truck load of children's clothes that we are going to collect. Another connection.

Scammon was a whaling captain that nearly killed all of the whales that came to this lagoon. I find it interesting that they have his name attached to an area now highly protected. Early the next morning, we hopped on one of the pangas (small, open boats) operated by Mario's Tours -- a side business of a little, thatched hut restaurant. There were five of us: my wife and I and three Indian people from San Diego -- The Reddys. Dad was a gastroenterologist in San Diego that knew my RN son from the ER. His son was a student in Los Angeles that spoke fluent Spanish. The grandmother was along for the ride, wearing her sari and a bit worried about the whales. At one point, she told me that she was afraid they would eat her.

The boat buzzed past one the largest salt evaporation plants in the world, owned mostly by Mitsubishi. In no time, I spotted the first spouting of a whale. In the next half hour, it seemed we were smack in the middle of hundred of grey whales; too many to photograph. The four of us madly snapped our photos and grandmother sat in the geographic center of the boat. Suddenly, a baby whale popped his head up over the boat and stared at us. We touched him (or her) - the whale didn't get out of the water that high. It was wonderful.

"Did you hear what the whale said?" I exclaimed. This caught the grandmother's attention.

He said, "Hey, who likes Indian Food!?" The grandmother couldn't stop laughing. Her son told her not to worry since Indian people are much too spicy for whales.

After this wonderful experience, we headed across the Baja desert for the costal town of Mulege; another 175 miles away. The desert was not at its peak with flowers, but it was still unbelievably beautiful. We passed dozens of tiny towns, bordered on both ends by axle-breaking "topes" or speed bumps. You only go over those once while going fast. We also passed hundreds of highly-decorated roadside shrines of people that were killed along this challenging stretch of road. These were the sites that took the lives of fathers, mothers, or children; often still placed near the broken guardrail that failed to protect them. It made us sad; and reminded me to drive a lot more carefully.

We arrived in Mulege safely before dark. Only a fool would drive these roads at night, where cows often congregate to get warmth from the blacktop. Our hotel had its own dirt runway where U.S. private pilots land for the weekend. After driving the roads, I can see why someone would choose to fly. It only took a few minutes for someone to notice the license plate on our car. They were a couple who live about four miles from us. We shop at the same grocery store. Another connection.

Tomorrow, we head for our final destination: Loreto.

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