Living It Up at the Pension California

"such a lovely place...." Well, I don't know if I'd say lovely, but it's alright.

On my bus ride to La Paz, I actually passed through the town of Todos Santos, in which the true Hotel California that inspired the Eagles song is located. The bus was surprisingly comfortable, as I listened to some music on my iPod, mostly Calexico, Iron and Wine and Romantica, all calming music with a hint of Mexican influence, fitting nicely with the passing desert scenery. Unfortunately, my solitude was soon interrupted by the loud movie playing on the tvs of the bus. I could tell by the previews of a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie and two others that I'd never heard of that this wasn't going to be a good one. Despite only the tiniest shred of interest in the lame action/murder/mystery movie, I was drawn in by the speaker booming just above my head. We made a few quick stops which offered a break from the loud speakers, and we soon arrived in La Paz. A medium sized town of 150,000 to 200,000 people, it is much less touristy and more authentic than Cabo, hence my desire to visit. I grabbed my backpacks and got off the bus, heading for the waterfront to see what the town had to offer. A decent beach fronts the entire town with attractive, somewhat cheesy storefronts and a pleasant boardwalk stretching for a few miles. Still in the midday heat, I hurried to find a place to stay for the night. Thanks to my travel book, I soon spotted the blue and yellow paint of the cement structure with the fading words of Pension California across the front. At only about $14 a night, I couldn't go wrong. I got my key, headed down the open roofed hallway, opened the padlock and found a simple, pleasant room inside. Two twin beds on concrete platforms along with a built-in bathroom was all that I would need. The bathroom was a bit odd, though, a tiny closet like spot with a sink, toilet and showerhead all shoved into the tight space. There's no shower curtain or anything, just a showerhead above the middle of the room and a drain on the floor, so in effect, I guess you could be using the toilet, brushing your teeth and taking a shower, all at the same time.

So, I dropped off my big bag and headed back towards the water to see more of the town. I scoped out a few potential Spanish language schools that I may attend for a week or two to brush up on my skills and then got back to the boardwalk in time for dinner. Despite thinking that a waterfront place might be overpriced, I checked Palapa Adriana and found one of my best dinners in a long time. The small hut featured a few tables inside and four tables out on the deck, about 20 yards from the water, right on the beach. As the waitress brought out my shredded beef burritos, browned tortillas from the grill and silver platters of salsa, pico de gallo and cheese sauce, I realized that this meal had potential. She placed them all on the colorful table and let me alone with one other table of locals and the colors of the evening. The huge orange sun had just made its way out of the clouds and began to set over the horizon. Not wanting to miss the moment, I got up from the table for a few pictures and then returned to the peaceful setting. In the background, the radio played traditional mariachi tunes, adding to the serenity of this idyllic Mexican experience. The water and sand just steps away, the sky yielding shades of orange and blue, mouth-watering, spicy food in front of me...it was a moment that I won't soon forget.

After dinner, I walked along the popular boardwalk, stopping to watch games of volleyball and observing all that the vendors had to offer, carrying handfuls of balloons, games for the children, light sabers and much more. It was a Saturday night, and it seemed that the whole town was there by the water, celebrating the peaceful day and warm night. Young and old alike passed by me, hand in hand. Little children ran in circles and screamed in delight as they chased each other, intermittently begging their parents to buy them this toy or that. I found a nice spot on the bench and just observed the scene, treasuring the night. Eventually, I made my way back to my hotel and fell asleep. Apparently, I was a little behind on sleep thanks to my loud stay in Cabo, so I ended up sleeping on and off for most of the next day. I did manage to get up and eat some fish tacos and quesadillas from the street vendor just outside the hotel, and I even got a Mexican haircut for about $4.50, including tip, so I can't complain about that. Tomorrow, I have to decide if I'll stay here a while and take Spanish classes, or if I'll head out on my way. There's not a ton of stuff to do in this town, but that's a nice feeling sometimes. We'll see.

A view of the beach and the boardwalk in the distance in La Paz.
My amazing dinner. Burritos, salsa, pico de gallo, cheese sauce, sunsets, beaches...perfect.

That's my little restaurant. My table is right by the opening in the tiny wall, about ten feet behind those guys.

The popular boardwalk at night.

Another viewof the beach and "palapas", which are those thatched shady things.

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Exploring Cabo

On the way to my free breakfast and timeshare presentation, Cervando told me what answers they'd want to hear, what they'd tell me and what to do to get what I wanted. I had booked a discount tour of the bay with an hour on a jet-ski, but I'd have to show enough interest to warrant the discount. I first met with a nice young lady that took me to breakfast at Cabo Villas, an amazing hotel overlooking the water. We had plates of fruit, eggs and a few local specialties while I filled out some forms about my types of vacations and personal information. Of course, I had to exaggerate a little about my preferred type of trip and accommodation, since they probably don't sell timeshares living in the back of a van. Next, I toured the rooms, which actually were pretty impressive and was escorted upstairs to meet with a nice Canadian woman who tried to sell me on the deal. After about half an hour of talking details and numbers, she realized that I wasn't really interested, so she brought in another American woman who was apparently the closer. They wanted me to sign a 30 year deal for a timeshare, claiming that I'd surely be able to rent it out and make my money back in the first few years, in addition to getting three "almost free" weeks at other destinations in their network around the world, at my discretion. Although it did sound good, I finally convinced them that I wasn't ready to make a $10,000 investment after two hours of contemplation. Everything they said made sense, but there are obviously loopholes and scams built into it, so I didn't want to deal with it. They signed my form, and I was off down the beach, heading for my waverunner. Unfortunately, I realized that I had left Cervando's cell phone number on one of the papers at the office, so I had to head back. I talked to a few different people and found that his number actually wasn't on that paper; he had written it on an earlier one that was had since revised. So, I questioned a few people about Neftali and Cervando, though no one seemed to know how to get in touch with them. Since they were planning on picking me up after work that night, I absolutely needed a way to get in touch with them, as I'd have no idea how to get back to their generic-looking house, and my stuff was there. I finally found the phone number of Antonio, a random airport worker that was said to work with Neftali. I called him, and he was on his day off, but he was luckily able to find Neftali's number after about ten minutes of searching. So, I called Neftali and then Cervando, and we agreed to meet up later that night.

Relieved that I wasn't stranded in a new town without any of my things, I walked down the crowded beach, through hawkers trying to sell me bracelets and hats, and I soon found the jet-skis at the end of the beach. I took my waterproof bag and my camera and hit the water. The water of the Pacific side of the narrow peninsula is said to be very, very rough, and the bay wasn't quite placid either. My wave-runner jumped up and down as I maneuvered the waves, taking in the views of the rocky coastline and steep hills that jut out into the sea. I visited the famous arch at land's end and even positioned myself to take a few pictures, though it's a hard prospect while battling the waves and constant wake of the numerous fishing boats, water taxis and other jet-skiers. Undeterred, I got some nice views of the rocks and hidden beaches before heading back in as my hour expired. The thin ridge of cactus covered hills leading dropping off here and there for small patches of beach was impressive, especially at the end with the 40 or 50 foot archway, surrounded by blue-green water and at Playa del Amor, a golden beach near the point which is almost inaccessible by land, with the tourists arriving via water taxi. Note that I said almost inaccessible.

After my jet-ski, I began walking around town, hoping for some shade and relief from the sweltering day. I made my way around the marina and found the beginning of the peninsula, hoping to try to make my way to Playa del Amor by walking up the steep hills or around the slippery rocks. I passed by a local beach of school-children and their parents and continued on, making my way up the hill, avoiding the cacti and sharp rocks. With a fence blocking my way, I headed back down towards the water and attempted to hug the coastline as I walked onward, sweat pouring down. I eventually made it to a small cave carved out by the water. As I crossed, the slippery rocks got the better of me, and both of my shoes were soon soaked. I pushed on, wary of the steeper rocks ahead. Just as I was making my way around, a local called out from behind me, asking if I was trying to make it to Lover's Beach (Playa del Amor). I said yes, and he told me that it wasn't really possible that way, as it would become much more dangerous with a few other caves. Disappointed, I turned around, but he then offered to take me there. I agreed, thinking that maybe he had a boat, but then I saw him deftly make his way up the steep rocks towards the top of the hill. I followed along the treacherous climb, figuring that I could do it if he could do so in sandals. Within minutes we had reached the peak, offering a wonderful view of the town across the bay and the rocks and beaches below. We continued along the ridge and eventually saw the Playa del Divorcio (Divorce Beach), which connects with Lover's Beach. Nearly deserted, this massive stretch of sand was much grander than I had expected with large Pacific waves pounding on the yellowish sand. We hung out at the two beaches for an hour or so before heading back to town, making our way up and down the rocks again before parting ways.

I was happy to have had Sergio as a guide, as I definitely wouldn't have made it on my own. As a local, he knew every rock and every step of the challenging walk, guiding me along the way.
After that, I made it back to town for a fast food dinner at a tasty local place consisting of some tacos and quesadillas. So good, in fact, that I returned for one more just before heading home for the night. Neftali and Cervando soon picked me up, and I headed home with them. I met Cervando's two roommates: a girl from Mexico City and Victor, a Mexican friend from Chicago. We talked for a few hours while the music blared from the stereo. Cervando told me stories about being in jail in LA with Axl Rose while we enjoyed his Guns N Roses collection, and Victor preached on about his mission to promote cultural awareness and pride, renouncing his earlier gang days. They also criticized the girl for not knowing much about Mexican culture and the general attitude of many of those from Mexico City, feeling that they are superior and higher-class than other Mexicans. The next morning, I bid farewell to the two of them, extremely happy to have met some 'locals' and shared an authentic experience, despite the less than luxurious stay and loud music going into the wee hours of the morning, making sleep a bit difficult. Before I left, I was treated to a nice breakfast by the girl from Mexico City (I never caught her name), and I took a taxi to the bus station. My next stop would be about three hours North, in the coastal town of La Paz.

The picturesque hotel in which I learned about timeshares.
Same place, with a nice pool and hot tub. Note the rocky peninsula jutting out into the water.

The famous arch (El Arco) at land's end.

A view of the rocks and vegetation along my walk to Lover's Beach.

Me overlooking Playa del Divorcio...well, I guess I was looking at the camera, not the beach.

Sergio leads the way as I stop for pictures.

The ridge on the top of the rocks was a much easier climb than getting up to that point.

Lover's Beach from the water. Note the steep rocky walls. Yeah.

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Mexico - the beginning

Hola,
For the second installment of my travel odyssey, I decided a Central American trip was in order, as I love the food, culture, sports (futbol), and the amazing variety of scenery that this region has to offer. This would also be a great opportunity to brush up on my once-competent Spanish skills that are slowly beginning to fade away. So, I did a little bit of research and booked my trip just a week before leaving, deciding that I'd fly into Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, stay throughout Mexico for about a month and a half, then possibly visit El Salvador, Belize, Guatemala and/or Honduras before flying home from San Pedro Sula, Honduras in early December. This trip will offer me some amazing sights and chances to meet some hospitable people, yet it won't be as easy as my last trip. I won't have a van in which to sleep or store some of my stuff. I won't be 100% confident with the language, at least not in the beginning, though my Spanish should come back to me fairly quickly. There isn't the well-travelled tourist network around most corners. I will have to watch for pickpockets and thieves more than before. Also, I have to worry about cleanliness and disease and all of that fun stuff. So, I actually did something proactively (which is rare for me), and I went to a travel doctor the day before I left. (This was just slightly proactive, but you can't just expect a drastic change in my procrastination habits just because I had tons of free time.) I got immunized for typhoid and Hepatitis A, both of which can be easily contracted through dirty water, fruit or other foods, since I know that I won't be able to resist the roadside food stands that I dream about. I also got some malaria pills for Guatemala and Honduras, though I'm hesitant to take them after hearing bad stories about the effects of them on dreams and causing depression, etc, though my doctor assured me that this type of pill doesn't have those side effects....we'll see.

Anyway, I boarded the plane from Atlanta, and we made a quick stop through Mexico City. As my friend Josh recently noted, the sprawling urbanity of the place is unfathomable. We descended through the clouds of smog onto a city that seemed to never end. In every direction, houses are packed together up and down the hillside and throughout the valleys. Some appear to be nice neighborhoods, but the majority look like tiny boxes from above, each one built flush against the next one. Parts of the tiny neighborhoods reminded me of Lego structures from my childhood, which then spurred a brilliantly compassionate chain of thoughts in my mind, wondering if that grey castle Lego set that my brother and I completed as children would be nearly as hard now that I'm older. I personally hope not, but you never know. This follows a whole line of thinking from a few weeks ago when I hooked up my old Nintendo and realized that many of those games are now ridiculously easy as compared to my epic struggles during my childhood with the goombas, Bowsers and other 8-bit opponents. So, after equal time reminiscing about my plight with the animated villains and the poverty and pollution of one of the largest cities in the world, I boarded the second leg of my flight over to the tip of the Baja California peninsula, Cabo San Lucas. It was a nice change in light of my recent long-haul flights to arrive at my final destination only 7 hours after departing, compared with a 24 hour trip down to Fiji and a 26 hour return trip from Sydney.

Descending upon the small airport of Cabo, I saw the rugged mountainous landscapes covered in sage brush and cacti, leaving no doubt that this area truly is a desert oasis. I thought that I'd probably stay in San Jose del Cabo, a smaller, less touristed town near the airport, but I had no plans as I arrived at the airport, taking in the hot, humid air. Yes, I know that humid air doesn't fit the description of a desert, but it was. It's hurricane season here, ok. Which in Cabo basically means that there might be just a bit of rain. I passed through the customs area, consisting of a few guys in military uniforms that looked me up and down and told me to pass. Apparently the guy had x-ray vision, which was fine with me. Next, I entered the last room of the airport, filled with pushy taxi companies and tour group operators. I mentioned that I wanted to take the bus to San Jose and somehow got hooked up with a man behind the booth telling me about the discounts that he could get me on different activities. I could get the VIP price (half-off) any of the cruises, excursions, etc if I just attended a free breakfast the next day. Not being one to turn down free food or discounts, I took the bait, and then I got more of the details of the timeshare presentation that I'd be attending. He also mentioned to me that if I was looking for a place to stay, he could offer up a room at his house in Cabo. Of course it sounded shady, and I was more than a bit suspicious, but something about Cervando, a Mexican that grew up in LA and spoke perfect English, convinced me that it would be alright, so I agreed to go with him, knowing that I knew his name and where he worked if something did go awry. (For you amateur travellers out there, this is probably not at all a good idea, but whatever.)

So, Cervando told me that he had to wait for one more plane to come in before he could go, so he and I, along with his buddy Neftali, went to a local bar to kill some time. I had to circle back around the airport and meet them in front, since it was against the law for them to be seen walking out with me and just renting his place to me on the side. Cautious of the Federalis (police), we made our way out and met up again with Neftali. We soon came upon a dirt road and took it up to a concrete building with a bit of green paint. This local 'bar' seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, yet just a minute or two from the airport. Of course, I was a bit suspicious at this point, but I decided that I'd trust the situation and go in with these guys. Inside was a quiet bar with two pool tables, a jukebox and about 4 other people. We had another hour before the next flight, so we played a few games of pool, and Cervando turned out to be a ringer. At one point, Neftali disappeared, so I was a bit suspicious and even walked outside and checked to see if anyone was checking out the car in which I had stored my bags or anything like that, but everything checked out. Neftali came back, and he told me that his boss had called, so he had to walk outside, so that he wouldn't hear the music. I calmed down a little after that, being able to keep an eye on both of them and feeling a bit of trust growing. We had a drink or two, including one which I apparently bought for the flirtatious bar-girl, though I didn't even hear when she asked me this. Cervando warned me about that, but it was only a $2 misunderstanding, so it wasn't a big deal.

Soon we had to go back to the airport where I waited outside, watching the hotel and package operators play around and jockey for position just as the travellers came off the plane and through the baggage claim. I talked with a few of them and another traveller from St. Louis that seemed to be trying to relive his college frat-boy days with stories and drinking and partying. Within a few minutes of landing, Cervando and Neftali were done working for the night, and we all got into Neftali's car and departed on the 45 minute drive to Cabo San Lucas. They entertained me with the one radio station of the area (for a minute, Cervando was excited to find a second one, only to realize that it was the same station somehow transmitting through a different signal) and by playing songs from Neftali's cell phone, but I couldn't see much along the dark road, passing by the occasional lights of a resort along the coast before continuing through the desert. Once into town, they gave me a quick driving tour of downtown, complete with cat-calls to the attractive or semi-attractive American tourists that were walking the streets with clever pick-up lines shouted from the open window such as "Hey ladies, can you tell me the way to California?" and "I love you...oooohhhh." Surprisingly this didn't amount to any dates or even responses for my new friend, so we continued up the road. We passed the obnoxious neon lights and loud music of Squid Roe and Cabo Wabo, the two most popular party spots in town, and we quickly made our way up into the hills that surround the city, spread around a picturesque bay. About ten minutes from town we arrived at Cervando's house, a small two-story cement structure in a neighborhood of many similar looking houses. It wasn't impressive, but it was clean enough. He showed me to my room, which was just that - a small room with only a mattress on the floor. He gave me a sheet, and I was set for the night. Though I had a better feeling about the situation, I still woke up a few times during the night, looking around for my bags. The next morning, I woke up early and got ready for my day. I'd begin with a timeshare presentation, and who knows what would follow.

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