Loreto Mexico January 2015 | Why Loreto?

When we made plans to come to Loreto for a month, many people asked, where’s Loreto, and why Loreto. To answer the first question, Loreto is a small fishing town on the Sea of Cortez, in Baja California Sur. We are north about 350 miles/ 585 km driving distance from the better-known Cabo San Lucas, at the moment a hurricane-ransacked party town, and south of Tijuana and Ensenada, hangouts for weekenders from California. The Baja is not very wide; it’s less than 75 km up and over Las Gigantas, the massive mountain range that runs north to south here, to the Pacific Ocean but that would be as the crow flies, and Baja roads are neither straight nor flat. The Sea of Cortez boasts rich fishing, snorkeling and diving, and is popular with kayakers and sailors. 

But why? And why did we drive? Loreto is driving distance from where Margaret lives, and that means a longer holiday is possible. Let me explain. This trip is really about Annie. Annie the hound.  The Girl.  Annie-girl.  She’s tired. Tired of being left behind. Each year when I arrive with my suitcases, she has only three things on her mind. Who’s going? Who’s staying? And what’s happening with me? This time she got to come along, which means we can stay longer, but we have to stay close to home. So even though a plane flies daily between LA and Loreto, we drove, with Annie. Here she is, asleep in the back of the car. 

 

She is un muy bonito perro, and by now, everyone in Loreto calls her by name. She is mostly allowed in the outdoor cafes, where she is served cool refreshing water.  And she’s getting to know a few things herself. Yesterday as Margaret and I (tried) to walk by our go-to spot for lattes without stopping, she dug in all four paws at the steps up to the patio, and would not budge! This is where we have coffee, right? Margaret half-dragged her down the street to Gecko’s Curios where she curled up fetal-like on the step outside and slept while we talked with the shop owner. Without her red velvet bed!

I am a bit conflicted about our choice. No, it’s not hot beach weather here, and there are few white sand beaches. There is a pool here at the complex where we live, but the water is cold. There’s weather, as in wind, and sometimes clouds and even rain. It’s cool at night, unless it’s completely clouded over. There are the ubiquitous dogs barking as we walk Annie down the street, roosters crowing in the early dawn, and worse, the sound of gallos de paleos, fighting roosters, at any time of day. It’s dusty and sometimes downright dirty.  It’s the desert; it’s poor; it’s Mexico. Struck by the contrast, Sylvia took these photos on a walk about town. 

This spot, next to the grande hacienda, is where the owner cleans his fish, but in a place where poverty lives alongside decadence,  it could easily be mistaken for someone's home. 

There is an active expat community here in Loreto. Lynn Hamman, a local realtor, hosts a mailing list and sends notices around daily about what’s happening in town, as well as helpful information about restaurant and bar events (including Super Bowl parties). She’ll post almost anything that is sent to her. Last night Margaret and I attended a gathering of a local writers’ group, with eight readers presenting their work live for an audience of about 40. In closing, the leader appealed for donations of children’s reference books for the local library and encouraged us all to visit to see for ourselves the empty shelves. There’s not a lot of point donating money--there is little here to buy—so donors are asked to do the hard work themselves of sourcing books, and bringing them down. Margaret has found a bridge group and is playing twice a week. Today’s game is at Mediterraneo, a local restaurant owned by one of the players. There’s a backyard theatre at the Mediterraneo too, and notices about movies come out in Lynn’s email. We are on a first-name basis with everyone in our compound: we share information and ideas, and offer rides to the airport.

It’s not Hawaii, or Cabo, or Puerto Vallarta. If it were, we likely wouldn’t be here. I would come back, because of Annie. And although I am not sure I could settle here, it’s getting easier to see why this little town has become home to so many Canadians and Americans, not so different from me.

Loreto Mexico January 2015 | Arroyos

There are arroyos—dry creek beds—everywhere around us. Yesterday we decided to explore one north of here in an area known as Shell Creek, because the land was once under the water, and much of the rock is formed from shells. It’s a short drive, but it takes a while because the road is a sand/rock track, sometimes visible only by the tracks of previous vehicles. The best of it is that you can have lunch at Picazon, a “gourmet” restaurant in a pristine location on the beach. More on Picazon later. 

The drive begins on Calle Davis, which we are very familiar with, having walked much of it for a realtor’s open house a week ago. Eight houses, most of them beachfront were open for showing. Prices are well within range of anyone who owns a home in Edmonton or Calgary—a three story home with three master bedrooms, each with ensuite and walk-in, and a chef’s kitchen sold for 350k USD. And it was waterfront. So yesterday, we went past all of these homes in three different communities that we had visited and then following the hiker’s guidebook, took the left fork and headed up the expansive arroyo. Without much to go on—it all looks the same—and only a cattle gate as a way marker, we were nearly to the end of the road and back at Highway 1 before we decided to turn back, park by the gate, and look for an opening up one of the canyons. 

The desert comes alive when you get up close and personal. It’s not until you are actually in the canyons (not driving through them) that you detect the subtle differences in colour and leaf structure of the trees, the caves and bowled-out rock formations, and the early spring flowers that burst forth from tiny cracks and crevices. Hikers before us had left markers so it was easy to pick out the impressions of shells and bits of coral scattered like debris and crunching under foot. 

It’s not easy walking; it’s sometimes hard to find a place to put your foot down. Always cautious, as though we were practicing our balance exercises, we tip-toed from one rocky stone to the next for about an hour before breaking for water and  some juicy pineapple, in preparation for the trip back down. Lunch beckoned.

By all reports, Picazon is the not-to-be-missed restaurant in Loreto. About 3 km and 30 minutes out of town along a dusty road, it sits on a quiet beach opposite the north end of Isla Coronado. After parking, you approach the restaurant along a pathway through the garden. Inside the large pilapa roof, a burly but charming host, Alejandro, greets you immediately and introduces himself and his wife, Imelda, the chef.  There’s a couch lined with pillows and a few chairs, presumably for waiting; brightly coloured cloths dress the tables providing seating for perhaps 40 people. Outside, there’s another long bench, lined with sea-blue cushions. We took a place indoors, close to the patio, but protected by the palapa from the wind.

Instead of the usual chips and salsa, Alejandro  took our drink order and then dropped a basket of tortilla  chips (always freshly made here) and an assortment of salsas on our table: roasted jalapenos with onions, red salsa, garlic aoli, coarse salt, limes. Two Pacificos and two Margaritas please.  The menu is plasticized and written in alternating English and Spanish. Dishes are a tad westernized to please the tourists but Sylvia loved her quesadillas loaded with cheese, and Brigette her tortilla wraps. The fish of the day was offered five ways, nothing really special, but it's hard to beat fresh fish caught only hours before. I think we all enjoyed lunch, but then, when you are that hungry and thirsty everything tastes good. We lounged out on the deck for a bit—hidden from the wind it was hot and sunny—and then headed for home for our afternoon siesta.