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.