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.
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