David's Baja Journal: Tijuana to San Ignacio

Friday, February 17

I crossed the border in the morning with little trouble, except for a long wait to get the trailer inspected. The Mexicans are more vigilant now than two years ago, looking for both drugs and guns. The inspectors here were three pretty but professional young women. One was working with a German shepherd. I didn’t see a dog go into the trailer, but somewhere down the road, I noticed a suspicious lick mark on my formerly clean full-length mirror.

Tijuana is large and interesting, but not a pretty town. There a number of deep ravines cutting into the steep hills, and these are filled with slums. I missed the turn to Ensenada, and traveled for a while on lesser avenues with stop signs, till I found the right one. I had an experience about how you could get into trouble in a hurry. I was nearly out of gas—and I saw a gas station on the wrong side of the street. To avoid turning left against heavy traffic, I decided to go around the block. But once on the back streets, my most direct route was blocked, so I keep turning deeper into the dodgy neighborhood. Finally, I decided to end my quest for that particular gas station, as I saw a group of young men on the street up ahead. So I had to back out of that block with the trailer, not ideal for a speedy exit. But, of course, the men completely ignored me—I’ve never encountered anything but politeness in Mexico.

Next, I found myself on the toll road to Ensenada, getting really low on gas. I took the next exit into a seaside suburb of Tijuana—very upscale. Here I got gas, cash from an ATM, and groceries at a supermarket very much like any in the USA. At the deli where I got sliced ham and cheese, the were even more conscious of sanitation than in the US. The person slicing the meat wore a face mask, in addition to the usual gloves.

An American came up to ask about the trailer, and I asked him if it was safe. He said it was as safe as any American city. I mentioned the usual American attitude that Tijuana was dangerous, and he said that was a “crock.”

So I continued south on the toll road. It’s a beautiful superhighway, two lanes in each direction, separated in the middle. It goes for about 50 miles down the barren and very dramatic coast to Ensenada. Taking it with the trailer cost about $10 US, but it was worth it for the view, and I probably saved a lot of time and risk from fender benders.

I made it through Ensenada with only getting off the main route for a little while. There was a lot of traffic. Finally, I was on the open road in Baja, winding through the mountains. In the afternoon, at Km100 I passed my usual camping spot inside a huge vineyard—meaning I was well-ahead of the usually progress into Baja. I was able to make more rapid progress than in earlier trips, partly because I was more confident driving, didn’t have to stop to take so many photos, and there seem to be fewer speed bumps this year.

The agriculture in Baja is fascinating. I wish I knew more about it. I saw one small field that had at least three things growing in it. Two kinds of fruit trees, with an understory of edible cactus.

Unlike my previous trips, the military check points are also inspecting vehicles that are southbound. But I never needed to stop for more than 5 minutes.

About an hour after dark, I rolled into the last town before the central desert—El Rosario. When I came here by jeep in 1961, this was a hamlet of about 10 primitive houses. Now, the population is perhaps 5,000. I fueled up, and headed for my favorite restaurant, but couldn’t find it. I had a nice “caldo de pescado”, or fish soup.

I then headed into the desert, where I knew there was a good place to camp on top of the pass. I would miss some good scenery getting there, but good camping trumped scenery.

I found my place, and was scouting with a flashlight for a way to pull further away from the highway, when a large semi pulled up right next to my trailer, passing it with only a few feet to spare. The driver stopped and opened the hood, and started peering inside with a flashlight. I asked him if he had a problem. He shook my hand, and said that the oil pressure was low. “I don’t want to have to go all the way back to El Rosario.” He crawled under the truck, looking for an oil leak. I offered to loan him a better flashlight, but he didn’t need it. Next, he climbed up on top of the truck, trying to get cell phone reception, to no avail. After a while, he decided to continue, and headed out. I found a trace of the old road leading into the desert, and pulled a hundred feet further from the highway. I figured I’d back out in the morning. The nose of the car was pointing steeply down, but the trailer was almost perfectly level.

Saturday, Feb. 18

In the morning, I arose, and saluted my first cirio tree. I took a brief stroll among the cactus, and noticed the cirios had flowered. So I spent about two hours looking for cirio seeds to photograph. The yellow flowers were all dried out, with nearly all of the seeds gone. I did find a few—there are little winged things, about a millimeter long.

The day was uneventful. I stopped at both of my favorite campsites in the central desert, just to have a look. Both were much the same, except that at the first, a large load of garbage had been dumped about a hundred feet from the campsite. Next time, I’ll have to camp further in.

Again, I made more rapid progress. The stretch of central desert that is my favorite part of Baja is only about 100 miles long—and it goes quickly when I’m not stopping all the time to look at plats and explore. On former trips, this stretch would take me at least three days. Now, I got through in only a few hours. I saw only one mishap en route. There was a truck by the side of the road, without a driver. A tire was burning nearby. Probably what happened is that something got bent and rubbed on the tire, causing enough heat from friction to ignite the tire.

This happened to my uncle years ago when he piled the whole family into the station wagon, for a “see America” trip. He had a small accident that pushed his fender in. He didn’t realize it was rubbing on the back tire. Way out in the desert, they noticed a burning smell, and stopped to take a look. The back tire was on fire. They couldn’t get the fire out, and it was burning next to the gas tank. So they unloaded the car and waited. Eventually, the gas caught on fire, and the whole car was consumed.

Outside Guerrero Negro, on the border between the two states, BCN and BCS, I got the trailer bottom sprayed with insecticide—but then I had to wait for the mother of all wide loads. Not only wide but high. There were a number of electric wires crossing the highway here, and a man on top had to lift them over the load. Then, they got stalled by the “Welcome to Baja Sur” sign. Luckily, I found a way to bypass the big load by driving off the highway, or I’d probably still be sitting there.

I went into Guerrero Negro for gas. It was Saturday afternoon, bustling with activity. But once I got back to the highway, there was almost no traffic. There is little traffic between towns in Baja.

The Viscaino Desert is very flat and boring, and goes on for hours. There is one small town. Finally, just after dark, I pulled into the oasis town of San Ignacio, nestled in a small canyon among tens of thousands of date palms. I found my old camping site next to the church fenced off, so I parked on the beautiful the town square.

Immediately, a few little boys approached, and I showed them the trailer. They were a bit rowdy, because I had pulled up next to a small cluster of video game machines. They rocked the trailer a few times, but quickly tired of this game before I could become annoyed. I strolled around the square, and sat down to have a much deserved beer.

The square had a series of activities that seemed to occur in sequence, like clockwork. First the young boys (one was 11) playing video and trailer games. Then, suddenly, there was a lot of talking and music. Two groups of teens had set up boom boxes nearby. Apparently they were two different groups of different ages. One was mostly young women, dancing with each other. The other younger group were boys and girls, talking and taking cell-phone photos of each other.

Two taco stands opened, but there was little if any business. They sat there in their plastic chairs, talking with neighbors. Their children went around the square on scooters and on bikes with training wheels. The police pickup truck showed up every 15 minutes, and the taco sands were also a watchful presence. It was a very safe place for kids, and they acted like they owned the place.

At about 10:00 pm, the teens disappeared, as if there were a curfew. The little kids from the taco stand continued to frolic, until, one by one, the taco stands closed.

Next, there was considerable hubbub, as three large fiberglass lauches on trailers (the whale watching kind) stopped briefly at the square. I thought better than to tell them that there weren’t any whales here.

Finally, at about 11:00 pm, all was quiet and deserted—but then three dogs started barking. I wondered whether they were barking at my unexpected presence, so I watched them. There was one very small dog, challenging a large dog. A third was egging them on. But it was a sort of friendly encounter. After a while, they settled their dispute, and total quiet descended on the peaceful square, bathed in the yellow glow of sodium lights. The only sound was the occasional plop of ripe fruit onto the top of my trailer.

Sunday Feb. 19

The square was very quiet in the morning. Gradually, there was more traffic and conversations, some people talking right next to the trailer, not knowing I was inside.