I’m not entirely sure what I expected of Baja. I did know I was looking for that Special Place. That salty piece of land where I felt totally in my element. While the search may still be continuing on some levels, El Coyote Beach surely came close.
In a travelers life, it often feels like it becomes a “competition” of who has seen the most, suffered the most, been to the most places. We came to expect these types of conversations when backpacking around the world, other travelers intent on making their trip the longest or hardest or most interesting.
We didn’t expect it quite so much while driving Baja. Overlanders are a different breed, all knowing that driving across borders and continents tests you and your vehicle and we are, in many ways, all in this together.
So, it seemed ironic that it is a certain type of Baja oldtimers have been the ones trying to “out do” us with their stories of terrible roads to remote camps. One, rather snotty, woman crankily told me that SHE had learned to use salt water for everything except drinking. Noting the appearance of both her skin and demeanor, I wanted to suggest that perhaps she might have splurged on a fresh water shower every so often.
And yet, I digress. In our search for what we considered our perfect spot on Baja we envisioned several things. Our heads were full of remote, empty campgrounds with a palapa or two, a perfect sand beach and gentle tides. Images shared by the many overlanders before us filled our dreams. And yet, we knew ourselves well enough to know we also enjoy exploring quaint villages and small towns and enjoy good food and a hot shower once a week. A quandary to be sure. Does such a place even exist?
So far El Coyote, on Bahia Concepciion, wins the prize for favorite beach. Close to the little town of Mulege, the sand is soft, the water turquoise, the waves almost non-existent. We hiked the hills. Swam in the sea, and spent hours simply gazing at the horizon. The scene of our camper, parked photogenically beneath a double palm, deserves a book cover.
Each day local vendors brought us water, vegetables, and fresh fish. And the fresh squeezed orange juice. Oh, I still dream of the fresh squeezed orange juice! A free yoga class was offered several times a week, and once a week first run bootleg movies were on the agenda.
Perfect. Well no. Having spent a lot of years in third world countries, using all manners of toilet facilities, I am unfazed by less than ideal conditions. And yet, my “perfect” place might, at least, include a door.
The hunt for that one place remains. Lucky for us, we have another two months in Baja to keep searching for our perfect piece of salty land!
