San Diego, CA, USA – Santa Rosalia (Central Baja): So what’s Mexico really like? 19th - 22nd November

December 2, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

We’d heard far too many bad stories about Mexico, and, after procrastinating for too long in San Diego, feeling apprehensive and armed with copious amounts of toilet paper, we cycled down the road and across the border. The immigration officer welcomed us to Mexico with a big smile and after amiably completing the paperwork, blessed us on our travels through his country - a pleasant change from the accusatory questions we got used to from US immigration.

From the border, we threw ourselves into the heavy, smelly traffic bedlam of Tijuana, the streets of which left little room for cyclists. However, most drivers were courteous, often making their presences known with little friendly beeps and usually left a reasonable amount of space for us to get by. A very busy three-lane road coughed us up into the bus terminal, where we were very relieved to have arrived safely, after all the bad impressions we had been given about Tijuana.

Of course, getting on the bus with our bikes was going to be no simple project. After the information we had received previously, we were not sure about our chances but, after a polite chat with the friendly ABC staff, and with everyone ignoring the big ‘No Bicicletas” sign, we were relieved that we would, after all our worrying, be allowed to put our bikes on the bus. However, it did mean taking the wheels and pedals off, finding bags to put them in, turning the handle bars, wrapping up the chains in cardboard, all the while trying to keep track of 8 panniers, two handle bar bags and two sausage bags lying around us. The attendants didn’t look very impressed when they saw our ridiculous quantity of luggage, persuaded us to take some on with us and took the rest in anyway and loaded it all up. It was a nice moment to get on the bus and take our seats, despite sacrificing most of our spacious legroom to about half of our panniers.

We were even more relieved the following morning to find that our bikes and copious amounts of luggage had arrived in San Ignacio (a small town in central Baja) with us, and entertained the local shopkeepers and kids with the whole process of putting bikes and luggage back together again. After being somewhat jaded by the constant desert and cacti in the morning fog, as we cycled the short distance into San Ignacio, we were pleasantly surprised by the palm trees and lagoon that welcomed us; it was indeed an oasis. On entering the main square, we were even more surprised to find a big festival going on, with all the schoolkids dressed in various costumes and marching around, forming a circle in the square while each group of children showed off their dancing talents. With all our futile procrastination and worrying, we had failed to notice that we were entering town on the Día de la Revolución, a national holiday.

We spent the rest of the day relaxing and doing bike maintenance at the lovely Casa Lereé, highly recommended for a first night in Mexico, where we enjoyed our comfortable room, a lovely garden and an excellent library. We also chatted and shared photos with our friendly neighbour Judy, from South Korea, who is travelling around the world.

Our first day of cycling in Mexico was full of surprises, good and bad. We were quite nervous about cycling on the roads, as we had seen from the bus that there was very little shoulder and we had also been warned several times about how awful Mexican drivers were. The traffic on the Transpeninsular Highway was very light on the day we cycled to Santa Rosalia, and the only time there was really cause for worry was when there was traffic going past us in both directions – moments that were nerve-wracking but few and far between. We needn’t have worried as, when these did occur, most of those travelling in the same direction as us slowed down and waited until opposing traffic had passed before overtaking. Of the four cars in total who overtook us in a careless manner with little regard to our safety, three had California plates. All of the lorry drivers were totally respectful and many people (as in Alaska) either waved at us, or gave us thumbs up. The scruffiest cars and their drivers were undoubtedly the friendliest and most enthusiastic about giving us encouragement. But this was only our first day…

Thus we made our way over some challenging landscape: lots and lots of gradual ups on a seemingly endless highway surrounded by desert, cacti and solidified lava, and then the ‘Cuesta del Infierno’ a hardcore 18% downgrade into whopping canyons and weird rock formations (photos a must see). After expecting to see the Sea of Cortez over at least five hills, we finally caught sight of it and were somewhat relieved to see signs of the town of Santa Rosalia. Well, the outskirts of town were marked by beach and wasteland absolutely covered in rubbish, and then we had our first run in with the local dogs, who were very excited indeed about our arrival. The dog dazer was one thing we’d forgotten to put on our list, and how we regretted it while poor Paul tried to fend off the dogs’ snapping jaws at his ankles. Luckily, their territory seemed to be marked by some invisible line and we finally escaped their attentions and happily cycled on into town.

We chose a hotel recommended as ‘adequate’ in the Lonely Planet, and although the room was very basic compared to where we’d stayed the night before, and the bathroom gave off a rather unsavoury smell, we were tired and decided to take it as we were promised hot water – our biggest priority at that moment. The shower, with its actually barely tepid water, soaked the floor, and as we were unable to find anyone or anything to help us mop it up, we used the only towel they provided and all the bits of newspaper Paul was prepared to part with, and headed out for an excellent dinner at El Muelle. After a wee walk around town, we returned to our room, not overly enthusiastic about sleeping in the basic bed and the very worn and not very clean-looking sheets. This turned out to be the least of our worries when we found the bathroom and its door crawling with cockroaches. After killing the first wave, we spoke to the owner’s wife (a very interesting and talkative character with lots of bright blue eyeshadow and bright red lipstick) who came and sprayed the bathroom with insecticide…to very little effect. They still came crawling in, from the holes in the plumbing under the sink, between the sink and the wall and god knows where else. After insisting that we have the spray back, we brandished it against the babies, teenagers and whopping adults in our waging war, all scurrying around – and trying to come into the room as well. This was something we could not deal with - the creatures making their way into our panniers and our bed had to be prevented at all costs. The bathroom door was at the end of the bed, and after failing miserably to put up our new mosquito net (it came with no instructions and with very confusing attachments!), there was no way of guaranteeing that the nasty things wouldn’t come crawling all over us as well. The poor sordid towel used to wipe up the shower leakage was called into action again to block the gap between the bathroom door and the floor, and was sprayed liberally to try and deter the beasts. Unfortunately, a couple of the lither ones still managed to get through our first line of defence.

We were very very tired but sleep was not going to come easily with the dread of cockroaches in the room. We managed to fall asleep sometime after midnight for a short time, but N then reawoke with that horrible annoying pee that one has to do in the middle of the night, which is usually not an issue but when camping or having to face a bathroom full of cockroaches becomes a battle of wills. After putting it off for a very long time, knowing that those ghastly creatures were waiting for her in the bathroom, nature of course had to be satisfied: there were more of the buggers waiting (although not quite so abundant now) and one of them had to make its way onto her leg mid-pee, which just about shot her last nerve; sleep was going to be very difficult to come by once again, and tears came instead.

As a result of the night of cockroach hell, the next day we were not in any mood to cycle anywhere. So off we went for brekkie, and it didn’t take too long to decide that we’d stay another day, but move up to the swankiest hotel in town - at a cheap $60 and the state we were in, it was an easy decision. Hotel Francesa is a wonderful colonial style hotel made almost entirely of wood. Our room led onto a lovely verandah with an excellent view of the sea and the adjacent copper mines. Despite (or maybe because of) the brown colour of the wooden bathroom, not a cockroach was to be found and a very restful day was had enjoying the hotel pool and catching up on well-deserved sleep.

Posted in Two for the Road - On the Road | 2 Comments »