Despite the noise of the night, we’d both slept ok, sleeping well past sunrise. Keen to do the hike we’d missed yesterday, as soon as we were up, we had a quick round of cereal for brekkie, then drove out of camp for the last time. Lidia and Christian were still asleep in their tiny VW sedan so we didn’t bother them. I don’t know how they did it, but somehow with the rear seats folded down, they managed to make a comfortable bed inside their small car.
We drove around to the west side of the marina aiming for access to what we thought looked like a trail from what we’d seen on Google maps. It wasn’t an easy task. When we got close, there were cones half blocking the road so we were forced to drive into a resort area where we got close to where we wanted to be but got turned around at a resort entrance by an angry-ish Mexican. We went back out the way we came and managed to find a carpark that we could get to. Dan pulled in and parked, we put some water in a bag, Cleo on a leash and we were off to find this trail.
As we came around to the marina by foot, we saw that the cones were in place to support a triathlon event. It looked as though it was a parent/child deal, with the kids doing the swim solo, then joining their parents in a ride. A very cool concept, there were cheers all round from the small crowd as the athletes did their transition. Despite the sign and Mexican guy dictating no dogs allowed on the beach, we snuck through until we were out of the sight of the road, looking up at the mountain we wanted to climb and not knowing how we were going to get through the fence that surrounded the entire place. We’d have been completely disheartened if it wasn’t for Dan spotting hikers on the hill beyond the fence. It was obviously possible! We kept walking towards the fence and not seeing any access when a guy camped out on the beach came up to us and asked in very good English if we were hiking and needed a guide. We said we’d be ok, that we were just exploring, but he went on to explain how to find a hole in the fence that lead up to the top of the mountain and all the trails leading off it. Thanks very much! When he asked for a tip, which we knew was coming, I told him we weren’t carrying any money and we carried on.
At the fence, we followed the well-travelled trail up the hill that stayed next to it. The whole time we climbed, we watched for a hole we could climb through. Cleo was happy to be out exploring, constantly on the hunt for lizards amongst the cactus and brush. When we finally came to the hole in the fence there’s no way we could have missed it. We barely had to hunch over to get through the gaping hole. Obviously the “Privada Propiedad” (private property) signs meant nothing much.\
Feeling very pleased with ourselves, we carried on along the obvious trail. We passed a couple of solid foundations of what would have been small houses with a great view of Cabo but otherwise followed a narrow path through cactus and dry brush. We said hola to the few hikers on their way down from the top of the hill.
Following tiny orange flags, we made it to the peak of Mt. Solmar and the Jesus cross that marked its peak. Apart from one other couple, we had the place to ourselves. The views were stunning. Facing the land, to our left we saw the Pacific Ocean, rough as guts with a thick marine layer over the horizon, straight in front was the colourful Cabo metropolis and to our right was the calm bay of the Sea of Cortez which ended at the beach we’d called home over the last few days.
We stayed at the top for a good while, just taking in the view. A second round of triathlon had started so we watched as the dozens of swimmers made their way into the bay to swim around a guy in a kayak before rushing back to shore to get on their bikes.
Despite the advice from our unofficial guide on the beach, we decided we’d be able to get off the mountain and down to Divorce Beach, unlike the other hikers who’d gone back down the way they’d come. The going was a little less standard with some rocky stepdowns that Cleo needed help with, but after sussing out the route, we found that we could drop to the right and down onto the sands of Divorce beach.
As we descended, we could see the multitude of tourists out on the water on various gear like paddleboards, kayaks and boats. We were pretty stoked to be getting this view for absolutely nothing and looking down on those who were out of pocket for their version of an adventure.
Once down on Divorce Beach, we had the place to ourselves. If it wasn’t for the footprints that covered the sands, we’d have thought we were the only ones to ever set foot there. The heat of the day was setting in so we were keen to get into the water. This beach is so named thanks to the harsh waves of the Pacific Ocean crashing against the sand. It lived up to its name, the water violently crashed against the steep beach which would surely catch people unawares and dump them into the ocean. We were comfortable letting the waves crash and push us up to our thighs, but we weren’t willing to go much past that. Just as we were getting out of the water, a man came over from the next door beach and put up a red flag which indicated that beachgoers shouldn’t swim. Great timing!
Our next stop was Lovers Beach, completely in view of Divorce beach, but on the other side of the peninsula. It was only a small little cove, unlike Divorce, which stretched on for a few hundred meters and the contrast was amazing. Being on the right side of the peninsula, the water was calm and warmer than its sister beach. We pretty well had this place to ourselves as well apart from some early arriving tourists.
We could easily get into the water here and the current was just enough to move us around in the water like floating objects, but nothing dangerous. Cleo stayed on the beach, not wanting to get in the water, but to our surprise, when Dan called to her, she ran into the water. She’d get most of the way before realising what was happening and sprint straight back along the beach to get away from the scary waves. Still, we were pretty impressed, it was progress! Eventually she took her place in the middle of the beach, watching Dan intently but otherwise staying well away from the water.
I had a few cliff jumps from the rocks at the side of the bay. The jumping was easy, but the climb was challenging thanks to the rising and falling tide and the sharp barnacles that clung to the rocks. Dan and I floated around in the water for ages, letting the current pull us in, then take us out, lift us up then let us fall. It was a beautiful tide pool and we were the only ones in it.
Slowly more tourists started to arrive, ferried to this spot from the main beach in glass bottom boats, paddleboards or kayaks. Cleo made friends easily when a young couple sat down with her seeing that she was all alone. I got out of the water since I was getting prune fingers, sat by Cleo and started talking to the couple that had become her friends. I never caught their names, but the young couple from Vegas had just graduated highschool a few days ago and were enjoying their graduation present from their parents – a paid trip to Cabo. They were lovely people, each with a solid plan for the rest of their lives and mature way beyond their years. When I told them about van life, their eyes lit up and they hoped that after hunkering down in the workforce a few years, they could do something similar. Dan joined us on the beach and we continued chatting until their boat taxi arrived and they left the beach. Being Lovers beach, I had to get a photo of Dan and his love before we left.
We went back to Divorce beach and instead of heading back over the mountain (it was way too hot to do any serious climbing), we went through a small rock scramble to get to the beach that was wedged between the Pacific and a huge row of resorts. This side of the peninsula was unpleasant relative to Playa El Médano thanks to the strong cold winds that whippe up the beach from the ocean. We never felt so looked down upon as we walked in front of the tourists sitting in their infinity pools sipping expensive cocktails, but we didn’t mind one bit.
When we came to a vacant lot, we thought this would be our way out but a fence blocked our way. Our only option was to walk through one of the condo complexes. We chose a modest, sleepy looking one and walked in like we owned the place. There wasn’t a single person in sight and we wondered just how many of the hundreds of apartments were occupied at this time of year. It was a bit of a maze to get out, but Dan had good directional instinct and lead us straight to the road. There was a security man at the gate but he was comfortable in his air conditioned booth so he paid no mind to us as we sidled out as if we belonged there.
We popped out right by the car, thoroughly proud of ourselves for figuring the hike out without issue. When I packed our shit away, I noticed an empty tortillas packet. Cleo! This explains why she didn’t want breakfast this morning. There must have been about eight left in there and she’d gobbled the whole lot. We figured she must have tucked in last night when we were walking the town.
It was fish taco time and time to get out of Cabo. It had been such a beautiful place to hang out and chill for a few days, but we felt we’d seen the best and were ready to move on. Instead of faffing around trying to find something in Cabo, we navigated ourselves out of the city and east towards San José del Cabo. We stopped at an Oxxo midway to stock up on beer and water but otherwise drove straight there, looking out at the waves next to the highway as we went. The couple we’d talked to at Lovers Beach had been staying in San Jose and they’d explained it was pretty dead compared to Cabo and they weren’t wrong. I suppose this is where all the budget holiday makers had their base.
We drove the streets aimlessly, searching in desperation for a taco stand that served fish. When we set out for tacos, we were both demanding battered, fried fish and nothing else. By the time Dan spotted a canopy set up at the side of a roundabout we were willing to lower our standards. The vendors had a pretty basic set up and so couldn’t offer freshly cooked ingredients like fish but instead had an array of meats. Starving, I got myself three tacos, the price was right at 13 Pesos a pop. After balking at me for being a piggy and only getting two, Dan ended up asking for a third. I’d put a respectable amount of sauce on my tacos only to have my head blown off. It was easily the spiciest thing I’d put in my mouth after reaching Mexico. I was in serious struggle town and the vendors knew it. They offered us a Coca Cola and then some lime to try and cure my reaction. I had tears and everything, my whole mouth was on fire. Dan supportively laughed at me, which is to be expected.
Once I was able to carry on walking with my eyes open for a long interval, we left our taco stand and head back to Zippers beach. While driving around in circles, I’d spotted a sign advertising a surf competition that had its last day today. Not able to believe our luck, we were keen to go check it out. It was only a ten minute back track along the highway before we were at the world renowned surf beach. We parked the car under the shade of the highway bridge and made our way down to the water to suss things out. We’d clearly just missed the action. There were people all over breaking down the temporary structures that had supported the surf comp. That didn’t matter, there were still surfers in the water and plenty of shade around thanks to the sponsored canopies that lined the sand.
We watched for a while contemplating a surf for ourselves, amazed that the waves were breaking so close to shore where large rocks dominated over the sand. I made the decision that I wasn’t going in because I didn’t have the skills to avoid rocks if I had to. Dan didn’t feel much like competing for waves with the other surfers either. Wanting to suss out another break further out to sea, we walked the length of the beach, revelling the soft wand beneath out feet. After days of living beach side, we weren’t sick of the atmosphere yet. There were some bloody good surfers out on the far break, doing all sorts of slips and tricks on shortboards. This put us both right off heading out, not wanting to clash with other surfers over the single break so we satisfied ourselves with a swim. Another wave pool situation, we let the waves float and push our bodies around amongst the sand.
We walked back along the beach and back to the car after checking out what looked like a taco stand to see if we could get our fish taco fix after all. No dice, we got in the car and got moving. We were driving north for the first time on our trip. It was about half an hour of driving inland through deep desert until we saw the blue of the ocean again. As Dan described it, the desert landscape looked as though an atom bomb had just dropped, leaving no life to carry on. I’d say that was a pretty accurate description, the blue waters of the Sea of Cortez were a welcome sight.
Having lost all hope of seeing Checo after we first saw cardboard cutouts in Ciudad Constitucion, Dan surprised me when he shouted his name and stopped at a roadside convenience store. We were at the small fishing town of Buena Vista so didn’t expect to see Checo here! I got a photo and since we were here, we stocked up on a few things like wine, steak, eggs, tortillas and ice cream. We dug into the small tub of ice cream in the car before we got on the road again. I thought we still had a little ways to go before we hit Los Barriles, a place by the ocean we planned to camp, but before we knew it, the road was taking us inland back towards the desert. A missed opportunity maybe, but it was a little too early in the day to stop anyway so we carried on towards La Paz.
The whole way to La Paz, Cleo absolutely destroyed the bed. She has a fetish for perching right on the edge of whatever surface she’s on, which means she slowly pulled the mattresses off the bed. Honestly, she ended up sitting on the floor which she could have just done in the first place. La Paz was stupid hot, but we got a better impression this time round since we took a route that hit us with less traffic.
On one of the multi-lane highways, we both noticed a four-way stop sign that looked out of place. Everyone in front of Dan blasted through it and after a quick tap of the brakes, he decided to do the same since everyone else behind him was motoring through. The two side roads had long since been fenced off it was clearly an irrelevant sign. Not according to the cop behind us though. Dan was fuming when he pulled over as the truck with his lights on stopped behind us. When the fat cop came to the window, Dan was straight into defence mode, explaining that the amigos in front and behind had all driven through. The cop didn’t say much, but eventually he just made a face indicating that Dan should calm down and he said “Vale” (get out of here) and off we went. Dan’s theory is that he was looking for easy money and when he saw we had our seatbelts on and Dan was putting up a fight, it wasn’t worth the effort. Ha! Beating the corrupt system!
We carried on to la playa (the beach) aiming for a churros place (Dan still hadn’t given up on his search). When we got there, the marina restaurant looked much to fancy for a couple of dirtbags like us so instead we just parked it a few kms down the road at the beach and got in the water to cool down. Being at the marina, it was nice shallow water so it was a perfect place to do some water training with Cleo. Starting on the shore, Dan encouraged her to swim to him, which after a little coaxing, she did. After a few runs, we let her rest and sat under a tiki hut to gather our thoughts. It was still churro time according to Dan. I Googled around and found another spot that was a twenty minute walk down the promenade.
We walked down the strip, pants still wet from our swim and retreated to a shady street one block back for the sake of Cleo’s feet. This street turned out to be a gold mine. We started by spotting a pool hall which we were keen to hit later in the night, but the real jackpot came when we walked underneath a bar with a balcony on the second floor. Dan peered over the railing and saw F1 playing on a screen. I’d wondered if we’d come across a sports bar showing the Canadian Grand Prix and I couldn’t believe he’d found one! Surely it was halfway through the race or something? We climbed the stairs to the bar and were ecstatic to find they were 1, ok with dogs and 2, it was only lap 2 of the race and they were under safety car. That meant I got to see all the highlights of the start. I basically didn’t miss a single thing! It kept getting better when Dan was able to buy a pack of cigarettes and we could get a pair of Pina Coladas for 6o Pesos ($3) a pop.
Dan smoked out on the balcony and made friends with the locals while I watched the race. He watched with me for sections, but he was mostly trying to translate the food menu and socialise with the locals that had a love for pitbulls. Everyone else in the bar was watching a soccer match between USA and Mexico, but graciously the bar owner left one screen on the F1 for me. It was a great spot, they handed out popcorn to every table and kept it coming. We had a plate of pork crackling with hot sauce and had a few rounds of cocktails. The race was a brilliant one and it was a different experience for me to watch it on such a big screen in Ultra HD. One thing led to another as Dan chatted up the locals and a photo of him and Cleo ended up on the Mexican Pitbull Fan Club Facebook page. This bug Mexican guy couldn’t have been more enthusiastic about pits, saying they were familia “family” and he’d had them for thirty years. Such a cheerful guy, he was grateful that he’d got to meet us, but far more excited that he’d got to meet Cleo.
After paying the bill, we had only 40 Pesos ($2) to our name since they didn’t accept my card and I was running low on cash. That meant we head straight back to the car before continuing our night. When Dan inspected his wallet back in the car, he found he didn’t have much cash either. We drove back along the gold mine street to the brightly lit ATM where we parked and both got some extra Pesos. Right, now let’s go find some damn churros. The palce I’d found on Google maps seemed promising and I drove us there, navigating the one way streets of La Paz like a boss. Once we made it there, our eyes scanned the shop fronts for anything resembling fried goodness covered in sugar. When we finally found the shop, there was a very obvious cerrados (closed) sign in the front window that had been there for a while. The shop floor was empty and covered in dust. This just wasn’t meant to be!
Dilapidated, we drove back to the pool hall to drown our sorrows. We parked by the ATM, set Cleo up for the night and walked into the colourfully lit pool hall. It was empty except for a couple of groups, but the music was lively. The guy at the front desk had attitude, telling us that “We’re in Mexico, speak Spanish” when we asked if he spoke English. He was pretty well fluent in English, I think he was just having a go. We signed up for an hour of pool and ordered a couple of Coronas. I was excited to see papas fritas (fried potatoes) on the menu so we got a round of them as well.
After our first round of pool, in which I got creamed, me and everyone else in the bar heard Dan’s scream from the bathroom when the power went out for a few seconds. When he came out he wondered if it was just him that had been in the dark, but no, it was everyone. Second round of pool and I won by default when Dan made a mistake. The third round I won completely on merit, my skills coming out of nowhere for me to win. Our hour was up, but we couldn’t leave while I was in the lead so we got more beers and some popcorn chicken and carried on. Dan won the last, my streak over, bringing things back to normal.
A little drunk, we stumbled the short way back to the car. Cleo had done her thing as guard dog, happy to get out of the car and play with Dan in the vacant lot next to us. As I was tidying the car, I found yet another empty packet of tortillas, the ones we’d bought on the way to La Paz. What?!?! We hadn’t even opened these ones yet! We kinda figured with the last ones that we’d accidentally left them open, but no, that didn’t matter, Cleo was obviously a Mexican at heart and loved her tortillas. I walked the empty bag out to Dan and left him to discipline the girl. All was forgiven, I saw them cuddling out in the lot a while later.
Despite being right by a main road, it was quiet compared to our last few nights in Cabo so we were excited to get a good night’s sleep.
