Our camp on Sunset Cliffs was choice. No one bothered us during the night and we were both able to have a midnight pee break without getting caught. It was our first night’s sleep in the new digs and we both slept solidly. We woke to the low paced hustle and bustle of the beach streets, letting it go on around us while we snoozed in bed. We were only a little disappointed that the marine layer persisted, hiding the sun and covering everything to the horizon. The San Diego we knew was sunny all the time if a little chilly in the evening. Maybe Mexico would be better.
After a short wander along the cliffs with Cleo, we were both thinking breakfast at the same time. It had been a while since I opened my fridge, but I was happy to find I had plenty to make us some egg, ham, avocado and cheese burritos. Wicked. We were both feeling happy to be back to van life. Happy, but also nervous for what lay ahead at the border. Dishes done, we were ready to go with only a couple of stops to make.
We stopped in at a Travelex Currency Exchange in a huge shopping mall, feeling very out of place walking past the Luis Vitton store on our way. At the exchange, the lady told us she didn’t have any Pesos and advised we’d find a better rate near the border. They were offering 15 Pesos to the dollar as well as a $10 transaction fee so it didn’t sound like a good deal anyway. No more procrastinating now, all we had to do was drive to the border! We got within a mile after twenty minutes and pulled off at the last exit to find some money. We were already in little Mexico and every second shop was a currency exchange. We picked one based on a Google search I’d done earlier and were happy to see their rate was only 14c lower than the actual exchange rate online at 18.4 Pesos to the dollar. We exchanged $300 dollars to a bunch of different coloured notes.
After filling up with petrol, we were as ready as we’d ever be. The border came up quickly and before we knew it, the van had been photographed and we’d been waved in to an inspection booth. No passport checks for anyone, nothing. We got stopped because of the van and a lady opened the doors to have a quick look. Nothing serious. In broken English. We managed to find out where we had to go to get our travel permits. We only knew we needed them thanks to our Moon travel guide which told us they were necessary for travelling south of Ensenada, which we planned to do. After our inspection, we parked nearby and walked into the office. We asked a number of people, “Visa? Visa?” and were eventually directed to a small immigration office where we were handed a couple of forms to fill out. We borrowed a pen (un lapiz) and were on our way. Forms done, we went to the bank, within the same building and paid 500 Pesos (about $25) for our visas. Back to the immigration office and we got those ever-satisfying entry stamps along with the ever-satisfying noise they make when they make an imprint in your passport. It was now official, we’d entered Mexico, the place I promised my parents I would never venture alone.
As Dan warned, as soon as we were away from the border, we were in a different world. People walked along the highway, there was trash and homeless people abounds and buildings were in all sorts of disrepair and disorganisation. The best impression was of the traffic lining up to get back into the US. Not only was the six lane highway completely backed up for half a mile, there were people walking through the lanes of traffic holding boards or pushing trolleys selling goods and fresh food. No rules there! It was a shock to the senses for sure and it took a while to sink in that we were in a different country. Being Aussie, it’s hard to grasp the concept of driving into another country. I was glad Dan was behind the wheel as we navigated our way to the beach in the most direct way possible. We head directly west after dipping into the country and drove along the border a while before we saw the ocean. It wasn’t the sunny hello we’d both imagined, but it was still nice to see the sea from a different place.
We were on Highway 1 but before getting there, we had to drive through the suburbs of Tijuana. This was really a taste of Mexico. The traffic wasn’t quite chaotic but functional, the roads were full of potholes and faded lines and I don’t think I saw a single new car. There definitely won’t be any Teslas down here. When I saw a bunch of Astros on the street, I was amazed to find out they were the chosen taxi of Tijuana! I couldn’t wait to tell Jon. I hadn’t seen a single Odyssey and I was probably up to about 20 Astros having been in the country only half an hour! It filled me with pride. Maybe Mexico was my place.
At the next set of lights, we saw the local locksmith riding his motorcycle, keys chattling away on a frame on the back of the bike. When we stopped for the red, an older lady walked the lines of cars holding a couple of bags and asked if we’d like to buy any cherries. No, gracias.
We drove down the highway, through a toll booth that cost us 32 Pesos ($2), until we took an exit for La Playa Rosarita (Rosarita Beach). Following the signs, Dan navigated the numerous speed bumps and a couple of roundabouts until we hit the sand. We were both in need of a decompress to relieve the anxiety we’d had before crossing the border. Now we were here, we just wanted to chill somewhere. We found a perfect spot right on the beach where Cleo could enjoy the sand all to herself and we could drink a couple of beers. There was a group of people near a dilapidated building half buried in the sand, acting as our only neighbours. Dan had already walked to the water and told me it was cold but I went to see for myself. He wasn’t wrong. When I stared back to the van, I heard a huge bang and my immediate thought was gunshot but it was the gang of people nearby that had set off a firework. That was a relief! When they set another one off, I noticed that Dan was no longer by the van, he was chasing Cleo, who’d run off down the street at the noise of the big bangs. After much coaxing and running after her, Dan came back to the van, Cleo wrapped up in his arms. She’d run into a random open garage where the owners of the house were kind about it, complementing Dan on his calm-minded dog (perro).
The drama over, I was itching for some action having sat around at the beach watching the waves a while. Dan mentioned the waves looked surfable and they looked perfect for me having not surfed in over a year. He was initially shocked when I said I was up for it and asked for my wetsuit. I’d left mine behind in favour of a spare Dan had that had belonged to an ex-girlfriend. After much wrestling, I found it fit me perfectly. We got the board off the roof and Dan ran me through a few drills on the beach before he let me into the water.
Having graduated from my quick lesson on the sand, I was in the water and paddling out past the multiple breaks. It was hard work, but I’d had two beers so it made sense I felt a bit sluggish. On Dan’s suggestion I was aiming to surf only the white wash and so, halfway out to the first break, I turned my board around and impressed myself when I paddled away, caught the wave and stood right up, riding the small wash right into the beach. Not bad for a first go! Dan was suitably impressed when I met him on the sand, miles away from where I’d started thanks to a big riptide that carried me sideways. We walked back upstream of the riptide and I was keen for another go while Dan went and got geared up so he could catch a wave. My second attempt wasn’t so hot. I couldn’t find a good break, getting caught up in the multiple breaks and feeling the tiredness creep into my arms and core. By the time I’d been washed down the beach by the current, I was nearly spent, crying out with effort at every paddle before finally catching a small wave that I managed to ride into the sand while kneeling. I didn’t have enough energy to get up on my feet.
Dan had manoeuvred his way into his wetsuit by the time I was back to the van and he gave me a few pointers as we walked out to the water. I left him to it and watched every move, wanting to pick up any hints to make myself a better surfer. He had a similar run to me, nailing his first wave, then struggling a bit in the middle wash before he paddled all the way out to the main break to wait for a choice wave when he was rewarded with a nice run in to the sand. That fifteen minutes was enough for him and I was ready to call it a day too. I was thoroughly happy I hadn’t felt cold in the wetsuit but I was keen for a shower. We bottle-showered at the back of the van and Dan tried his best to rinse our suits in some fresh water but didn’t have too much luck. We ended up shutting the suits in the rear door, hanging from the back, so they could dry and not smell out the van.
After a quick consult of the Moon guide, I set my nav to a place called Tito’s Mariscos back in the town of Rosarito. According to our guide, for less than $1 we could get a giant battered fish taco. It wasn’t quite the shack of a stand Dan had been imagining, but it was enough of a dilapidated building to look authentic and the Moon guide labelled it as a local spot where tourists rarely ventured. We parked up in the dirt, rutted and uneven carpark, left Cleo to stand guard then went inside. After waiting in the take-away line to order, a lady explained to us in Spanish that there was table service. I was already leaning on Dan’s Spanish. He was absolute years ahead of me, able to pick up on key words when somebody spoke whereas the best I could manage was figuring out what something meant after reading it in words. Not convinced a pair of fish tacos would be enough, we ordered some asada fries as well. When the food came out, we were horrified. The two fish tacos each would have been more than enough but we still had more fries on the way. We were even more scared when they brought out two servings of asada fries when we’d only wanted one. Not wanting to be impolite and turn them away, we accepted the food and fought our way through it, managing to get through all of our tacos and one round of the asada fries. The other round would go to Dan’s homeless friend outside who was looking for food. Dan had spoken to him during a cigarette break so already had a rapport with him.
After paying the bill without too much drama, we left the restaurant with bellies full of pain. To decide on our next move, I started flipping through the Moon book and Dan stopped me when he saw a photo of a bunch of cars parked on the beach. That looked perfect for us so I had a look on my maps and thought I could navigate us there. Twenty minutes later, we passed the dirt road turn off down to Popotla Fishing Village. Dan managed to pull over and reversed along the highway a short way to get back to the road. On the way down the narrow road bordered by a fence on one side, we were stopped by a man who had his hands up in the air. Once we rolled our window down, he made hand signals to indicate eating and repeated “come” which means food. Dan expertly explained, “no come, la playa” and he let us go on our way. The Moon book had warned people would stop you in the street to get you into their restaurant, I guess they weren’t kidding.
As we navigated our way down a narrow road that was crowded by parked cars and restaurants in all sorts of disarray, we were nearing the beach but thinking more and more that we were somewhere we weren’t supposed to be. Right at the tip of the ramp going down to the beach, we were stopped again, this time by a man in a chef’s apron and he too asked if we were looking for food. Dan said in Spanish that we were looking for the beach and only the beach. When the man saw he couldn’t convince us to eat, he said, “Si! Si!” and waved us towards the beach. We waited a while at the top of the ramp for another car to come up then drove on down into the sand.
The waves were perilously close to us but we drove down the beach past the dozens of stalls laid out with food and drink. It was grimy and very Mexican, exactly what we wanted to experience. We couldn’t believe we were driving along in front of everyone with waves lapping against our tyres. We parked up as high up on the beach as we could at the end of all the beach vendors. Cleo was straight out to run around while we watched the scene around us, trying to fathom how good of a first day in Mexico we were having. As we watched the goings on, we saw a band of about six stray dogs running around scavenging food and jumping in the waves and a sanitary truck pull up only to experience issues with his gearbox that got him temporarily stuck in the sand.
Lathargic from our huge lunch, we opened the back doors to the ocean and sat on the bed playing cards for a good two hours. I got my arse whipped repeatedly. The fog still covered the whole beach so it wasn’t the warm sunny Mexico we’d expected, but it didn’t matter, just made it a bit cold. Sick of getting beaten at cards, I took Cleo for a walk up to the end of the beach. From the other end, I could see that we were parked up below a super fancy house, a total contrast to the life lived on the beach floor. When I got back to the car, Dan was chilling with a cigarette and a beer and, since the tide was rising, we decided we should move the car further up the beach if we were to survive the night without floating away into the ocean. We drove a little further up the beach and nosed in almost to the rocks.
I was craving a cocktail, or some sort of refreshing drink to make me feel a little cleaner and Dan was nearly out of cigarettes so we went for a walk up the beach to see what we could find. We left Cleo in the car as security and just as we left, the band of dogs came past, walking with a guy pushing a wheelbarrow and a huge pig?! The pig was oinking away, sniffing in the sand and seem pretty well trained!
All of the vendors had packed up for the day and we were the only car left on the beach, which made us feel nervous. A few doors down, I saw a sign for “Cigarros” and sure enough, a family having lunch on their porch behind their stall welcomed us in and spoke in broken English to explain it was 5 Pesos a cigarette. Normal market value according to Dan, he bought four. Dan asked the vendor if the van would be ok for the night and the cigarette man indicated where the tide would be during the night. He also said if we had any problems, we should come back and see him. So nice.
Dan’s needs met, we walked up the ramp we’d driven down to meet mine. There was a grog shop open, but most other things looked closed or closing. We asked at one place that had an ocean patio if they were still open for a couple of drinks. Yes they were, so we ordered a couple of margharitas. As we waited, Dan saw it before me, the TVs inside the place were showing highlights from the Monaco GP. What??!?!?! I’d walked in to so many bars in the US and never once seen anything resembling F1 on TV and now here, in the middle of nowhere, Mexico, there it was. I did my best to avoid watching so I didn’t find out the result but I was in a state of disbelief. Our drinks made, we paid 150 Pesos ($7.50) and carried our Styrofoam cups out onto the balcony. We sipped away at the sweet, cold drinks and watched the waves lap against the rocks below, reflecting on a perfect first day in Mexico while the karaoke blasted away from inside.
As the light was fading, we head out as the cleaning guys were mucking around inside the restaurant, pushing each other and calling each other names, having fun as always. On the way back along the beach, a guy came up to us to let us know he was coming to have a look at the van to make sure we would be ok for the night. When he saw where we’d parked, he advised we go a little further forward to avoid our rear wheels getting sunken into the sand. We took his advice and Dan backed up then came back in getting an extra couple of meters. Once we were set, the man asked if we had any coins to pay for his services. We gave him 20 Pesos and he went on his way, but he promised he’d check on us during the night just to make sure we were ok.
We settled in to bed, Dan suitably impressed at the new bedside table set up where he could plug his phone in and rest it next to the bed while listening to a podcast. We really were living luxuriously now.
