Bay of Conception to San Ignacio

Saturday, May 20th. Loretto, the Bay of Conception and onto San Ignacio.

After sharing an omelet in a cafe across from the Loreto Cathedral, Art and I begin our drive to San Ignacio. 

There is a military check point a few miles outside of Loreto and as we approach, we watch a couple, two cars ahead during their inspection. They are asked to step out of the car and Art comments that the man looks like Fred, a Zacatitos neighbor of ours. When it is our turn, we are also asked to get out of the car and our vehicle is carefully inspected. The two police go through our glove box, console, tap on door panels and rummage through bags of snacks. They are most interested in the cooler and a partial bottle of wine and in retrospect, perhaps we should have just offered the wine to them? One soldier questions me outside the right front of of our vehicle and the other questions Art at the left rear of the vehicle. Do I have any drugs or guns? Where are we going and where have we been? I do not feel particularly anxious but it is the most through inspection we’ve encountered. They do not inspect my purse or either Art’s or my luggage but we watch soldiers take a screw driver and prod the panels of the car adjacent to ours. As we drive away from the checkpoint we see Fred’s and Cheryl’s truck stopped at a turn out and Art pulls over. We all laugh at the coincidence of meeting and decide to connect two night hence at the El Jardine Hotel in San Quintin. Fred mentions that should the El Jardine be fully booked, their back up hotel is the Old Mill. 

Art and I drive on and enjoy a fabulous morning stopping at deserted beaches along the Bay of Conception. The water is the color of Paraiba Tourmaline, each cove more beautiful and intoxicating than the last. We choose one beach with a dirt access road dropping down to a white pristine sand beach. We park on the hard packed sand of this crescent bay, alone and amazed at the isolated beauty. It is truly paradise and we wade into the crystal clear and bathwater warm water. 

We stop again a few miles further along to explore a secluded mangrove forest. This beach is pebbly and we walk carefully along a shallow breakwater out to a mangrove island. The water is ankle deep and the submerged rocks are slippery and our footsteps startle small rays buried in sandy spots in the shallow water. The pristine, pebbly shoreline is littered with bleached and broken shells. One could spend days along the Conception Bay, camping, kayaking and beach walking.

We tear ourselves away from the magic of the Conception Bay beaches and drive onto Mulege at the north end of the bay and detour into Mulege for lunch. We spent the night here on our road trip down a year and a half ago and return to the same “Gringo” restaurant and share a Thai vegetable and chicken stir fry. Although tasty enough, it’s more like an iItalian stir fry and the vegetables are  seriously lacking. From Mulege we wind inland and arrive in the Oasis town of San Ignacio by 3:00 P.M. 

We are seriously tempted to push on to San Quintin but San Ignacio is preparing for a fiesta tonight. A sound stage, tables and chairs are being set up in the Zocalo and we inquire and learn that the festivities will start at 10:00 P.M. and the party will continue until early morning. We decide that we will stay the night if we can find a hotel? Just a block away from the Zocalo is a brand new hotel with a $39 rate for a king sized bed in a spacious and immaculate room. We relax in our air-conditioned room, check e-mail and F.B. and take late afternoon naps in preparation for tonight’s fiesta. Caged peacocks are a dubious feature of this hotel and their blood curdling cry pierce out afternoon naps. 

We wake about 8:00 P.M., shower and dress for the fiesta and walk into town to find dinner. There are just two restaurants choices and we opt for ‘Victors’, to the left of the Cathedral. We sit at one of their three  outdoor white plastic tables and I order a glass of red wine and Art a margarita. Regretfully, we do not take the waiters suggestion of the freshly caught fish but choose to share fish and shrimp tacos. Although the food is disappointing we are in good spirits and move across the street to a bench in the Zocalo and watch the unfolding of the fiesta. 

This event is a family affair and packs of children cavort and couples walk arm in arm, most of the women wearing unbearably high heels and many of the men sporting cowboy hats and boots. Young men lean nonchalantly against their trucks watching the girls and drinking beer. Groups of shy teens at the beginning of the evening pair off as the night progresses and there is love and promise in the warm night air. Initially, there are speeches, presumably tedious, but perhaps I should not surmise this since my Spanish is minimal. Eventually the dancing begins and most of the couples are well versed in dancing to what i would describe as “Mexican Polka music.” Art and I dance some but even in my flat sandals, I seem to have two left feet when it comes to keeping step with this music. It is 1:30 A.M. before we tire and walk back to our hotel to drift off to the distant music from the Zocalo and the occasional screams of the caged hotel peacocks. We are told that the fiesta will continue until 4:00 a.m. or 5:00 a.m.