CABO Nov 6
We were searching the side streets – unsuccessfully – for a restaurant Pamela had read about when we passed a woman making tortillas at a stove on the street, in front of a sliver of a restaurant tucked next to a shabby corner market. I asked if I could see a menu, and as she opened the door, the most delectable smells escaped. Cinnamon, coffee, chili, mole ... if scents were tangible, giant tendrils and octopus-like tentacles – in swarthy, earthy, buttery colors; steaming with warmth; pulsing with sensuality – would have burst out the door, clutched us, and dragged us in.
Pamela, her nose leading the way, followed Martin ("Mar-teeeen" - the bearer of menus) as if in a trance as we ventured in for ‘just an appetizer’. Inside this wedge of space several hand-hewn wooden tables and chairs were set with decorative ware from San Miguel de Allende. Pamela melted into the cocoa brown adobe wall as Martin described the modest menu items, and we selected a combination of gorditas, quesadillas, sopas and – of course – mole (... Martin apologizing repeatedly for not having chicken enchiladas for the mole but that was moot: you could have put that mole on a sock and it would have been delicious). The food was sumptuous – the service doting. Paul asked if they had any tequila and Martin ran out the door, returning a few minutes later with a bottle. We nipped on sweet tequila and ooh’d and aah’d until we couldn’t eat any more.
The restaurant is called Los Tres Gallos. Oddly enough, we had a similar experience a few days later in La Paz. We were looking for a restaurant we'd read about ... the taxi driver dropped us off at the wrong place ... but when we looked at both eateries, we opted for his suggestion: Las Tres Virgenes (does everything come in threes?): an elegant courtyard, open to the sky - with fabulous food, charming service and talented mariachis.
Somewhere in here is a lesson on searching so hard for what you THINK you are looking for, that you risk missing the perfect thing when you stumble upon it ...
Los Frailes Nov 8
I looked over and saw Pamela enveloped in a cloud of shimmering fish. The dappled sunlight that made its way through the sea reflected off their silvery shapes at odd angles so they looked like an explosion of confetti. Then a swathe of fish schooled my way and surrounded me, and I parted them like Moses parting the Red Sea, with a sweep of my arms. Based on our lack of success in catching any fish on this trip, I had been expecting a barren sea. So we were pleasantly surprised to find so many colorful creatures in the tumble of rocks at the bottom of Cerro Los Friales – Friars’ Hill, which lends this anchorage its name.
We’d arrived last night (Sunday) from Cabo, anchored, took a swim, enjoyed bbq’d chicken kabobs and wine, and had a relatively early night. Today was the scheduled playday; so with TUGTUB securely anchored several hundred feet offshore, we took the dinghy to the edge of the promontory. We attempted to anchor there first ... but a huge set of swells came in and we hastily abandoned that for a rough-and-tumble beach landing. Dragging the dink high above the surfline, we clumsily donned our fins and masks, dodging the biggest waves, and made our way into the water.
Everywhere we looked there were scores of Parrotfish and dozens more fish I can’t identify. On boulders nearby Pelicans watched us with piqued curiosity. After snorkeling an hour or two or ? (I have no idea what time it is) Paul returned to the boat for some money and shoes, and Pamela and I met him down the beach. On our walk we found a cluster of buzzards and gulls enjoying a buffet of dead manta ray - its long tail squiggling behind; and several other dead fish, so dried out in the hot Baja sun they looked like plastic toys. We passed the shacks of the small fish camp and made our way to a dirt road – but didn’t know which way to go to look for the tienda. Flagging down a pickup truck we asked the guys where we could get food and beer and after a few puzzled looks they invited us to hitch a ride, and took us to a small restaurant down a windy road edged with cactus.
An old man greeted us at the palapa (later we found out it is called “El Regional Restaurante Los Friales) and soon Manuel and Crystal appeared. Manuel brought us very cold Pacificos while Crystal began pulling food out of coolers and preparing lunch: breaded chicken breast with cheese for Paul; a combo plate for Pamela and me: sautéed scallops, coconut shrimp, and lobster tail! It was fantastic, washed down with a few beers (they had no water or sodas so we were forced to drink beer!)
As we were leaving one of the old-timers sitting nearby offered us a ride back to the playa. I slid in along the sagging front seat next to Juan Rios, who tucked his giant bottle of beer between his legs, and Pamela climbed in next to me: squeezing past the permanently open glove box which housed a collection of dusty cassette tapes. Not so lucky was Paul, who had to sit in the bed of the pickup along with several old tires and scores of empty beer cans (and possibly some other rubbish, based on the aroma). But considering the heat, the distance, and our condition after three beers, the ride was welcome. We had an uneventful dinghy launch and ride back to the boat; I jumped back in the water to wash my hair and bathe, then siesta’d on deck. It has been a delightful day of R&R, but now we’ve had to get the boat ready to depart early tomorrow (Tues) for Los Muertos – another 45 nm up the coast. Eventually we’ll muster up something for dinner (we restocked veggies and meats in Los Cabos) and probably hit the hay early – as it is 5:30 and already dark.
Nov. 9
Another glorious day; and we find ourselves tonight at Bahia Los Suenos – ‘the Bay of Dreams’. It does not escape me that I am here specifically to help Pamela and Paul begin to live their dream – just like a year ago, when I was on hand (like a midwife) helping Marie and JP give birth to their dream. One day it will be me – on the threshold of my dreams, so eager and ready to take the plunge ... I thought I was there just months ago but was mistaken. Some day my dreams will become my reality but for now, I take great pleasure (and learn a lot) with friends who don’t just dream dreams: but make dreams come true.
Our day did not start out so glorious. A very squealy fanbelt required attention before we could leave the anchorage at Los Frailes ... that crisis averted, we were underway at 7:30 with a light wind on our nose. It seemed a bucolic but boring day was ahead, but by 11:30 the wind had built and clocked, and thus began an incredible romp all the way into Bahia Los Suenos – once called Bahia Los Muertos.
The wind rushed up to 15k off the beam; the seas were flat (mostly- until the last hour or so ... ) the sky blue, the splashes of water - warm, and the fish ... non-existent (still ) . Even so, it was a fabulous day; I drove more than half the way – enjoying the conditions and the chance to eek a little more VMG out of the boat. Fantastic!
Dropping anchor in the bahia, we noticed several dark fish darting toward the surface of the turquoise water. We couldn’t wait to get in! From hook to swimsuit was about 5 minutes: swiftly we were in the warm sea, swimming around, spying fish and the many skates and rays snuggled in the sandy bottom of the bay. Around 5:30 pm we called the restaurant ashore to come pick us up: Tony arrived in a lapis blue panga and sped us to a floating dinghy dock, where we leapt to a rocky ledge and scrambled up steep rock steps to a gravel road leading to an elegant palapa. We enjoyed a mix of shrimp and mahi and carne asado, with margaritas and cerveza; ending with a nightcap of tequila with the crew of MOSHULU, then sped back to our boat with Tony; enjoying the rush of bioluminescence in our wake.
Bioluminescence is one of my favorite things in the world. If you don’t know what bioluminescence is – you are just not living. Like the billions of stars lighting the sky, these tiny creatures light up the seas at night. I simply delight in their beauty.
Now it’s nearly 9PM ... everyone has gone to bed and I am readying myself: to sleep beneath the expansive starry night: the waves rushing gently ashore; the stiff breezes of the day calmed to cool zephyrs. I am content, HOPEFUL, and thankful to be here, and now. With love ~ Betsy.
