Category: Travel

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Three

Travel, Yoga

Note: This is a recap of Day Three of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico.  You can catch up on day two here. 

We had a nice breakfast with our Philippino friend and innkeeper, and headed to the bank to get some cash.  We were surprised to find a bank south of San Diego didn’t offer withdrawals in pesos, which we normally would have ordered in advance.  No matter, we got USD knowing we’d find an exchange place closer to the border.

There are a few tricky things about taking a car into Mexico from the US.  You need Mexican insurance and a temporary vehicle permit if you plan to go to the mainland.  It’s not required for Baja, so some travelers might be in for a surprise after driving around Mexico for a while, then deciding to cross on the ferry or drive around.  Permits are required, and you’ll need to be near a border crossing to get one.  To save yourself some hassle, look up the nearest temporary vehicle permit office to your border crossing city.  Check their hours too, as you don’t want to get stuck arriving just after closing.

Once you find the office, you’ll need to turn in your paperwork. You’ll need originals of your title and registration, and then copies of your driver’s license, passport, and tourist visa, all in the same name as the person responsible for the vehicle. You’ll pay a fee and a deposit to have your car in the country.  This deposit is refundable when you take the car back out of Mexico within 180 days.  The office will give you paperwork on this, so it’s best to read and make sure you understand the agreement.

We found out that this vehicle office used to give the individual temporary visas too, but stopped doing that at an undetermined time, which apparently took place prior to our arrival.  We were directed to go to the Tijuana airport to receive those.  I’m referencing those little sheets you fill out on international flights, and that are checked at customs.  Just because we didn’t fly in didn’t mean we didn’t need them, and the airline would need to see this when we flew out.

We headed to the airport without really knowing where we would go when we arrived.  We asked a couple of folks and got pointed in the right direction.  The paperwork required a small fee, of course, but we paid it, showed our passports and were on our way.

Edgar had received a recommendation for lunch at Hotel Rosa in Ensenada.  It was another gorgeous setting, with a breeze off the water, an infinity pool, and a bountiful supply of chips and guacamole.  With a locale this pretty, I couldn’t help getting into a few poses, and even got Edgar in on the action.

Our bellies full, we headed to the car… which again would not start.  We checked the wire that had given us trouble the day before, and it was holding solid.  Edgar did a little more investigating, and then I noted that it was making a clicking noise when he tried to start it. Once he heard that, he grabbed a hammer and had me try to turn it over while he hit the starter — boom.  Success.

We were headed to San Quintin, but stopped short when dusk fell and followed a sign toward a beach hotel in Camalu.  The road was bumpy and littered with stray dogs and a few horses.  No hotel in sight.  Just when we thought we should turn around, we spotted a large 2.5 story building (the third was in progress) with one lone dog out front.  Tell me, does this place look open for business?

Well, we were wrong and it was warm and inviting, with lights on and music playing when we opened the door.  Emmanuel recommended the lobster with vegetables.  He even allowed us through a back hall and into Room 12 so we could select our own.  Check out my plate — this was just my half!

I stuffed myself silly but couldn’t finish it.  We asked Manny to put our leftovers in the fridge.  We found a “parking spot” under the balcony and settled in for the night.

Miles traveled on day three: 195 (with a few hours paused at the border)

On day four, we drove through a swarm of bees and met an old radio DJ named Fibber McGee, who just happened to tell us the truth….

 

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Two

Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Note: This is day two of our adventures driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, California to Sayulita, Mexico.  If you missed day one, you can read that recap here. 

We woke up to find a thief had been at the bug and gone again, and the only thing he or she wanted was the “travelsurfyoga.com” tape on our window.  Sometimes even a cheap marketing ploy gets recognized for its value.  With a shake of our heads we piled back into the bug and set our sights on Sunset Cliffs, the birthplace of the fish surfboard.

Sunset Cliffs is beautiful.  Pictures don’t do it justice, but I’ll give it my best attempt.  Something about the clear blue water juxtaposed with the rocks and sky… I couldn’t stop saying how lovely it all was.

 

As we drove through town, we spotted two gentlemen and a golden retriever lounging outside a surf shop.  The guys smiled at our rig, and we swung into a parking spot.  Mark and his friend shook our hands and we checked out their boards for sale.  They told us about the nearby surf spot, not working that day unfortunately, and we chatted about a couple of places we planned to see on our way down the coast.  Mark told us about Richard, a local surfer and VW enthusiast, who was selling coffee out of a bus down by the water.  “It’s a blue VW bus, and he’s a surfer guy with long blonde hair.  Stop by and see him,” they encouraged us several times.  We promised we would and took our leave.

Sure enough, we stumbled upon Richard and his buses down by the shore.  He gave us a nod and his permission to park the bug next to his green VW bus for sale.  (It’s priced at 30k, in case you have the interest and a little pocket change.)  We ordered coffees and stretched our legs, and after a little chat decided to get back on the road.

Except, the bug wasn’t ready to move.  We pressed the button, and it wouldn’t start.  Hmmm.  Tried again.  Richard had ideas and so did his buddy, and we all got out to talk them through.  The buddy grabbed a can of starting fluid and gave it a go.  Still nothing.  After a little more tinkering, we discovered a loose wire in the ignition system.  Richard’s friend grabbed a crimping tool and viola!  It worked.  While it was running, we threw out one more question.  The first day the bug stayed in gear just fine, but on day two it was wanting to jump out of fourth, especially when pulling uphill.  Richard said it sounded like we needed to check the transmission fluid, and we drove off with that mission in mind, and directions to the nearest Auto Zone.

We pulled into a side lot to add the fluid, check the oil and tighten whatever we could access and turn, even just a smidge. When we went to fill the bug with transmission fluid, the fill port was only hand tight, so the fluid suggestion turned out to be a good one.  It didn’t cure the popping out of gear part, but the bug drank a bottle of the stuff and we certainly wouldn’t want to run it dry.

 

Back on the road, we decided we should adjust our original plan, and cross the border the next morning.  Our mechanic stop was well worth it, but it did cost us some daylight, and night time is not the best time to get into Mexico and get paperwork sorted.  We pinpointed the best place to stay just this side of the border, in a town called Chula Vista.  The El Primo Hotel had a confident name and a friendly manager/owner, who professed to be 79 years old “plus tax”.

I didn’t catch his name, but he was willing to share about his journey from the Philippines to the states when he was just 19 years old.  He joined the navy right away, and volunteered for submarine duty.  He told us he could see the sides of the hallways down below, begin to curve under the pressure at 3200 feet.  We could have swapped stories with him all evening, but we were hungry and not the only guests, so we said good night and walked down the street to an Italian restaurant, with 200 more miles under our belts.

On Day Three we required the services of Smack it with a Hammer Mechanics, and found out beach hotels that appear abandoned sometimes offer the best accommodations.  Stay tuned…

Taste Travels

Travel

Note:  One doesn’t have to travel to enjoy the sensation of it. That concept is brought to life in this guest post from author Kate Riley. 

Every time one of the family goes to Mex I crave jicama. I peel and slice a nice specimen, place in a freezer bag, add fresh-squeezed lime, red pepper powder or flakes, cumin, a dash of salt, shake and I’m on the road from Puerto Vallarta to Sayulita.

My precious friend, Clara, introduced me to this Mexican cuisine years ago.

She is originally from another small coastal Mexican town and is one of the hardest working, bravest women I have known.  She’s a warrior for freedom and a spectacular cook of traditional Mexican fare.

Travel is a wonderful event. Someone goes and it ignites the mind of one staying home eating jicama.

~Kate Riley

First Trip

Edgar, Travel

Since I can remember I have looked for the truth.  In this, I have not readily accepted what people tell me as fact.  I like proof.  I want fact, but I prefer it w/ data.  This has led me to “challenge authority”.
This has put me in an interesting group, slightly outside the herd.  I have lived on societies’ fringe, at the edge of firelight’s glow.  This has made me a seeker, a traveler, and made me search for the truth.  Like other travelers, what I seek is an understanding, but unlike many, I understand this has a price and accept the ride, and its lesson, is worth the cost of admission.

I remember running away from home for the first time.  I was about 5.  I had a disagreement w/ some level of authority at my house. I acted on the emotion provoked by this circumstance, threw on my spider man costume (it was just after Halloween), packed a bag, and hit the road.

We lived on five acres, and out on a rural route.  I headed down the drive and then North.  I went for what seemed like forever, and finally came to rest in the neighbor’s lawn.  I remember the grass was cool, as I sat in it, w/ the sun setting.  I opened my bag, and took out some candy to eat.  My first meal on the road was fabulous.

As I sat in the cool grass, eating sweets, in that solitude I felt a grand independence and peace. I was alone, and apprehensively excited about what lie before me.  I was at the edge of the firelight, excited about exploring the dark.  In this, I found peace, and an appreciation for my soft warm bed.

I packed it in, and returned home from my first journey.

I returned w/ a new understanding of life and self.  Since this, my wanderings have grown, but they are still filled w/those deep and colorful thoughts and feelings.

Travel thrills me and continues to enrich my mind, spirit, and soul.

Edgar~

Taking the baja down the Baja

Leigh, Surfing, Travel, Yoga

To really tell this story, I must first tell you how the Green Meanie came to be.  Edgar and I had been to Sayulita quite a few times, and each time paid a pretty steep amount to rent a car.  You pay for the rental, but also for the Mexican insurance (check out VdM), since your insurance in the states is not accepted there.  This addition doubles the cost of the rental.  We talked about how it would be nice to have an older car there just to run around to restaurants, surf breaks and the airport… maybe something like a VW bug.

The idea sounded good, and it quickly moved from mere conversation to an internet search, and to a specific seller who appeared to have just the thing posted on Craig’s List.  It was green, mean, a little beat up and a lot loud.  It was a baja bug.  Our new friend had been working on it with his grandfather, and had even taken a trip to Mexico in it already.  It fit our needs and the price was right, so we made the deal.  The seller even towed it to my house, since my stick shift driving now is weak at best, and at that time, was non-existent.

I kept the bug at my place for a while, and taught myself to drive it on weekends.  I practiced taking it to the gas station, waving folks around me as I stalled at lights.  Edgar came to visit and we added gas and water cans, a high-lift jack, shovel, pick ax and all-terrain tires.  We ordered a few spare parts, and then a couple more, and stocked up on zip ties and black tape.  A stall mat made for a handy back seat cover, and I got my first drilling experience putting in some second-hand head rests.  We threw in some floor mats, ammo boxes for the glove compartments, and made sure we had a gallon of oil at the ready.

The Green Meanie was ready to go home.

Day One:

We left Sacramento with a back seat filled with tools and backpacks, and a roof rack topped off with surf boards.   I thought people might give us a second glance, but we were surprised to see how much people were really digging it.  We saw lots of thumbs up and plenty of cell phones out for photos as we rumbled down the highway.

Our first stop was Santa Cruz and the Ripcurl store.  Edgar wanted to pick up a wet suit for the cold pacific water, and I found a shorty that would be perfect a little farther south.  Our rig was drawing attention in the parking lot, so we figured we’d let people know where they could read more about our travels, and borrowed a sharpie from the shop.  We wrote our web address on masking tape and slapped it to the back windows on both sides.   Cheap, but effective.   (We actually have TSY stickers, but I neglected to bring them along, so the tape had to do.)

Marketing at its finest

We stopped every couple of hours for gas and to check the oil.  The gas gauge was sort of a guide, but not an exact one.  If it got to half, that was more like empty.  Did I mention we had a big gas can on the side?  We were prepared for long stretches without a gas station, and for pretty much daily guesses at how much we had left in the tank.   For a trip like this, the proper mindset is key.   Even though we had a mechanic go through it before we hit the road, (thanks FIDS of West Sac!) we understood there might be challenges, and we were ready to roll with them.

The first evening was a chilly one, and we threw on a few extra layers as we cruised into Ventura.  We knocked out about 400 miles for our first day, and we were pretty pleased.  We had hoped to find a restaurant open, but Saturday night was surprisingly sleepy, and we ended up ordering pizza in.

Day two began with a shocking theft, and moved on to a strange encounter with a surfer who sold coffee out of a VW bus.  Stay tuned….

The Wild

Travel

Utterance of the phrase “the wild” evokes images of deep, icy rivers and wind whipping you from all sides as you perch on top of a peak, hoping the next gust won’t boot you off a ledge. Feelings of fear, and passion, and the unknown. These thoughts aren’t invalid, but are a little too Jack London for our reality. Places remaining truly untamed still exist, but the truth of the matter is that humans live tame lives. Yes, there still are wild people that live wild lives, driven by a deeper desire to feel the feral world, but this quality isn’t unique.

Some might invalidate their own wild side because they don’t live the mountain man cliché we all secretly yearn, and that invalidation is a true tragedy. The planet on which we live isn’t defined by the concrete sprawls some now navigate, nor the pockets of pristine wilderness few will ever see. Our world is defined by the blades of grass, pushing up through the sidewalk cracks, a sometimes futile reminder of the omnipotence of the natural world.

I’m one of the lucky ones in this equation; my home happens to be situated in a valley cradled between seven visible mountain ranges. My winters are filled with bitter nights and stars as sharp as shards of glass. My spring is filled by the two-tone comfort of the black- capped chickadee’s call. In 15 minutes, I can find myself sprawled out on any number of foothills, able to dig my toes into dirt and feel fresh air filling my lungs. Nature is truly omnipresent for my lifestyle, but unfortunately civilization hasn’t found a balance. The human values of progress conflict with the infinite resilience and sustainability of the natural world. Despite the clash, the cause of balance isn’t lost. Hubs of urban life as well as isolated towns can both begin a shift of mindset, and the first step is as easy as recognizing. Recognizing that the wild lies dormant in each of us. Nature doesn’t have to be grand or monumental, and that’s the beauty. I urge you all to breathe a little deeper and look a little closer because the wild we desire remains everywhere; our job is simply to seek it out.

-CK

Do You Surf?

Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Every once in a while, I’ll mention surfing in conversation and someone will say, “Oh! Do you surf?”

And I hesitate.

You could say that I surf, or you could say that every once in a while I take a board out into the ocean and try not to drown. My relationship with surfing is tentative, which one could accurately argue is not the way to surf at all. But I’ve come to believe that it is wise to approach the ocean with caution. Is it okay?… Is now a good time?… I could come back later, say… when you’ve calmed down a bit…

My first surf adventure began with an offhand comment from a coworker in Atlanta. I was planning my next vacation, and he recommended a surf school in Costa Rica. Warm sunshine, warm water, and a good way to burn off any extra vacation calories. I was in.

I got into my first lesson and learned how to catch white water. Paddle, paddle, paddle… pop up. Paddle, paddle, paddle… pop up. Not too bad. I had balance and body awareness, and thanks to years of gym-going, a pretty easy time paddling and pushing up. The pop up was not the problem. The ocean was the problem.

When my instructor decided it was time for me to surf green water, I felt like I would never get past the break. Even with a decent amount of time between periods, I would always seem to meet the next set coming in, and the next set didn’t like me much. “Get out!” it yelled at me with each wave. I’d get knocked off my board, knocked completely upside down, sideways, take the tumbling washing machine of the current and then pop up, about 20 feet from where I began. “A little farther,” the instructor would yell, from his super cool position kneeling on his board and cutting through the waves like a hot knife through butter. Okay. Yeah. A little farther.

(Actual photo of me surfing)

I eventually would make it out past the break, exhausted and coughing up the half of the ocean I’d swallowed. The last thing I’d want to do is catch the next wave headed in the other direction. Even now, I never do. To me, just getting that far is something to celebrate, and deserves a moment to take in. Breathe. Relax. I let my legs dangle in the water and the sun warm my shoulders, and I watch the others paddle into the force that always seem to scare me and beckon to me at the same time. I wait for the burning in my nose and my shoulders to subside, and when I see a little bump come my way I think… maybe this one.  I paddle hard… wait for the ocean to sneak under me and the roar of the wave to carry me… it’s never that I’m besting it, or even riding it… it’s more that we have a tentative agreement. The ocean allows me to come in and stay awhile, and I am grateful.

Morning in Sayulita

Travel

Note: Contributor CK sent us this reflection upon her mornings in Sayulita.  If you’re not familiar with this creative little (for now) surf spot in Nayarit, Mexico, you can read more about it here. 

The collection of noises that follow the arrival of the sun are too many to count.  The birds provide the background upon which all other chatter occurs.  Chickens crowing, various indigenous birds chattering, warbling, cawing….

The insects also contribute, providing a consistent hum, carrying about their daily activities despite circumstance.  The stream gurgles to my right, occasionally interrupted by a creature crossing its path and stalling the flow.

At this time in the day, the noises from human development are slowly beginning their crescendo.  Construction picks up as countless buildings are constructed.  Commuters, like the insects, build up a hum of traffic, also bound to continue their days despite circumstances.

In the soft illuminating light, the voice of the people eases into the symphony of morning noise as the day begins.

-CK