La Paz, Baja California Sur, Mexico

 

no first class!





Saturday April 30, 2011 – Los Angeles International Airport aboard a small plane with propellers headed southeast down the California Baja.  

“We’d like to call your attention to our one and only well-equipped bathroom in the front of the plane," the flight attendant announces, "it's next to the cockpit door and it’s the only door with a handle.”

I've brought along a lot of snacks in my backpack - just in case. Beans and rice is what we're hankering to consume in Mexico. REAL beans and rice. I'm checking The Everything Spanish Phrase Book and think I can say it in Spanish: "Yo quiero los frijoles y arroz. Por favor."

Two hours later, we arrive in La Paz, Baja California Sur, Mexico - leaving the dark cold 45th parallel for the Tropic of Cancer neighborhood. “Bark! Bark! Bark” comes from the baggage carousel slowly circling into the terminal and then back outside into the heat. The last piece of unclaimed luggage. Shiny black eyes peek and tasseled white hairs poke through white plastic animal carrier slots. All the gringos waiting to pass through customs are relieved when the mom and two small young girls finally show up to claim their family member.

Bright yellow warmth rushes into the rolled-down taxi windows for the seven mile ride from the airport to the Malecon. Zipping along past block after block of homes and stores made of block. The vibrant colors mix intensely with the warmth, and melt into movement, like a Jill Logan painting I will see a few days later in Todos Santos. Through the flashing light, my melting travel-bleary eyes try to take it all in at once.

After quickly checking in to the Hotel 7 Crowns – 5^th floor view of the harbor --  and a change from Portland clothing to La Paz attire. Time to stroll the Malecon a short distance to the nearest beach bar for the first of what will be over the next two weeks, mucho chips , salsa and beers. Devil sun tries to pink my face from under umbrella shade and wide brimmed hat.

Among the few other clients at this early hour, a woman introduces herself as Phil the Boat Builder from Canada. She’s there with a man who wears a sagging load of keys attached to the belt loop of his jeans. Peering at me through her bedraggled bleached blond bangs that nearly obscure her blurry bloodshot light blue eyes, her thin skin pink and peeling and wrinkled with various sun exposures, she confides, “I’m looking for love but that’s just my friend.”

No beans and rice on the menu here so we settle for what will be one of many fish tacos.

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The Malecon is a long pedestrian walkway (zona peatonal) running along the beach of the blue waters of the Bay of California (aka the Sea of Cortez). Next to it, a busy 2-way avenue runs parallel. Across is the bustling city, stretching inland for many blocks on such streets as 16 de Septiembre and 5 de Mayo.



Malecon, La Paz, Baja California Sur, Mexico



The Malecon is the living room of La Paz, a few miles paved with swirling tiles, designed with bronze sculptures, peppered with iron benches, and decorated with mass plantings of palms and bougainvillea. As the sun sets and the legendary evening breeze cools the temperatures, young, old, and everyone in between come out to the Malecon.



As darkness falls and the Malecon lights up, youths on their bicycles weave through throngs of strolling families pushing strollers and straggling children. Trick riders jump their bikes over yellow traffic cones.  Passing rollerbladers and skateboarders check each other out. Venders seem miniature under their loads of cotton candy and balloons. Everyone licks ice cream cones. Burger King is packed with families, tables strewn with party left-overs. Music pulses out of every establishment, every passing car.

Venturing a block in-land to what looks like a more Mexican restaurant, we peer at the menu trying to figure it out. There's a smoking b-b-q going on with lots of meat items grilling away. Once again it's the fish tacos. The resident skinny little cat got most of it.



Meanwhile, on the avenue, the youth of La Paz do what I did when I was young - ‘drag the strip.’ Each passing vehicle blares a different song, engines revved up, windows down, attitudes friendly. As the tardes passes into noches, distant rock bands vie for the loudest.

Nightcaps: that’s what vacations are for, right? Just out our hotel room and practically all to ourselves is the patio bar of C.I.P.S. Jacuzzi Bar, complete with a cold Jacuzzi, two big screen TVs, and the best bar in town. “How do you want your margarita?” asks Maurice, while checking to see how his favorite futbol team is doing on the TV.

The panoramic view of the Malecon affords us an eye-witness view as, suddenly just below, three police on foot attempt to pull a vehicle over on the crowded Malecon. Some shouting is heard. No comprendo. The driver makes a quick left turn into the oncoming slow-moving traffic, screeching tires and glass breaking as he smashes into the oncoming car’s headlight, then careens away up the side street, all the while the three policemen shouting and gesturing like they would shoot. But they don’t. 

Toto, we’re not in Portland anymore!