Postcards from Todos Santos

We just returned from another trip to Todos Santos. It's late, so I'll write more later. All but the first of these are photos taken in the La Poza area, our favorite spot.

Land's End

We drove to Cabo San Lucas and wasted half a day looking for a place to stay. We hadn't counted on the college kids on spring break taking all the affordable lodging. We tried further down the road to San Jose del Cabos where the lush resorts are and still had trouble. We weren't eager to pay over 400 dollars a night, so we headed back to the marina area in Cabo and settled in among the spring break crowd. I don't know what was worse, the music from the nearby bars or the consistent movement of young kids up and down the hall laughing and hollering by night, or the constant harassment from peddlers and tour promoters on the marina by day. But overall, the trip was fun.

The highlights were:
sunset cruise that took us around the arch at Land's End
Allison swimming with the dolphins at Cabo Dolphin
a Mexican folk dance performance near the beach
a quarter pounder with cheese at the local McDonalds

Todos Santos

You mention Todos Santos and most people think, artists, surfers, Hotel California, but I came away with one prominent impression: Big Ocean. There is one big, bad ocean out there, nothing like our lake-like Sea of Cortez off Loreto.

Todos Santos is charming, it is true. It is different than Loreto in many ways. It is an oasis town built on an aquifer near the Pacific Ocean. The ground is so fertile it is stuffed full of palm trees and tropical plants and mini produce fields. It is hilly, so I can see why people compare it to Carmel-by-the-Sea in California. The air is cooler and it is less windy. And yes, the sky does seem to have a warm glow that artists claim Taos or Santa Fe share.

The Pacific makes it's presence known through sound: It is very loud. The surf break on this stretch of the Baja is extremely fierce. Surfers prefer the breaks to the north and south. They call the Todos Santos surf, "Killers" and deem it for experts only. The beach is not safe for swimming and there have been many drownings. A few days before our visit a man drowned saving a young boy when the lagoon he was playing in broke open into the ocean, a frequent occurrence. We did not know these stories when we checked into the wonderful, Posado La Poza , the small hotel behind the lagoon, but a stroll down the beach later put us in a respectful state. You don't want to mess around with a powerful force like that. Yet, what a sight it is. The sand is clean and light. The horizon is distant and unbroken. The glimmering sun on the water against the blue sky is enchanting. We darted and dodged the edges of the surf as it chased us, but we never got more than shin-deep.


La Poza is the perfect place for escape, it's secluded and tranquil. It consists of just a few bungalows oceanside. A Swiss couple owns and manages it expertly. I had the most amazing appetizer in their restaurant. Something with shrimp, oranges, and avocados. I noticed something black and furry at my feet. It was a cute little mutt that wandered in to find a comfy spot. No one seemed to mind. The grounds around the hotel are beautiful. Paths meander through a botanical garden of tropical and desert plants and statuary. The salt-water swimming pool and hot tub was ours alone; everyone else was out of sight. After sunset we sat at the edge of the hotel grounds and watched the stars in pitch darkness. I tried to tell what I knew of the constellation Orion and how he was banished to the skies for chasing women. I pointed out Pleiades and told about the seven sisters who, too, are frozen in the sky. This must have sounded like ghost stories to Allison who began to grow timid; more so, when we began pointing out different stars and planets and discussing how far away they are and what might live there, etc., etc., which leads the human mind to disturbing questions about creation, existence, the great unknown. I began to feel the unease that comes with recognizing just what little specks we are in a big universe. Meanwhile, the Pacific is roaring at us from just a stone's throw away, each break reminding me of a big lion paw stretching out to randomly snatch something up.

The next morning we explored the little town. We admired the hammered copper sinks in one shop near the mission. We peeked into the Hotel California; it looked pretty hip. We ate beef tacos at a little roadside stand. We met a realtor who showed us a lot overlooking the ocean and we wondered if we could live in a place like Todos Santos. All this took less than three hours. Then there was nothing else to do, which is probably the point of a place like Todos, and probably why it's not for us at this point in our lives, so we headed down to the highway towards Cabo San Lucas.

Goodbye, Mr. Nibbles

Robert is here, finally. He drove all the way here with our friends from home, Danny and Lindsay. They made the 2300-mile trip in 3 days. I greeted them with joy mixed with extreme guilt that our friends, in their excitement to escape the Midwest freeze, did not fully consider the brutal drive time. Robert promised he'd be here for Valentine's Day even if that meant 14-hour days on the road. On the evening of the third day Allison and I gave up hope and went to bed only to be awakened at 11:00 pm by Robert's knocking. Forget that he drove the last four hours on the ragged Transpeninsular Highway in the dark, he was here on time as promised.

Our friends, who are much younger than us, were surprisingly cheerful. We stayed up late laughing over their recollections of the drive's highlights and hardships. Poor Lindsay, who spent most of the drive in the back seat surrounded by items crammed into every spare space, had to endure the constant commotion of Allison's hamster, Mr. Nibbles, as he raced on his wheel. She took responsibility for Mr. Nibbles' comfort even while her own suffered; gingerly rearranging his cage when she shifted positions or tried to recline for a nap using a roll of paper towels as her pillow. Imagine her shock when upon unloading the cargo we discovered Mr. Nibbles was not in his cage. Some point on the last few hours on the road, Mr. Nibbles gnawed his way out of his prison and probably leapt into the dark Baja night at the first opportunity, something the rest of the abused passengers probably wished they could have done. But, like I said, our friends are still very young and haven't adopted the inflexibility that age and experience bring. To them the trip was an adventure to laugh about.

We took them to Magdalena Bay on the Pacific to see the whales. Thankfully, the day was sunny and pleasant enough. We followed one mother and her calf for nearly an hour hoping for that elusive surfacing beside the boat which both delights and startles everyone. The prize is getting to pet the rubbery skin of the gigantic mammal before it re submerges. Second place is getting sprayed when the whale blows. For me, the goal is getting a good photo which is harder than you think. Everyone new to whale-watching asks the same question: "Will a whale try to tip over a boat?" To which they are always reassured that whales are the most intelligent and docile sea creatures and have no evil intentions of knocking you out of your vessel and then swallowing you. But, Robert, of course, has a story for us. He's been told of an incident where a boat bumped into a calf who then squealed for its mama who in anger or defense dove to a certain depth and shot up directly under the boat sending it airborne and tossing its passengers into the sea. Gratefully, he refrained from sharing this story until after the ride.

This morning the men are fishing after yesterday's aborted attempt due to heavy winds. They are out with an experienced Mexican fisherman from Juncilito, near Port Escondido. Hopefully, they will return with some Yellowtail. They've managed to fit in a few rounds of golf on the Loreto Bay course which is torn up due to remodeling but still, according to them, very promising. We plan to spend this morning poolside at the Inn and walk the beach. The wind which has been brutal the past several days seems to have died down giving us a spectacular sunny warm day. I feel satisfied that our friends are having a good time so far. As they put it, anything beats the dull bleakness of a Midwestern winter day. As for Mr. Nibbles, we hope he's alive and well somewhere, having abandoned forever his post on the wheel, a feat many people would like to attain.

Goat Crossing

Sometimes it's horses and donkeys. Sometimes it's cows. Today it was goats that brought me to a stop on the highway.

Not your average worm in the bottle

What's in the bottle? It's a live sea horse that Sarah found on the beach. Anyone for a swig?

For your amusement

Norma took my blond away. I sat in her chair and said, "Do whatever you want." So she darkened my hair a few shades and gave me caramel highlights. Looks so better with your skin, she said, and maybe I agree, or, why not, I think, maybe I'll blend in better. It's something different. Norma runs the best hair salon in town, the one that caters to the norteamericanas. Old issues of In Style and Vanity Fair lie in the magazine rack next to displays of OPI nail polish (pricey even in America.) The young girls that work there are slim and pretty, girls I imagine being candidates for Loreto Carnaval Queen when they were in high school. Norma is pretty too and extremely talkative and lively. I sit in her chair captive to the chatter and continual laughter. They tell stories in rapid-fire Spanish that I can never keep up with. I only catch words and phrases that I work like clues to piece together a scenario. Novio, ha-ha-ha (Boyfriend is clueless.) Compromiso, frown (Boyfriends are trouble.) I imagine I get the meat of the tale and that it's universal girl-talk, but for all I know they could be talking about the global economy.

Their gaiety was so mesmerizing that I was somewhat non-attentive to the inconvenience of having my hair shampooed with a bucket and a bowl. Apparently, the water tank was empty or malfunctioning. A carafe of water heated on the coffee maker was added to the gallon bucket and my hair was washed and rinsed scoopful by scoopful. I think I was too amused to get bent out of shape or maybe it was the extreme delicacy and carefulness of the sweet girl assigned to this impossible task that kept me humble and patient. I'd look up now and then to see Norma's big grin and hear laughter, then I'd close my eyes again giving in to the delicate fingers rubbing my scalp and think, what's really so bad about this? Four hours later I emerged to the outside, lost of any sense of what was next in my day.

I walked to Dali's to pick up some food items. I bought ricotta cheese in industrial size, (most things there come in restaurant size) lasagna noodles, and some Italian sausages. A real score that boosted my mood further and got me enthusiastic thinking about inviting people for dinner. I picked up Allie and her friend, Gloria, from school and we ate fish tacos at Pangalangas till Gloria's mother came to take them to play. I rushed back to Loreto Bay to fetch Dee's collie, Laddie. I'd promised to take him on a walk while she was whale watching with friends. I walked the Marmaduke-sized Laddie along with our pedigree spaniel lapdog on the Paseo looking like the most idiotic gringo caricature possible to the Mexican obras as the dogs continually entangled me. What they think of me I'm afraid to guess. Some days I stroll by toting a tennis racquet, some days I'm power-walking. In the mornings I'm loading up my daughter and her things to school. Some days I'm unloading purchases or hauling water or trash. Some days I'm in skirt and heels. "Hey, beautiful lady" one says to me one morning reminding me that for some I'm an object of interest--foreign interest, and they're watching me like someone watches a serial show. What thing will I do next? Thing is, I feel like everything I do amuses them.

There's no blending in, blond hair or not. I'll just be happy for the construction in my cluster to finish up and move out. This is no resort. Not yet. Not by a long shot. It seems every day a big machine moves dirt and gravel around the my calle (street.) One day it's leveled, the next there's a trench, the next there's huge piles of gravel. Nothing makes any sense. Like a hair salon with no water. Like being able to make lasagna, but not being able to find dishwashing detergent anywhere in town. Tonight I did a stupid thing. I'd done it once before with the same sorry results, but something reckless in me decided to hope for a different outcome. I used laundry detergent in the dishwasher. I spent a half hour on my knees wiping up foam and water. I felt pretty foolish for sure, but there was no one to see me, thank goodness.

Still waiting

Nothing much happened today as we waited for our furniture to arrive. It didn't. Maybe manana...

Oh well, here's some nice photo of Puerto Escondido.
Double click to enlarge

School's out!

On the way to San Javier we stopped at this little chapel. The girls kneeled to say a prayer, or at least I'm sure that's what Allison was doing. No telling what she prays for, maybe: "Thank you, Our Lady of Guadalupe, that school is over." Lucy might be praying for a safe return back down the mountains. In fact the placement of this little chapel on the summit leads me to suspect its purpose was just that--a place to plead for safe journey.


The following day we went to the school's end ceremony to pick up Allison's report card. She was called up for a special achievement award for receiving high marks along with classmates Luis, and Fernando, that boy who pulled up her dress long ago. It was a tough year for her; us throwing her into a spanish-speaking school with zero preparation. Thank goodness she had her buddy, James, to help her navigate. He deserves an award for enduring Allie's constant little fingertaps to his back for help. Somehow, she made it through and is promoted to second grade. But for now it's adios school uniform and regulation hair ribbons.

I spy an Iguana

A Sonoran spiny-tailed iguana that lounged on a rock at the Mission.

Mission detail

The weathervane atop of the belltower on the San Javier Mission

See San Javier or....

We took Sara and Lucy to San Javier today. When you have guests it seems important that they see the Mission, even though the drive to get there is a killer--35 kilometers over narrow, sometimes treacherous washboard mountain passes. But, it's worth it, you say to each other, after setting eyes on the splendid baroque mission set in the oasis in the mountains. Though the architecture and its details are interesting, what you really hear yourself ask is, "What were those people thinking?"

The Jesuits believed in the power of impressive structures. But to believe something and really see it through to reality--wow. Somebody had to envision the plans, get the green light from superiors thousands of miles away; then coordinate the workers, clear the land, transport quarried rock from miles away, import interior decorations and artwork.

Besides being a more pleasurable trip than our first, (we were better prepared and in a better vehicle) there was the added bonus of recent rain to give the air a wonderful wet earth smell. We actually encountered puddles in the road after reaching Las Parras.


For all the driving, we only spent a small amount of time in San Javier. After you see the Mission that's it. Nothing much else. On the way back the girls kept us entertained with a game of "What would you rather?" It's a theoretical dare game with questions like, "Would you rather shave your head...or eat 3 pounds of liver and onions?" You learn a lot about a person. Now everyone knows I'd hang by my hair off a cliff before giving up glazed donuts.

Cat head

The sphinx-like cat head of the Sea of Cortez formed by Mother Nature. Bird poop adds the highlights.

Sea dogs and puppies

Bet you were wondering what I've been up to. No, I haven't been carried away by bats. My attention has turned to the sea. I earned my scuba diving certificate last week. Robert, Beau, and I took the course which included four open water dives. That I was able to complete the course is remarkable to me since I don't like water all that much and especially not the creepy way people look underwater. But the combination of a gentle instructor and a little family rivalry kept me in the game. That, and the opportunity I'd miss if I bailed. I'm living on the Sea of Cortez, an ocean teeming with marine life, a body of water made famous by John Steinbeck, Jacques Cousteau. How could I miss taking a closer look?

On our way to our first dive at sea we encountered a school of dolphins that began to chase us. Dozens of them surrounded the panga boat, speedily darting through the water like missiles. A few would take the lead swimming directly in front of the boat. They were magnificent. And so immediately likeable. They reminded me of big, playful dogs. Sea dogs. Fetch!

Immediately after they departed we came across a pod of pilot whales and rode with them for awhile. Though not playful like the dolphins, the pilot whales were curious, some coming right up to the boat for a look. We were all so astonished and overcome with marvel. Every one of us shrieked with glee every time a whale emerged to blow. You could hear them breathe!

That was just the first day, Before even getting in the water! I might have been content to stay on top of the water--there was certainly enough wonder there, but we were headed to a protected cove near Puerto Escondido to do what we set out to do: dive. If I quit then I would have missed the experience of seeing what amounts to a parallel universe. There is a whole other world in the sea.




I'll spare you all the enthusiastic enumerations of my first adventure as a neophyte diver, but this one: I held a puffer fish in my hands. He was as cute as a prickly puppy. His forward-placed eyes focused on me in intense concentration as he frantically gulped up water to get bigger and badder. He only got cuter and puffier. I had an overwhelming desire to possess him, to take him home in my BCD pocket as my pet. When I finally let him go his little ballooned body hastened off with inadequate propulsion from two little fins and a tailfin wagging like a docked puppy tail.

Puppies of the sea. I'm hooked.

Holy bat cave!

The Sea of Cortez contains a whole world of marine life. Jacques Cousteau has called it the world's aquarium. I intend to have a closer look, but for now I am preoccupied with animal life on the Baja, in particular, bats. There is a high density of them in Nopolo and people staying in the Loreto Bay village will have to learn to live with them. As creepy as they are they're indispensable as pest control--each consuming over 1000 mosquitoes every evening. I don't know about you, but if I have to choose between furry flying mice and biting insects, the bats win every time.


I assumed they lived in the caves in the mountains near Nopolo, but someone yesterday told me that they are roosting in the abandoned Convention Center just down the road from the village. This I had to see. Beau too. We were too chicken to approach the site at sundown, however. We had visions of walking into some dark orifice at the same time the hungry flock would be pouring out for night feeding. We didn't want any bats in our hair.

We thought we'd explore the building at day. We found a spiral staircase to the second floor that led to a dark room. I peered in and saw (and heard) hundreds of bats gripping the ceiling which was covered in styrofoam. There weren't the thousands I imagined, but I wondered if more were behind the styrofoam in the trusses. I think Beau was expecting thousands too because he hung back at the doorway while I cautiously creeped in further, stepping on piles of bat dung which looks surprisingly like mouse poop. I positioned myself for a few snapshots hoping my camera flash wouldn't startle the bats into a frenzy. They seemed not to notice me, but I wasn't too comfortable standing directly below them and the stench was nasty.


The building is planned for demolition and I wonder if anyone realizes how this will effect the bat population. Where will they go? Maybe to roost in crannies around the stylish village? I'm not a bat lover any more than a vulture or turtle lover, but like I said, the bats serve a very good purpose. I need to find out if anyone in the development is considering the imminent displacement of these creatures.

Bat Kingdom

After 20 minutes of news I have to relinquish the control to Allison so she can watch a little Animal Planet in the morning. We've all become hooked on Animal Planet these days. I remember one season years ago before Allie when it was the Travel Channel. I think we traveled the world one winter from our family room. But now, it's animals.

This morning: Bats. Thirty minutes of a look into the bat kingdom. Like watching a horror movie--creepy but so intriguing. In a cave in England live 40 million bats. They come out to feed at nightfall where several hawks wait to snatch a few for supper. "Oh no!," Allison exclaims. "Who do you want to win?"
The hawks, I tell her. I like hawks better than bats.

Cut to the rain forest where a group of bats huddle together under a folded banana leaf. Here comes a snake. "Oh no! Who do you want to win?"
I answer, "The bats," wincing. "I hate bats less than snakes.

In Baja bats are prevalent. Our first night in this house we had a bat visitor that clung to our kitchen wall. Small, dark brown, furry. A wall mouse. Spidermouse. It lay very still like maybe we wouldn't notice. It was hard to coax out the door. We had to chase it from room to room dodging it as it flew over our heads.

Since there are caves in the Sierras I imagine some of them live there. We see them every night at sunset. Never in swarms, but sometimes pretty thick. They dart like little birds feeding on insects which is a good thing. They are probably leaf-nosed bats (Macrotus californicus), a Sonoran desert species, though I'm not sure. There is an endangered species in the area that feeds on fish and another type that feeds on cactus fruit. They have long snouts to reach into flowers for nectar like hummingbirds. I've seen photographs of bats suckling from hummingbird feeders. I guess that's kind of cute. Naaah.

Bats. Don't like em. Never will.

Welcome to my Easter

Robert and I are hosting Easter at Marta and Pepe's. That's what I get for giving such an illuminating tale of Easter-yore at our house. I described the baskets, the colored eggs and chocolate bunnies, the Easter feast; the ham, the potato salad, the deviled eggs, followed by the hunt for the obscenely excessive golden egg stuffed with a hundred dollar bill. This tradition is Robert's fault though I can't remember exactly how.

Well, naturally, Marta was worried that we should not deprive ourselves of our time-honored tradition. Why, of course, we should try to duplicate this wonderful event for our Mexican friends! Let the Easter Bunny come to Loreto! Just because they celebrate by going to Mass and walking in the Passion of Christ parade from the Mission through town, doesn't mean they're not open and eager to see our version of Easter.

I didn't know about the parade until I came up on it Friday afternoon. The police had halted traffic to allow the parade to pass. I parked and trotted up for a closer look catching a glimpse of Jesus pass under the Tecate beer sign near the four-way stop on Juarez street. He was dragging a massive wooden cross while men dressed as Roman soldiers in red robes pretended to strike him with whips. The townspeople followed behind looking solemn with hands folded together. I suddenly felt embarrassed. I had that guilty feeling you get when you've been caught with your eyes wandering during prayer-time, or like when you realize you're the only parent who forgot to send your child to school with a canned good for the food drive that day.


So in the last few days my enthusiasm for my Easter debut has waned considerably. But I'm committed and I must follow-through even though there have been plenty of obstacles. For example: there is no such thing as a ham in these parts. I drove all the way to Constitution to look for one and learned they are only stocked at Christmas time. So I settled for shaved ham for sandwiches. There is no such thing as sweet pickles here, so my potato salad went out the window. No PAAS egg-coloring kits. No easter baskets, so I bought the available hand-woven variety from the vendors near the Mission. I looked all week, everywhere, for brown sugar for my chocolate chip cookies that Pepe requested, but had to settle on what I could find--raw, unbleached sugar. I decided to have the chef at the Camino hotel fill in the holes with roasted potatoes, spinach salad, and a carved watermelon-half filled with melon balls.


Tonight, while I lifelessly boiled eggs and baked cookies, Robert and Allison filled plastic eggs with candy and coins. Robert also brought back from his trip home the infamous Easter "Peeps," those nasty marshmallow chicks and bunnies that he claims taste best stale. Whatever.

So tomorrow we will ruin forever the true meaning of Easter for our Mexican friends. Their children will gorge on sweets and grapple for party favors. Greed and competitiveness will overtake them as they push and race each other for the gringo c-note inside the golden egg hidden in the cactus. Even I may never feel the same benign acceptance of the Easter Bunny. In my imagination he is fast morphing into a bucktooth-grinning monster come to steal away souls. And I, his accomplice.
No, truly, I love our Easter and will miss not being home.

Pride, a dirty word

I am in awe of the protests over illegal immigration. If the following images and sentiments are any indication of how huge numbers of hispanics in America feel about the U.S., then we are in big trouble. I'm astonished at the spiteful and even hateful attitude toward our desire to remain a sovereign nation living by laws, with borders, with reasonable interests in security and safety and the ability to absorb the world's refugees.

If we had only enforced and managed the flow of hispanic immigration earlier. If we had helped Mexico develop its own resources to retain its people, if we had cracked down on U.S businesses that exploit illegals, if we had bore pressure on politicians who turned a blind eye, if we had worked to assimilate these immigrants rather to allow them to create pockets of sub-culture, unwilling to learn English and unable to participate fully in American life.

If we had not let our political correctness cloud our pride in our country, if we had not stood for fringe groups tearing down our traditions in the name of civil rights, if we had insisted our youth respect authority or at least pretend to for civility's sake, if we had not let the world see us bicker and express vile hatred of one political party for the other, if we stood a little more united in our love for our country, if we were not afraid to be proud of our country in spite of past mistakes, if we believed in the blessings and goodness of our country and the opportunity it offers--maybe we would have immigrants who want to be Americans, not Mexicans living in America.

Palapa dreams

While Allie was at school Robert and I drove to Puerto Escondido to look around. He has boats on the brain--he wants one so bad. On the way we stopped in a little palapa village (for lack of a better descriptive.) It's a community right on the water that arose from a campsite. Over time people rented space or lots and parked their RV's permanently. They built palapas (woven palm leaf roofs) over them, installed solar panels and generators, portable potties and barbeques, and called it home. There is a man there who helped Robert pull his borrowed dysfunctional boat out of the sea a few weeks back. Robert wanted to thank him again with a visit. He wasn't there but his wife was and she invited us in for my first look at the inside of one of these habitats.

Pretty cool, really. It's like camping with lots of great amenities. Her abode grew out of the RV camper she drove all the way down from Oregon. Over it went a giant palapa, rooms divided by woven straw screens, a functional kitchen with a stove/oven, sink and refrigerator, a good size living room with rattan sofas and chairs, a working tiled shower and bathroom, and best of all a little bedroom with a bed completely enveloped in mosquito netting. She had a little fenced yard (mostly gravel and potted trees) and a elevated wooden deck which provided fabulous views of the Sierras and the Sea of Cortez.

She was happy to share the history of her little homestead project. She'd come from the wet and gloomy Pacific northwest all by herself to settle on her found piece of paradise. Here she found contentment along with a permanent suntan (she was as dark as the darkest Mexicans) Later, she met and married her husband who shares her love of the ocean. They are active in the Harbor Club (don't think yachts, white linen pants, and cocktails; think fishing boats, tee-shirts, and beer) and organize annual events like Loreto Fest where boaters come to party. Within minutes she was encouraging us to join the group, come to tonight's meeting, come to the monthly potluck.

So, Robert is presently at the meeting. I passed. It's for him to explore. He has always wanted to sail. Since I met him his dream has always been sail the globe, to be a good will ambassador to the world. All I wanted was a Ralph Lauren-styled cabin in the Rockies with a view of horses grazing out my kitchen window. But since his close brush with death via the heart attack, we're humoring him. Ha ha. Still, I'm concerned he may trade our house for a boat. It better be a nice one is all I can say.

To the tip of the peninsula and beyond

Allison and I hit the road over the weekend. We drove nearly 7 hours down the Baja ending up in Cabo San Lucas. The highlight of the drive was just past Todos Santos where the Pacific Ocean comes into view. The highway runs parallel to it for miles. On one particular craggy bluff we noticed parked cars and people gathered. Curious, we stopped and discovered everyone was watching whales. We too climbed the hill and right away spotted whale after whale by the their blows, or rather by the water that is sprayed when they come up to exhale. We caught a few glimpses of their backs or flukes (tails), but not enough to be satisified. What we have to do is get on a boat or a kayak and get closer to them which is what everybody does. They come back with stories of how they petted the whales. We will do that soon.

Cabo San Lucas was a welcome diversion to sleepy Loreto. We had a great time strolling and shopping. We wanted to see a movie but "King Kong" was in spanish so we passed. We did spend most of one afternoon at Costco and true to everyone's word it was exactly like those at home. Practically everyone shopping there was American so it felt even more like home. I admit to feeling pretty joyful about it. We even had a slice of pizza from the concession stand sitting at picnic tables in the sunshine.

I'd be happy to return to Cabo with Robert just so he could see the boats in the marina. And the golf courses. The good time Allison and I had outweighed the discomforts of the long ride. Driving the Transpeninsular Highway requires an alert mind. Besides the narrow two-lane there is constant truck traffic to contend with. It's not for sissies. Plus, traveling with a 6 year old and a dog....

It was funny to hear Allison ask when we'd be home. "our Loreto home" she would clarify. She's getting the hang of it. This morning, after the usual protest about having to go to school, I dropped her off and tried to get back into some kind of routine again. I took Betsy on a walk and Jagger, our neighbor's superficially vicious German Shepard, actually trotted up to greet us. That's the same dog that nearly bit our heads off the first time we crossed paths. I guess we've passed a benchmark.