Where to eat in Carlsbad, New Mexico

Hermana and I drove down to Carlsbad, NM to visit our Mother recently. We spent all of our time eating out, then napping and then trying to decide which restaurant to devote our attention to next. We made some surprisingly new finds and repeated old best ones—people in Carlsbad have some clever dining options now that have not always been there.

Our first night we went to the No Whiner Diner. The name by itself is enough to turn me off, but the food is actually very fresh and appealing with a diner sort of aspect, lots of options (including great salads for dieters), even though they don’t serve liquor. The thing about Carlsbad according to my cousin is that the townspeople fall into two groups: those that drink and those that oppose drinking. Every restaurant in Carlsbad has to decide which group they plan to appeal to because teetotalers and lushes avoid each other’s restaurants on principle.

The next morning as my sister and I walked down the hall to my Mother's room, we sadly discovered our Mother’s dining companion fallen on the floor in her room with a badly broken knee; she was taken off to Lubbock for surgery that couldn't be done in Carlsbad. That sort of dampened our mood to eat breakfast in the independent care dining room that day, so we hustled off to the Blue House Bakery and Cafe, a darling coffee shop and bakery with amazing artwork, excellent food and a convivial atmosphere on North Canyon Road. My sister parked in front of the vacant lot next door to the Blue House and pointed out to me that this was where my Mother had first lived as a child. Two Cyprus trees had overgrown either side of a single concrete step which was all that remained of where the house had stood, and the vacant lot next to that was where a beloved family pet, Star Puppy, was buried. I always asked my Mother to tell me Star Puppy stories over and over again when I was little.

Best place to meet and mingle with friendly locals--a must do!

That evening we had reservations at the Stock Exchange Steakhouse, one of the more pricey places. I wish they would put a new front door on the restaurant; the existing one is plywood painted a flat black and kind of sets the tone for the poor interior design in the restaurant. The facility is owned by a caterer and the food is imaginative and unique, even though the menu is somewhat limited. All of us were impressed with the fine food (and me the wine list); the desserts were exceptional. The dining furniture is beautiful, but although the restaurant is expensively decorated it is a claustrophobic space inside. A beautiful old bar dominates the end of the room, but has been effaced by the black ceiling and dark red-brown walls that take over the room and press you down. I believe they had the best food, but the interior made all of us very uncomfortable.

Thursday came and lunch was held at The Little Teapot, a very girlie spot in an old Carlsbad house, cater-corner from the Blue House. Inside the home was decorated with ladies hats, teapots and floral china, and a beautiful framed wedding dress from the ‘50s complete with pearls, handbag and photo of the bride and groom. The groom’s dinner jacket was framed on the other wall. The food was fresh and not too much, and all the meals were served on beautiful pieces of mismatched china. It was a cute place and was popular enough that a children’s birthday party was underway upstairs.

For dinner we drove 30 minutes distant to Artesia to an Italian restaurant called Piccolino which got good reviews on Trip Advisor. It turned out to be sort of your red-checkered tablecloth kind of Italian restaurant and didn’t make any claims to being fancy, though it was housed in a cute old brick building and was attractive inside. The portions were quite generous and the menu very comprehensive. I would definitely go back again. I wondered who the Italian counterpart of the establishment was since the staff seemed all to be of Mexican descent though giving the impression of being part of a large family who owned it. There were lots of unique menu items that hinted at a very Italian cook. Artesia is an oil-and-gas town, a tiny town of about 15,000 but embellished with some very impressive large-scale bronze sculptures of horsemen and cattle along the main street and highway through town.

Bronze sculpture, El Vaquero, in downtown Artesia

The next day, Friday, was our last day to enjoy each other’s company as Hermana and I would leave bright and early the next morning to catch up with Esperando in the Albuquerque Airport. I can never understand how times flies by so quickly. I convinced Hermana that we had to go to San Jose, the Mexican part of Carlsbad, to eat at Rojas Mexican Grill and Restaurant, the best Mexican restaurant in town. Their red chile sauce for chips and for enchiladas is fabulous, hot and spicy. The Mexican American citizens of Carlsbad lay claim to many generations of residence here all the way back to the Spanish occupation of Mexico; they are not ‘wetbacks’.

Our last night’s dinner was saved for the Trinity Grill and Hotel. This historic property was constructed in 1892 as the First National Bank. It once served as home to the first newspaper and headquarters of the Carlsbad Irrigation District where my grandfather had his office as Project Manager of the U.S. Reclamation Project. For my Mother, my sister and me, it evokes nostalgia of times past and some emotional claim that we have on Carlsbad as our birthplace. However it is also a wonderful place to eat, full of light and elegant interior spaces. The food is always good, the Maitre D’ knows my Mother and delights in escorting her to a table, and somehow it just always feels like home.

The old bank building these days houses Trinity, a B&B and hotel.

Canadian Border Crossings

Yesterday we flew back from Vancouver where we spent the past several days for Esperando’s work. The weather was beautiful and we ate at some really great restaurants.

Esperando tried to check us in online, but for some peculiar reason he couldn’t acquire my boarding pass. Our flight didn’t leave until 4 pm, so we waited around for one last lunch at our new favorite sushi restaurant Oysi Oysi. I am on a lowfat diet and Esperando is on the Atkins diet—Japanese food works really well for us as we can both have the raw fish and salads. The wait staff is super friendly. We ate there 5 days in a row we liked it so well.

Oysi Oysi means yummy, yummy in Japanese.

We decided to get to the airport a little early—it was Sunday and not much was open downtown. We tried to check in at the United kiosk at the airport, but again my boarding pass wouldn’t pop up. We had to get the agent to print it out for us. I guess we were just too dumb. When I finally got my boarding pass I had the dreaded four S’s on it, which meant I had been singled out for a special random security check. Lucky me. In the past when this has happened (and I seem to have had more than my fair share of times), Esperando has been excluded. But somehow in the intervening months since the last time, he was glued to my fate for better or worse. Those security guys probably felt sorry for the left out spouses and have decided the more the merrier.

When you get the four S's the wisest course of action is just to turn around and go back home.

Now we shunted off into the special high security section. Before we passed through your standard metal detector the security guy advised us we would be searched on the other side and had the option of a hand pat-down or the much maligned Whole Body Imaging Scan. On the other side we passed into the control of two guards who asked us whether we wanted to be frisked or scanned. We both elected to be scanned which took about 5 seconds. I hope those guys were blinded by my Medusa-type fat middle-aged body, serves them right I say! After that we came back to the table holding our computers, purse, backpack, shoes and wraps. A guy took our boarding passes and proceeded to check each item out with the explosive swab test, not allowing us to handle anything until it was checked, determined to be free of explosive residue, and then individually handed back over to us, a process that took about 15 minutes. We had to open our computers to show that they were not bombs and they if they had been we would have been the ones to have been blown away first.

Now Esperando and I went to a lot of trouble when we lived in Canada several years ago to drive an hour away to the U.S. border to apply for Nexus cards so could be deemed reliably trustworthy individuals who would sell all their children to the government for slave labor if we ever broke any kind of law here or in Canada. Having a Nexus card meant we could avoid waiting in long lines at immigration after gettng off the plane. We had to answer all kinds of detailed questions about our life history and residences, stuff you hope you will always remember but are afraid you will forget as your brain ages. You get a secret password that you better write down as it is super complicated—and woe to you when you can’t remember your security questions. It makes me tremble even now to think of getting on line with them. If you fail to get everything right, after the third time your access to their website is locked down permanently. Having gone through the whole rigamarole and having cards issued we thought we were now cool dudes. However the dreaded four S’s supercedes any previous cool dude status and we were next hauled off to a place that was actually labeled 'Detention Area for Baggage and Individuals' while our bags were retrieved so they could be hand inspected. Cops with guns on their hips cruised around in case anyone tried to make a break for it.

We were now seated in a room of equally criminally minded people who sat cooling their heels while their bags were likewise retrieved. We were all guilty until proven innocent.  A new couple came in and sat by us. They had been through this before and missed their flight one time because it took so long to be processed. The woman stated that the government had to keep doing this to, "keep us good and scared." Esperando and I had lots of time to wait and weren't in danger of missing our flight, but it was annoying to be treated like a criminal. Somehow our bags were not cooperating with a positive attitude, refusing to be found and since they couldn’t find them we were stuck. Finally after what seemed like forever our bags decided to make an appearance. Lots of other people had come and gone. Our bags were re-processed through the X-ray machine. We were asked if we had anything we wanted to declare, why we had come to Canada and how long we had stayed? I tell you they don't want us or our money there really. The government already has its own citizens paying for everything through the nose, why would they want Americans to come in and throw a few bucks around and lighten the load? I tell you next time you will have to drag me kicking and screaming into Canada. This time they have finally convinced me that I do not belong there, even if my forebears did land there 300 years ago, at least they had the sense to leave.

This was just a random check, but those security people are so hostile they make you feel guilty for everything you ever did in your entire life while you sit waiting. The have no sense of humor. The only thing I know for sure you must tolerate their hostility without cracking and making a snippy remark, or they will hound you across the border forever. We know—we have friends who are in that boat, too.

Cowboy country

Last weekend Esperando and I took a short spin over to Watsonville, a small farming community on the central coast of California just south of Santa Cruz that was featured recently in Sunset Magazine as a getaway destination for strawberry picking and its great beach.  We drove along winding roads through wooded coastal glens of sunlight and shadow to break out onto waves of rolling hilly farmland that is Watsonville. Besides major crops of strawberries, we saw row after row of lettuces waiting to be picked. I only vaguely remembered driving through Watsonville on my way to Carmel in past times. I was always so eager to get to Carmel and shop, and Watsonville was just in the way.

You will see this kind of view from any narrow road in Northern California leading to the coast once you get away from the houses.

 

This time Watsonville got its full due. We drove around and took photos of farm acreage, took the very photographic road to the beach lined with old Monterey pines, but turned around because we didn’t want to pay to get into the beach.

A great swooning Monterey Pine looks a bit lonely in the midst of the strawberry fields

Back in town, around the town square we saw a large Hispanic population enjoying the afternoon in the park like you would see in anywhere in Mexico. I surfed on my Blackberry phone to figure out where we might eat and we settled on a popular Mexican restaurant, El Alteño, I supposed stealing its name from ‘Alta California’ versus ‘Baja California’ but I don’t really know. I guess we needed a Mexico fix having been away from Baja now for the last 2 months. The food was so-so, but the streets were full of Hispanic cowboys wearing Stetson hats. After lunch we went next door to a western clothing store and Esperando bought a fancy shirt while I photographed the Stetson hats on their display. One hat was marked for sale for $400. I guess if you are a wealthy farmer you wear an expensive hat, not a Rolex.

This fancy hat is waiting for a home.

As we rambled along we drove by the Redman House, a beautiful old Victorian home, facing the highway, that had seen better days. It had been set up on blocks and looked like plans were afoot to move it elsewhere. A little investigation on the internet revealed an interesting history. Designed by renowned architect William Weeks, this huge home was built for James Redman in 1897. When the James Redman family died out in the 1930s, the house and property were sold to the Hiraharas, one of the first Japanese-American families to own farmland in the nation. Unlike other Japanese families, the Hiraharas managed to retain control of their property during the WWII period of internment. Only in the late 1980's was the land leased to a strawberry grower, the home abandoned and left to deteriorate. The house was added to the National Registry of Historic Places to hinder demolition while the Redman-Hirahara foundation pursued funds for preserving and restoring the property. It seems the plan was to make a small farm around it and make it a visitor’s center, leaving it in its current location. The foundation had owned the home until September 2009, when it lost it to foreclosure. Now, without access to the site, the group continues to toil, working on plans and waiting for what will come next, though it doesn’t know what or when that will be. If you are interested in donating money for a worthy cause this one certainly deserves some attention.

She greets the Pajaro Valley's visitors and passersby like a grand lady fallen on hard times. The interior of the home was finished in eastern oak, birds eye maple and natural hardwoods.

How I spent my Easter Vacation

Esperando and I just got back from a 4-day fling to celebrate Semana Santa. This holiday is to Mexicans here in Baja what the 4th of July is like for USA folk: a holiday with beaches and partying, it's a true spring break. The Mexicans crowd the beaches to camp and just before they arrive all the remaining gringo snowbirds in trailers flee. We crammed in as much as we could in four days. First we drove to Playa Santa Inez to see how our favorite beach fared. It was still mostly empty. Where our truck was parked a lot of big ugly beetles had aggregated to feed and mate. They were scary looking even though they showed no interest in us. I never could find them on the internet.

These ugly beetles were about an inch long with red heads.

We continued on to La Serenidad Hotel in Mulege because we wanted to eat dinner again at Ray’s Place; it is always so welcoming and magical. After another swell dinner we drove back to our hotel. It was vastly under occupied with about five big Mexican families and just us. The children were relatively well behaved and it was very quiet at night. We were pleasantly surprised as we expected loud partying late into the wee hours.

The whole scene changed when we drove into Loreto for a 3-day stay at the Inn at Loreto Bay. Although the hotel wasn’t full, one entire wing of at least 100 rooms was occupied. We were probably one of about two other gringos couples staying there. We went into town that evening to eat at Mediterraneo. The town was alive. All the locals that weren’t tailgating on the main drag were cruising in their vehicles, mostly with beer. Our waiters watched all the action from the second floor balcony.

Back at the hotel we quickly discovered that our room was badly situated. It was under a Jacuzzi and a passel of children who ran it at warp drive and dragged the patio furniture around making loud scraping noises on the ceiling continuously. Outside the teenagers were cruising around in the golf carts and playing bumper cars with them. The grownups were in full party mode by the pool. It was very noisy. When the noise finally died down at 1 pm and peace reigned, I thought they would sleep until noon and we will be able to get some rest.

I don’t know what possessed the restaurant staff to start playing loud rap music the next morning at 6 am; it was totally uncalled for. Of course it got just us gringos out of bed as teenagers, children and party animals can sleep through any kind of noise. Esperando went to the front desk to organize a golf cart to move the scuba gear from the parking lot to the beach for a dive, but was told they were only available for golfers. We commented on the children we had seen driving them the previous day and were told that would not happen again. They would be happy, they said, to drive the scuba equipment to the beach for us. The murky water from the high wind the previous day put Esperando and Flaming Mike off the dive until the next morning. In the meantime a large aggressive looking black dog I will call Devil Dog raced around the beach going from palapa to palapa. When he approached our palapa, Dash acted like he wanted to tear his throat out.

This little boy in oversized shoes wandered into a group of people and took their towels away. No one stopped him.

We were able to change rooms to something more quiet. That night we went out to eat in town at the restaurant 1695 (so named for the arrival of the first missionaries to Loreto). Their food is excellent. We hadn’t intended to spend so long at dinner, but we were having such a good time that we shut the restaurant down. When we entered our new room at Inn at Loreto Bay, we discovered one of the dogs had torn a gaping hole in the sheer drape. Now that we were on the ground floor they could see everything through the sliding glass doors. Our guess was another dog or person got them excited. Surprisingly it was extremely quiet all night, we hadn’t realized that so many of the party goers would be leaving during the day.

Is this the beginning of curtain demolition?

The next morning Esperando took the dogs out and Devil Dog showed up again. It turned out yesterday’s doggie disagreement meant nothing now because all the dogs liked one another. When we took our morning walk Devil Dog reappeared and Dash ran off with him. Another large dog joined them and little Lupita started jumping on my legs to be lifted to get away from them. After that the big dogs began to rough house and she got bowled over a few times, then tried to bite one on the nose repeatedly but with no effect. I finally took pity on her and started to carry her. Devil Dog and Dash were inseparable. But when they started mounting each other trying to establish who was dominant, we decided Devil Dog needed to go elsewhere and Esperando drove him off by throwing rocks. Now Lupita was horrified by even small dogs that approached us on the beach.

Devil Dog - coming and going, just plain trouble

By the time we got back to the palapas it was time for the dive. Esperando and Flaming Mike struggled into their dive suits like a couple of seals trying to put on their skins. Then they waded off into the calm water and disappeared. When they finally surfaced an hour later neither of them thought was the dive too exciting. Because the time had changed to daylight savings that day (we are still on the old U.S. daylight savings time here), it was now time to check out. We went to our room and gathered up all our belongings to hit the highway home. The dogs were completely worn out from their beach frolics and slept all the way home. The torn curtain added another $30 to the bill, but it was worth it.

The Sunday Drive

Several Sundays ago Esperando and I took a drive down to Buenaventura Beach to dine at Mark Burbey’s fine establishment. We took our dogs along with us for the ride. We had a great time soaking in the sun and enjoying view of the Sea of Cortez while we waited for our order of cheeseburgers to cook. Mark makes some killer cheeseburgers, especially in this part of the world. Lupita and Dash enjoyed pal-ing around with his dogs, and Lupita even found a potential husband—a willing Chihuahua gentleman who seemed quite smitten with her. Unfortunately we do not plan for her to have any puppies. It seems Chihuahuas can actually require a Caeserean section as their birth canals are so tiny—and the veterinary care here cannot support that kind of effort.

Several other gringo couples were hanging out at Mark’s as well. It was from them we learned of the art exhibit taking place at Playa Santispac at Ana’s Restaurante on the beach. So, on our way back to Santa Rosalia we stopped off at Santispac to see what was happening at Ana’s which flaunted a full parking lot. The restaurant was wall-to-wall paintings and people. We chanced upon a booth representing the P.A.W. Veterinary Clinic currently scheduled for construction in Mulege. The clinic is planned to open in December 2010 and will be staffed part-time by three gringo veterinarians with a focus on spay/neuter services several days a week to manage the local animal population. It seems that although Lorraine Sellers, that kindly soul, could not return to run her clinic in Mulege (having been wiped out yet a third year by hurricanes, this time Jimena), she left behind the seeds of change for other Mulege expats to keep an animal clinic running there.

I talked to Debra Valov who will be the Office Manager at the new clinic, once it is up and running. A group of about 20 ongoing volunteers are in the process of raising money to finalize construction and build out this new facility which will be just off the highway near the Pemex station on the south side of town. They are currently seeking donations of money and goods. I decided to sign up to volunteer at the clinic a couple of days a week which is in need of bodies to help with every aspect from front desk work to prepping animals for surgery or tending to them afterwards. This is Baja—you never know from one minute to the next what will happen on a Sunday drive.

To donate to P.A.W. Veterinary Clinic:
Debra Valov, Office Manager
615 153 0587 (Mulege)
510 658 4656 (USA)
ecomujeres@aol.com (donations are accepted via Paypal)

Mark Burbey
Restaurant/Bar Playa Buenaventura
Call using a U.S. phone: 1-760-666-2648
Call using a Mexican phone: 01-615-161-1077
email: bajabuenaventura@hotmail.com

Zoom, zoom, zoom

I feel like a migrating hummingbird, just a little bit of nectar here and there. First we went to the mining convention in Veracruz via the ultra modern Mexico City airport, then drove from Veracruz through the scenic farmland of Mexico to Puebla for a brief visit, on to Cuernavaca just overnight but with enough to time enjoy our host’s beautiful very private home and garden replete with swimming pool, six German Shepherd dogs and two quarter horses, the whole set behind a high walled stone fence.

Two days back in Santa Rosalia then on to Northern California to catch our first glimpse of early fall; cool sunny days and crisp nights. We managed to miss the brief overnight rain in San Francisco when we spent Friday night there at the Omni Hotel having gotten an excellent rate of $160 on the internet (which when we checked out had been further reduced to $100, eeeGad! This is the 3rd most highly rated of all hotels in San Francisco on tripadvisor.com.) We met up with Youngest Daughter after work at the Bob's Bar in the Omni, a small very noisy and crowded affair, obviously hot-hot-hot—then across the street to the Carnelian Room for surprisingly inexpensive drinks in a room with a view. Dinner reservations were all but impossible at the places we wanted to try: Foreign Cinema, Burma Superstar and Zuni Café so we ended up at Saha Restaurant, Zagat’s mostly highly-rated middle eastern restaurant (a really excellent pick for us mixed group of carnivores and vegetarians) located in the Tenderloin district, and finally ended the evening with Irish coffee at that old icon, the Buenavista Café in North Beach.

When Saturday rolled around we had the chance to enjoy our grand- children and explore Petaluma, spending the night in a very quiet room at the Sheraton nestled around the Petaluma River. Onward the next morning for a drive into Healdsburg, with a scenic detour through Sonoma. Everywhere the grape vines of some of the most prestigious wineries in the world had turned gold or red, creating lovely views. We ate lunch in Benicia before arriving at my brother Juan-in-a- Million’s home in Moraga for the rest of our stay. Northern California is such a beautiful place; it breaks my heart not to live here anymore.

Thursday we will be winging our way to Denver, then driving on to Carlsbad, New Mexico, for my oldest brother’s memorial service. It will be good to see all my family, including the newest addition of just several weeks, the first child of my nephew, a daughter, Paloma. This is so rich an experience it should easily compensate for our solitary Thanksgiving when we return to Santa Rosalia in about a week.

Traveling with your dog in Baja

We have taken our dog Sweet Pickle along in the car from Denver to Santa Rosalia on two trips back and forth in the dead of summer. We have never have had a problem crossing the U.S.-Mexico border in either direction, but we always have his rabies certificate at the ready. Coming through Tijuana this last time we got a green light, but were waved through for inspection anyway, then when they saw the dog we were promptly sent on our way again. We always pack a lunch we can eat along the side of the road, it is too hot at the time of year we have been travelling to leave him behind in the car while we check out some local eatery. He is a good traveler and would rather go on a road trip with us than to stay behind. We find sometimes we get waved through the military checkpoints also when they see we have a dog with us; I guess they don’t want to have to deal with his perceived ferociousness (as in licking you to death). At 60-pounds he is big, so maybe that is what deters everyone.

We always try to get as far as we can in a day. When we leave from San Diego going south into Baja, the Desert Inn at Cataviña is our stop for the night ( then we have 6 more hours to drive the following day to get home to Santa Rosalia). They have a fabulous swimming pool filled with cool spring water set in the middle of a tree-filled courtyard that is surrounded by hotel rooms. It is a real oasis in the midst of an amazing hot desert. At night their generator keeps the air conditioners running. Their restaurant is really good and they don’t stint on the tequila in the Margaritas. If we are driving north, our stop for the evening is the Desert Inn in San Quintin, a modern looking white building with red-tiled roof. It looks right out over the ocean onto a vacant beach, that is great for running a dog. We have talked about staying at the Old Mill there but haven’t yet, the rooms are probably a bit more rustic but the setting is lovely.

It is nice to know there are places you can stay overnight that will take the dog. In a recent discussion in Todos Santos at a cocktail party, we found lots of new places mentioned to stay if you are starting from lower down on the peninsula. In El Rosario Baja Cactus and Mama Espinosas is touted as being a very nice and inexpensive. Guerrero Negro has a go-out-of-your-way-to-eat-there restaurant at the Malarrimo Hotel, but they do not take pets. Again the Desert Inn is recommended by friends. Here in Santa Rosalia the choices are Hotel Francés (historic red lobby is 'papered' in antique bandana cloth print, on the hill serving a great breakfast) Las Casitas (waterfront north of El Morro, no meals available here but great comfortable rooms); and Hotel El Morro (waterfront south edge of town).

BajaInsider.com publishes a list of pet friendly places throughout the Baja peninsula, and based on our familiarity with some of them, their listing seems to be on-target, except for those in Enseñada where every single recommended facility gets really awful reviews on Tripadvisor.com. Here we vote for El Rey Sol, a very nice comfortable hotel that also has a wonderful French restaurant just around the corner.

Todos Santos and La Paz

After 3 hot days in Cabo Pulmo we were ready to move on to Todos Santos where we had booked a room at Casa Bentley, a meandering stout-walled stone building set in a ‘tropical jungle’ that the owner, Bob Bentley, has carved out of old mango and avocado orchard. Bob has lived in Todos Santos since 1984, is a geologist by trade and became our instant friend and guide. He sent us to all the great restaurants in town and had lots of entertaining tales to tell. We had a delightful large cool room with private terrace, but we spent most of the hot afternoons lounging around his beautiful shaded gem of a swimming pool with his five dogs, all answering to the name of Heidi. His charming hotel manager, Beatrice, keeps everything humming along.

Todos Santos is all about the people, art galleries, places to eat and shops. We met a lot of really nice people; we were even invited to a cocktail party at a private home which was fantastic because we got to see the hostess’ lovely home and meet even more really cool Todos Santos residents. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a friendlier place, or had a more convivial time in just 3 short days.

Our first day, of course, had to check out the notorious Hotel California of Eagles fame, even though the Eagles never were really in Todos Santos. We had great margaritas there in the bar that evening, then wandered into the hotel lobby which looked like a gallery, and started talking to hotel manager Debbie Stewart whose husband (now deceased) was instrumental in putting Hotel California on the map—he created a really great hotel. According to Bob Bentley, local legend has it that on the night he died a major hurricane was about to make landfall there, and his spirit went out to sea and turned the hurricane away from Todos Santos.

Todos Santos has an old historic center but homes are scattered and sprawled up and down over hills, some homes have views of the ocean, some have none, most have really great gardens. Lots of funky, artistic and unique houses represent the efforts of the expatriate community. It kind of reminded us of a smaller Taos, New Mexico, on the Pacific Ocean, except it was hot and humid in a way Taos would never be. While we were there we encountered lots of Italian tourists, as well as several wonderful Italian restaurants: Tre Galline, a more upscale trendy and delicious place; and il Giardino Pizzeria Trattoria, an alfresco wood-fired pizza parlor also serving up pasta dishes. We had lunch at D’Alicias, a self-described Baja New Mexico restaurant featuring familiar-to-us New Mexico style enchiladas, something you will probably not encounter anywhere else in Baja California. This year many of the art galleries and restaurants have already shut down for the season due to the slow rate of tourism, so even in 3 days we still didn’t get to see it all. Before we got there several people told us that 4 hours of Todos Santos was sufficient to see and know the whole thing—obviously they REALLY missed the whole thing.

We bid a sad farewell to all our new found friends and drove to La Paz to see if our red enamel and stainless steel GE stove had been repaired and could come along with us to Santa Rosalia. Alas, it was still being worked on and they will call us when it is ready. I will not hold my breath.

Loreto to Cabo Pulmo

Our vacation is not proceeding smoothly, but rather in fits and starts. When we left Loreto 3 days ago I got the grunge from something I ate at lunch, I thought. In retrospect I believe that one of our houseguests who thought she had bad food had a 24-hour stomach bug and passed it on to me. In any event we stopped in Loreto for lunch at La Mision, a new luxury hotel there and were offered a terrific lunch buffet. I ate far more than I had intended to including lasagna; enchilada suiza; little strips of fajita meat; these delicious ground meat gorditas in a deep fried pastry which you topped with salsa, fresh chopped onions and cilantro; ceviche; and a wide selection of desserts including fruit, flan, buñuelos, various pastries and cakes. After stuffing ourselves we continued our journey, 4 hours south to La Paz.

I was so full from lunch, I began to think I was going to throw up before we would ever get to our destination. I just chalked it up to something bad in the lunch and way too many solid days of driving. By the time we got to our accommodation for the evening, Casa Tuscany, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and go to sleep. Our hosts, a delightful couple, Patricia and Ken Bonner (respectively from Australia and New Zealand) were quite chatty and I hoped I wouldn’t pitch it all in front of them before they showed us to our room 30 minutes later. I had no desire to go to our favorite restaurant, Las Virgenes. Fortunately our hosts had provided a very decent bottle of wine with the room and Esperando wasn’t hungry either. He sipped some wine and read while I cratered. In the morning I still hadn’t recovered, I felt better but now had diarrhea. Fortunately I recovered after a dose of Lomotil.

We ran a bunch of errands in La Paz, including retrieving a dresser drawer that had been repaired from shipping damage; trying to get a scuba tank filled (but without enough time); buying a few groceries at Walmart; and checking to see if a red enamel/stainless steel GE stove was still available at El Ferry (an appliance store) for Casa Abeja. I had seen the stove 5 months previously. At the time it was drastically marked down, I assumed because of its color. Esperando was sure it would be there, I was sure it wouldn’t and my jaw dropped to the floor to still find it, although without any price on it. Turns out someone had bought it, but returned it since one of the burners didn’t work. We told them we would be returning in a week and would buy it if they could get it fixed by then. This is Mexico, we’ll see if anything happens.

After that, we got back on the highway for Cabo Pulmo, which turned out to be 2 ½ hours distant. I had set up a 3-day stay for us at the delightful El Encanto de Cabo Pulmo, a private home comprised of a small main house, separate loft with balcony (where we stayed), and small casita. The house was designed by artist Diane Varney and every detail is beautifully finished and furnished Mexican style. She has planted an interesting garden of desert plants and many native trees which support the abundant bird life of several species of doves, cardinals, orioles, some small olive colored flittery birds and a desert lark. Cabo Pulmo itself is a national marine park, Parque Marino Nacional Cabo Pulmo, noted for great diving. It has the only coral reef system in the Sea of Cortez. Interestingly most of the tourists we’ve encountered here are Italians.

After lunch yesterday, Esperando caught ‘the grunge’ and fell ill. This morning he was feeling not 100%, but in the way of men went off on his dive anyway. Turns out the first two dives were good, but Esperando was too ill to make the last one.

Cabo Pulmo is an unusual place. We think the population must be about 200 with quite a few Mexican families. It has very little in the way of a grocery store, 4 restaurants, 5 dive shops, a host of beautiful gringo homes running on solar cells and well water. Although quite isolated it still manages to generate a cacophony of noise Mexican-style—generators humming, roosters crowing, peacocks mewing, birds chirping, children screaming, metal pans clanging, trucks rattling by, car alarms screeching, cars honking, cars revving by some with radios blaring, dogs barking, horses neighing, hammers tapping, electric saws roaring, and workmen constructing new homes hollering at one another—because of its small size every noise takes on a life of its own and rivets attention during its broadcast.

We have been eating at El Caballero. The meals are simple but tasty and the young waiter makes a truly great Margarita. Tonite we took the steak we had planned to bbq, but lacking the means for doing so they prepared it for us. Medium rare turned out to be pretty much well done, but still it was tasty.

The daytime temperature has been about 95F (although we think it topped 100F today) and since the generator is down we have no air conditioning. Other than living in the warm waters of the Sea of Cortez, taking a shower every couple of hours is the only way to cool down for a few minutes. Fortunately there is a fairly steady breeze after about 10 am (I say that as I sit here dripping prespiration in the shade). Our bedroom has a ceiling fan directly over the bed—and mosquito netting. I have already sacrificed a good portion of my ankles and legs for mosquito nourishment—they must be Aztec mosquitoes as they are quite a bloodthirsty lot. At night all the stars in the heavens and the Milky Way light up the night sky and are visible from our fine balcony location. We started out saying this place is way too remote, we could visit here, but we could never live here, but now we have added Diane Varney’s lovely home to the list of places we would buy to retire to—but just for 4 months every year—and not in hot August.

Hard Times comes a'knockin' at the door

Courtyard at the defunct Hotel Los Arcos

We will have been in Baja for a year by next month. I have cheated part of that time by having stayed away in Denver for the last 3 months recovering from shoulder surgery. Its a sad state of affairs. Even before I left it was noticeable that the Baja economy was struggling with a triple whammy. Coupled with the H1N1 virus scare, gringo fear of drug violence, and the meltdown of the U.S. economy, the tourist business is extremely slow in Baja. In the last 4 months their economy has eroded.

To start with, our favorite hotel in La Paz, Hotel Los Arcos, has been shut down since last November from a labor strike and has been sitting all boarded up since then. What a waste! It is in such a great location right across from the Malecon, and served up the best breakfast in town in my opinion—as well as some superb Margaritas in the bar. Last time we stayed at the Club El Morro and the accommodations were pretty, but they sure didn’t know how to make an even decent Margarita; the remembrance of those evil super sugar-y Margaritas makes my tongue want to shrivel up and die. I don’t know what will happen to Los Arcos, but I hope they win their lawsuit and can open up again sometime.

In June, the bankrupt Inn at Loreto Bay shut its doors and is looking for new owners and a cash infusion. It was such a great destination resort, low key and restful--right in Loreto, a hop, skip and jump from the airport. Gone are the availability of pretty rooms; the nice beach and adjacent pool where grandchildren can frolic; the pleasant outdoor dining, and the gentle slow resort just right for wallowing in the sun. Did I mentioned the golf course and daily activities calendar are gone too? I hope someone purchases it and sets it back up in business again (but when will the tourists even return to Mexico is anyone’s guess). Coupled with the hotel, the new construction at the resort of handsome townhomes has gone down the tubes and the developers that took people’s money upfront haven’t even left them with a hole in the ground.

Moving north back up the Peninsula toward Santa Rosalia our next victim is the Bar/Restaurant at Playa Buenaventura owned by Mark and Olivia Burbey who own our favorite hamburger location pitstop on the drive back from Loreto to Santa Rosalia. Their cute little restaurant/bar sits plop in front of the beautiful Sea of Cortez and the view is unparalleled. They also rent out space to RV’s and have a few humble cottages for hire. Mark told us his business was doing poorly last February. At that time when he is normally booked with 60 people he was only expecting 6. They are open for business, but are suffering. Stop by and eat a great burger if you are in the area. Tell them the copper miners from Santa Rosalia sent you.

Finally in Santa Rosalia one of our few nicer restaurant options, Tuxpan, bit the dust in June as well. Last year it was the site of our company Christmas party. The landlord wanted to up the rent and the owners couldn’t afford to pay more. In the ultimate moment of moving out it is reputed that the landlord had a change of heart, but the owners couldn’t afford to move everything back again. Gone the beautiful view, decent food, and all that great parking for passing RVs. Perhaps in another couple of months the mine activity in Santa Rosalia will start to pick up and infuse the economy there with some badly needed impetus.

Sad times for Baja, living on the edge.

One of the fine views from the Top of the Mark

Had a Fab-u-lous Time in the San Francisco Bay Area. Firstly we ate in a lot of fun restaurants, and secondly I celebrated my birthday 3 times (not something one should be doing at my age!) On the first night we had a banquet for the project at Piatti in Danville (this is a great Italian chain, we have one in Denver, also.) The food was heavily drenched in garlic which is always a great beginning.

The next night Esperando and I celebrated my actual birthdate with my brother and his wife at another Italian restaurant, a bit more homey and local—Forli—in Alamo. My brother and I ate the Sole Meunierre. It was wonderful. When the wait staff discovered it was my birthday they also brought me an au gratis tiramisu, and then the owner brought four aperitif glasses and 10 Italian liqueurs to the table, inviting us to indulge ourselves from his larder. He didn’t know what a bunch of drinkers he was serving for we tasted everything, all in the spirit of good fun. The best part was when they sang “happy birthday, dear bella,” and brought a candelabra to the table in lieu of birthday candles.

Then on Friday we drove into San Francisco and took the youngest child along to North Beach, first having a bottle of champagne and snack at the Top of the Mark in the Mark Hopkins Hotel on Nob Hill, then moving on to North Beach to The Museum Bar, a historic Beatnik bar, just block east of Broadway on Columbus at 12 Adler Street. Esperando and I always go there if we can. Then we moved on back a couple of blocks into North Beach to eat at Mona Lisa, a vibrant eclectic Italian restaurant with an extensive menu. Esperando ate an entire bowl of roasted garlic (at least three heads of garlic) by himself. We had planned to continue on to the Buena Vista Café for a nightcap Irish coffee, but my clock started winding down, so we returned to the Mark Hopkins where we were staying, gave the daughter money for her cab back home, and expired on the bed. The next morning Esperando was seriously smelly from garlic.

When I booked the room at The Mark, some of the reviewers on Trip Advisor were not so happy with it. We had a fine time and felt we had real value for our money. We had a package both nights that included free breakfast, and a really great one it was: Eggs Benedict, dim sum, corn beef hash, sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs, excellent pastries, hot cereal, waffles, smoked salmon, etc. all for free. On Saturday the meal was in the Top of the Mark (excellent views), on Sunday it was superceded by the fancy brunch so the same great breakfast was served downstairs instead. The service couldn’t have been more pleasant, and what a joy each morning to look out our window at the views of the City on to Grace Cathedral and the Pacific Union Club.

We drove over to Marin County the next morning and spent sometime enjoying our grandchildren, then drove back to the City to ready ourselves for our next party—the private Esperando & La Dueña de la Casa affair. San Francisco is such a happening place, after a brief nap we had a few hours to kill so we walked through the ferry building to admire all the food stalls and further down the pier, the Mexican tall ship Cuauhtemoc which was to set sail the following morning. They were having quite a celebration on the pier with costumed Aztec dancers performing to a drum beat. Then back to the room to get ready for dinner. Initially we planned dinner at Fournou’s Ovens, just a block away from our hotel—I even made reservations earlier in the day! But when we got there it turned out they had been closed for two months!! So on we ventured to our next planned stop, The Tonga Room at the Fairmont Hotel. It was a lot of fun—great Polynesian food, rain showers in the room every 30 minutes, a live band and dancing.

The next day we had a great BBQ compleat with children, grandchildren, nieces and my brother and his wife at their home. The 100F weather made their pool a great cool retreat and my brother kindly provided some wonderful Rosenblum zinfandels—my favorite wine. This morning it was back on the airplane early to Denver where Sweet Pickle told me how much he had missed me.

View of a "polar bear' basking in the sun, one of the hardy swimmers that meet each week to face off the frigid waters of San Francisco Bay at Aquatic Park.

Mountain Time

Yesterday Esperando and I went for a drive through the mountains. First we drove to Golden, Colorado, home of the Colorado School of Mines and Coors Brewery. It is a cute little mountain town, the main street lined with interesting shops and places to eat. Last summer they had a great farmer’s market in the park and an antique car show that incorporated five city blocks. We stopped to have a cup of Starbucks, and in talking to our barista I discovered she had just taken her sling off last week from the same surgery I just had. I could see she wasn’t using her arm much. They told her 5 months before she would be mountain climbing and doing scuba. She said her arm was sore from the physical therapy. I don’t have any such athletic ambitions, but I hope I my arm is much improved in 5 months—that’s a long time. After enjoying our coffee outside in the sunshine we set off for our next part of the trip.

Our plan was to drive to Longmont through the mountains in a somewhat circuitous route. Along the way we saw mountains covered with snow, a raft of parapont gilders on the hilltop in Golden that sports the big painted ‘M’ for School of Mines; bicyclers and motorcyclists en masse on the windy mountain roads; lots of guys out fishing with bobbers and fly rods; and as we drove through Boulder Canyon, quite a few rock climbers up there in the nether reaches. In what other state than Colorado could you drive around and see such diversity of physical activity within 40 minutes? Everybody wanted a piece of the warm sunny weather, even though dark clouds threatened thunderstorms on the horizon. The high mountains are still crowned snow, but the aspens have greened up, lots of wildflowers were blooming, and the snow melt fills the rushing streams.

In Longmont we went to dine at one of Sunset Magazine’s June 2009 picks for the ten top barbeque spots in the West, The Rib House at Prospect. It is an unassuming but commodious facility with inside and outside dining and takeout. The ambience of the Propect Development in which the restaurant nestles is very inviting, tree-lined streets and neighborhoods that are quite cute with a blend of modern urban design and nouveau Victorian houses sprinkled with southern architectural and farmhouse themes, i.e., antebellum and New Orleans wrought iron trim, big porches, hanging flower baskets and varied bright paints.

We enjoyed our meal outside. So many people were out doing mountain activities that we didn’t encounter the big long line I feared. Between the two of us, we chowed down the baby back ribs, boneless short ribs, medium sauce (spicy) and sides of beans, corn in special cheddar sauce, and the Chipotle potato salad. It was all delicious and spicy, even the beans. They have just opened a new location in Boulder, and are selling their BBQ sauces at King Soopers.

After that we headed back home to avoid the predicted big thunderstorm that didn’t materialized until the evening when we started to barbeque scallops with prosciutto and fresh thyme and tarragon.

Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, but mostly slings.

My visit yesterday to the doctor did nothing to cheer me up. I found out the up-until-now-unknown-fact that I have two screws in my shoulder bone to which “fishing line” is tied to keep my ligament attached to my rotator cuff. I am to start passive physical therapy (someone moves my arm for me) with a physical therapist as soon as I can get an appointment. In the meantime I have 3 more weeks left in the DonJoy UltraSling Shoulder Brace (oh boy, oh boy, the soft gray color harmonizes with so many outfits!), then 2 more weeks after that of self-directed physical therapy (moving my arm myself). This means we won’t be able to drive back to Santa Rosalia until July 2. I am having serious cat and beach withdrawal! This is certainly different than the two-days-in-the-sling-expectations with which I went into this surgery. As we were coming out of one of our favorite Denver restaurants yesterday, Osaka Sushi, a man coming in said, oh what kind of surgery did you have? the newscaster was wearing the same sling just last night! Boy, talk about popular surgeries! I must admit I personally know of four other people that could be candidates for just the same operation that I just had.


Esperando leaves on Tuesday and my mother and sister come to babysit me for the next week until he comes back for a bit. I must admit I feel a little helpless with the use of just one arm. Now I know how that poor one-armed man that murdered Dr. Richard Kimble's wife in The Fugitive, must have felt. And see, that was a medical conspiracy just like what’s happened to me. Getting a hold of the physical therapy people was the worst. Yesterday when we left the doctor’s office, the doctor gave me a prescription form with their phone number and the written instructions on how they are to torture me. It says “Evaluate & Treat”, if that is not a wide instruction for torture, then I don’t know what one is. When I called them, there was no answer. This place has four offices scattered around the Denver metro area, open M-F 7 am to 7 pm (ha ha, like not.). We decided to drop by the Stapleton office (the one circled on my form) which is just a 5 minute drive from our house. When we got to it at 3 pm, their office it was closed, lights out, with a sign posted on the door indicating to call their Thornton office to make an appointment. Jason answered and after several times being put on hold told me that he would call back regarding our insurance. After a couple of hours with no response I called again. Oh, so sorry he said, I went to the gym, but we don’t take your insurance. Flaaa-aky. What does the doc see in these guys, is he part owner like he is of the orthopedic center where I had my surgery? Over the course of the last two days I have finally gotten it sorted out and have an appointment for next Tuesday.

Which brings me to my last issue—the strange dreams that plague me every night. My Mother turned 101 this last May. No kidding-she really did. Well I dreamt last night that she was pregnant. I briefly wondered how someone of those advanced years could get pregnant, but chalked it up to medical science. Then I decided that giving birth at her advanced age would be a serious hazard to her health. Finally, I was really furious. It isn’t fair I said to Esperando in my dream, she will be gone and we will have this child to raise. How could she do this? Boy I don’t know where that one came from. This sling is altering my whole sleep pattern. I wonder if I will ever sleep like a normal person once I am through with this whole thing.

Vuelta de okis

Esperando was told early this week by the head office in Mexico City that he needed to go in person to La Paz to Hacienda (the Mexican equivalent of the IRS) to sign his taxes because he is getting a refund. This comes on a short week when we are preparing to head back to the U.S. for about one month to go to a wedding, celebrate my Mother’s 101st birthday, and get surgery done on my bad shoulder—in other words, really bad timing. However, yesterday morning at the crack of dawn we hopped into the truck and duly headed off for La Paz. Since we had to go, we planned to do some shopping for things we can’t get here which included a large water heater and water pump, a stove hood, paint, some hinges to match the others El Carpintero put in the kitchen, more wine and miscellaneous food items.

In La Paz we used to love to stay at Los Arcos, a great old Mexican hotel right on the malecon in the center of town. It has a good bar and restaurant but sadly has not been operating for the last four months due to striking employees. The main door was boarded up when we drove by and it was covered with striker’s signs. We headed on way south on Avenida Obregon to the other end of the malecon to Club El Moro, an apart suite hotel with free Wi-Fi. It’s really remote for walking to the heart of the malecon. However in the heat of the day their swimming pool was very inviting from the reception area, especially after the seven long hours of driving. All I wanted to do was stretch out on a lounge chair. The hotel is a white Moorish style building with alabaster flooring. The rooms were commodious and come with a kitchenette. A real plus here is they take pets. Our room sometimes had a bad sewage smell which wasn’t very agreeable. But their worst failing is that they make terrible margaritas, really sickly sweet.

I waved the swimming pool a fond farewell as we went off to search for the stove hood and hinges. The first place we went, El Ferry (on the corner of 16 de Septiembre and Revolucion), is kind of an upscale discount appliance center. They had some great stuff, but no 30” stove hood. Then we walked around to several hardware stores looking for hinges, but no luck, although one guy sent us off across town to another place which he thought would have them. Along the way we stopped at Ramos (Aquiles Serdán and 5 de Febrero) a great furniture store, to check out their stove hoods. No luck, then to another couple of hardware stores. We were pretty tired by now after the long drive and three hours of hot weather shopping. Finally we just decided to go to El Arco (corners Abasolo and Michoacan), a big hardware home products store. We were pretty sure they wouldn’t have the hinges. When we got there it turns out they had EVERYTHING we needed. We wasted three hour driving around when we could have done it all in 30 minutes.

We headed back to the hotel to enjoy the late afternoon sun by the pool, then had a delightful dinner at La Boheme (10 Calle Esquerro, about 1 block south of Hotel Las Perlas), a French restaurant with a great wine list. The food was fresh and delicious. We can recommend the pasta with spinach and smoked salmon, beef short ribs with tabbouleh, and a huge mansized ribeye steak. There is inside dining, but the real killer is a lovely courtyard with tinkling fountain and blaze of bougainvillea. The setting reminded us a lot of the wonderful old casonas (grand old houses) in Tlaquepaque.

The next morning we were up early for breakfast. Since Los Arcos is currently defunct we went to check out breakfast at the open air patio at Hotel Las Perlas. Breakfast was in full swing and we had delicious huevos rancheros and huevos divorciadas, then on to Wal-Mart to buy our food and wine in time to get Esperando to his appointment at 11:30 a.m. with Hacienda. It was here that the wait staff were all wearing masks to keep from catching swine flu, although it hasn’t been reported to be here in Baja.

When Esperando got to Hacienda he was efficiently ushered through the offices and was quite amazed how quickly things happened. Unfortunately they didn’t happen quite right. No one could find Esperando’s Mexican social security number in the system. Nope, he would have to come back again another time. So we drove all the way to La Paz and home, two days, for naught, and that my friends, is what the call a “vuelta de okis” in Mexico. No one seems to know the origin of the word “okis.” After this experience, we are beginning we feel a little more Mexican.

Restaurant Guide to Santa Rosalia

Photo of El Muelle

These are the places we like to eat in Santa Rosalia, many are not mentioned in the guidebooks. These places are popular with tourists passing through and the locals alike. Everyone we know has a favorite among them, but none seems to have the same favorite. The restaurants basically serve the same menu. Don’t expect rapid service anywhere, the more of you there are the slower the service will be as everything is made from scratch. Bear in mind that the simpler the menu item the less likely you are to be disappointed. This is not the town for gourmet food—go to Loreto for that. What you will get is decent plain food.

Our favorite is El Muelle in the center of town on the corner of Calle Plaza and Av. Constitución. It is across from Plaza Benito Juarez and City Hall. Sometimes in the evening the plaza becomes a beehive of activity that you can watch from Muelle’s covered outdoor patio. Inside is air conditioned with two TVs running; most of the Mexican families eat inside. El Muelle has a full bar. We especially like the wait staff; they make you feel right at home. El Muelle is best for for fish and meats. Their carne asada and arrachera steaks with baked potato are favorites with many of the gringos. We think they are delicious. The beef comes from Sonora which is famous for good beef cuts. Fish ‘a la plancha’ and breaded scallops are good. They make a tasty ceviche and shrimp cocktail too. If you order a full meal it will be accompanied with soup. They make a drink I like, the Michelada. In other parts of Mexico this is beer and Mexican lime juice, here it is beer and Clamato. On a hot day it is a very refreshing drink and not too alcoholic.

Just down the block at Av. Obregón and Calle Playa is Restaurant Terco’s Pollito. Terco means stubborn in Spanish and it is said when the owner’s previous two restaurants burned down, he stubbornly rebuilt this one. They have a small covered patio as well as air conditioned inside dining. They have the best Mexican food (chile rellenos, tacos) in town, and spit roast their own chickens visible roasting through a plate glass window onsite in the patio. Also of note is an interesting squid dip served with the chips. They make a good breakfast as well. They serve just beer and soft drinks.

About 2 miles south of the town center on Mexico Hwy 1 toward Mulegé at the top of the hill and of the malecon is a orange and blue building overlooking the Sea of Cortez which houses Tuxpan, another full bar-restaurant tastefully decorated with Mexican art. A plus here is lots of parking, even to accommodate an RV. Sometimes they have a few tables outside for dining, but generally you eat inside, with air conditioning and TV running. On a recent visit the chicken fajitas were really excellent. They also make some interesting very large burritos, which are flattened and grilled. I would stick with the Mexican food here. The restaurant is set on a cliff adjacent to the water (which you can’t see from inside), but you should definitely take a picture of this lovely view of the Sea of Cortez. One of our guests saw killer whales attacking a baby whale from this site. Update 6/1/09 : Tuxpan has closed, the landlord wanted too much rent. Sniff.

The Hotel Francés on Mesa Francés is only open for breakfast (until noon, closed on Sundays), but what a fine breakfast it is! I highly recommend the El Minero breakfast if you like spicy food—it is a big one with eggs, machaca with chile, beans and chorizo potatoes. The lovely old dining room in this old French hotel has a relaxing atmosphere with its high ceilings and wall paper of antique Mexican bandanna fabric. The building was constructed in 1886 by the French. The lovely ladies here will take good care of you. The Hotel El Morro just off Hwy 1 on the south end of town past the Tecate Brewery is reputed to have a good Sunday brunch buffet, starting at 1 pm. Mexican families go here on Sundays for a relaxing time and you are apt to get more traditional home fare (not tacos and enchiladas). On the working man’s side of town local food worthy of note is served at Neto’s on the west end of Av. Obregón at Calle 11. This has a hole-in-the-wall atmosphere, no air conditioning, is open only for lunch, and serves a fantastic seafood stew (and an equally great seafood salad.) You will only find locals here. They serve beer and soft drinks. Jimmy Boy’s Tacos serves up a mean meat taco at their on-street dining stand where Jimmy presides behind the pots cooking up the taco filling at Calle Noria and Av. Constitucion. We hear good fish tacos are available at Tacos El Arabe taco stand next to the fruit market on the east end of Av. Manual Montoya; I have heard that all the taco stands in town are good.

Also of mention is the bar in the Fonatour Yacht Club, Solario. This is just south of the ferry terminal, going east as you would turn toward the Capitania del Puerto sign. The facility has a high fence around it and a guard. The food isn’t terrific, but they have a worth-a-visit al fresco second story bar, great cocktails and a good view of the sea. At night it is a disco with live entertainment.