Todos Santos Dia Uno

November 5, 2007

Todos Santos, Baja California Sur, Mexico

The day started well with an on-time trip to the airport (thanks for the ride, Ben) but while sipping my Starbucks in the Alaska Boardroom, I got a call from Deb, who was supposed to meet me there for our flight to Todos Santos. Deb forgot her passport in Yakima. She couldn’t get on the plane, and so I’m going alone.

I am disappointed, of course. The most unfortunate thing about that is – okay, two things – are that it doubles the cost of the cab rides and the hotel room for me, and that I will be picking up a game of golf by myself, always an intimidating experience for a high-handicapper, aka shitty golfer. But, otherwise, I’ll be fine.

I’m staying at the Posada La Poza, which is isolated out on the coast, a mile or so from Todos Santos. I was glad my cab driver from the La Paz airport knew where he was going, as I would have given up on the 15th or 20th turn down the dusty dirt road from town to the coast and I would never have made it.

The owners of this boutique hotel, Juerg and Libusche, are gracious, and I hope they stay on the light side of obsequious. He is Swiss, and she is Czech. She says she speaks seven languages, and I’m not qualified to test her on that, so I’ll take her word for it. His English is better than hers, and from what I could hear, his Spanish is too. I’m sure she excels at Czech.

My room is large and generally pleasant, except for the Botero-like mini-sculpture on the desk, which makes me want to skip dinner for the next five nights. I have my own patio and Jacuzzi outside my room. If it doesn’t cool off considerably, I’m afraid the Jacuzzi will be a waste, but the patio is serene.

From my room, I can hear and feel the pounding Pacific surf, even though the droan of the air conditioning unit behind the building is working hard to drown it out. If I could leave the surf-side door open, it might help, but without any security latch on the screen, I can’t do that.

The grounds, however, are gorgeous. The bookcase is stocked with several books, including a bird guide, as the garden attracts hundreds of hummingbirds and song birds. Without appearing highly groomed, the landscaping is dense enough to create privacy, but random enough to evoke the desert outside of town.

The saltwater pool’s irregular shape and muted color nearly fool you into thinking it’s a lagoon instead of a man-made pool. Across the real lagoon, on the other side of the pool from the hotel, is the beach, which runs two miles south and “almost endlessly” to the north, according to the hotel’s brochure. I’ll have to check that out tomorrow.

I am taking seriously the hotel’s warning to keep away from the ocean and the surf. Ten years ago, when Ben and I were here on a Backroads trip, I happily rushed into the surf with a beer in hand, and was promptly knocked on my ass, losing my beer, my sunglasses and my hat in an ignominious display of Midwestern naivete. I won’t make that mistake again.

Dinner at the restaurant tonight - $20 before tip and taxes – was excellent, and that’s a good thing, as I think I’ll have to eat there every night, given the distance into town and the early sunset (about 5:45). A young couple from Montana, who sat at the table next to me, said they have eaten here every night on their stay and were never disappointed. There’s something nice about being able to have a glass of wine and relax over dinner without worrying about the logistics of getting home – or back to the hotel. Also, I was able to buy a bottle of wine – much less expensive than wine by the glass – and the waitress will cork it and keep it for me to finish over the week.

I saw little of Todos Santos on my way in. But it does seem much bigger than it was when Ben and I rode our bikes through here 10 years ago. People told me it had grown a lot, and that’s apparently true.

Stay tune for my next exciting tale, likely to describe sitting by the pool, catching up on weeks of NYT Book Reviews. It’s bound to mesmerize.

Nodding off, I am happily in Mexico again.