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Bajafun777
Super Nomad
Posts: 1103
Registered: 9-13-2006
Location: Rosarito & California
Member Is Offline
Mood: Enjoying Life with Wife In Mexico, Easy on The Easy
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Earliest Memories of First Mexico Visit?
Ok, I was thinking about the very first time I went into Mexico and about how old I was. My first memory was when I was about 6 years old and I
remember it well because my mother kept telling me to make sure I held her hand at all times or I could be stolen. Well, that thought of being stolen
kept my eyes and ears open when we drove across the bridge from Laredo to Nuevo Laredo. As we drove across the bridge young kids were diving off the
bridge for coins people would throw for them to dive for. It looked pretty far down and I thought the kids were really brave to dive off that bridge.
Once we got waved through Mexican customs we parked and started into the street shops. Yes, I had hold of my mothers hand tight, as there were a lot
of people. Women kept coming up and rubbing my head, smiling, laughing, and talking to my mother. It seems since I had blond hair and blue eyes they
took a fancy to me. My mother said they liked to rub my head for good luck because of it being blond. I remember the meat being hung on hooks for
people to pick what they wanted and the butcher cutting that piece of meat off of the whole piece hanging. I really liked looking at all of the
colorful wood pieces and puppets that they we selling. Now, I also liked coke and that was something my mother would let me have when we were walking
around, as she definately did not want me drinking the water and it cost 5 cents then in the little coke bottle. We also got some ice cream and I
thought what a great place, as in the States I would not have gotten these sweets as easy as I did in Mexico. I guess I held my mother's hand well
and she wanted to reward me and keep me on track doing the same thing. I also loved the bakery that we went into and the bread being fresh and hot so
goooood . I also got to eat the mexican sweet bread and I can still
taste it, as it was all just good eating stuff. That was my first and never my last visit, as I continued even without my parents when I got into
junior high, high school, and college but those are different experiences . I
will just keep thinking about those experiences and maybe share some at later times . I hope others have memories of their first time heading South and how it was remembered by them. Later, bajafun777
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Osprey
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3694
Registered: 5-23-2004
Location: Baja Ca. Sur
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Just want to get this in early (before the rush). My first trip to Mexico was with Francisco de Ulloa (I called him Paco) a Spanish buddy of mine. I
remember it like it was yesterday but it was October 1539. We took off from Acapulco in his boat "Aventura", sailed north through some weird lookin
water full of algae -- he kept saying "mar es muy bermejo" I spoke little Spanish then and it was years later that I found out he was saying the Sea
was a reddish color (vermillion). The trip was nice (all the way up to Mag Bay) but the food was lousy and he didn't let us catch lobster -- said
they were bugs, we couldn't eat em.
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Don Alley
Super Nomad
Posts: 1997
Registered: 12-4-2003
Location: Loreto
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With my mother, 1961...
My first Mexico memory of that trip was flying in to Mexicali to clear customs. All the houses in Calexico, many with swimming pools, and the line
(border) past which few houses had even roofs. Quite the abrupt contrast.
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Taco de Baja
Super Nomad
Posts: 1913
Registered: 4-14-2004
Location: Behind the Orange Curtain, CA
Member Is Offline
Mood: Dreamin' of Baja
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I remember several, like going to the Estero near Ensenada before it was built up, catching the fiddler crabs, digging for clams....Also going to the
palm canyons west of the Laguna Salada - rock scrambling, hiking up canyons, not sure of the exact dates though, probably in the 5-6 age range (early
1970's).
I also remember hiking into Mission Santa Maria with the San Diego chapter of the Sierra Club when I was 5. Catching frogs, finding pottery, looking
for arrow heads...all the things little boys like to do. I also clearly remember the Mission itself and the out building and thinking it was very
neat that they were so old and still around.
I have been going on Baja several trips with my sister and here two kids (now aged 3 and 5) and I hope they will have similar fond memories.
Truth generally lies in the coordination of antagonistic opinions
-Herbert Spencer
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woody with a view
PITA Nomad
Posts: 15940
Registered: 11-8-2004
Location: Looking at the Coronado Islands
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Mood: Everchangin'
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'79, dithching 9th grade to go surfing at baja malibu or popotla with Jerry L and Marty J. rounding the curve by the powerplant and seeing the sun
peek over the flat mountain east of rosarito.
eating at "edwardo's" at the south end of rosarito (not there now). Sal was the owner. he was a little jewish guy who had the best cheese ever. said
he got it in san ysidro ......
damn good times!
R.I.P. Sal y Jerry
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Taco de Baja
Super Nomad
Posts: 1913
Registered: 4-14-2004
Location: Behind the Orange Curtain, CA
Member Is Offline
Mood: Dreamin' of Baja
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| Quote: | Originally posted by Osprey
Just want to get this in early (before the rush). My first trip to Mexico was with Francisco de Ulloa (I called him Paco) a Spanish buddy of mine. I
remember it like it was yesterday but it was October 1539.
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Now that's a early memory!
Truth generally lies in the coordination of antagonistic opinions
-Herbert Spencer
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baitcast
Super Nomad
Posts: 1785
Registered: 8-31-2003
Location: kingman AZ.
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Mood: good
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Memories,a ton
If you don,t count my early runs to TJ while in the navy 1963 finds myself,wife,two little girls and a friend in a VW bus on the road to Gonzaga
bay
Memories you bet a ton,it was july no AC,but I think we were tougher then,we as a family speak of it often now mostly with a smile on our
face,the heat,road,the digging,celebrating on top of the last climb with a can of peachs,meeting PaPa and the Fernandez clan,my daughter riding a live
turtle,I could go on for hours about that first trip but alas I have a cramp in my finger
BAITCAST
It is acceptable to abuse one,s equipment as well as one,s body in the pursuit of that ultimate hookup.
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David K
Honored Nomad
Posts: 65303
Registered: 8-30-2002
Location: San Diego County
Member Is Offline
Mood: Have Baja Fever
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First Baja trip memories from 1965 when my parents took me to Bahia San Luis Gonzaga in their Jeep Wagoneer...
I recall we stopped in San Felipe for bakery items... How rugged and steep the road was (carved from the volcanic cliffs) south of Puertecitos... How
big the sand beach was at Gonzaga (we camped about a mile south of Alfonsina's).
The next year (1966) we did the 'big trip': Tijuana to Cabo San Lucas... lot's of memories of that 2 week adventure. Pavement ended north of Colonet,
started again about 100 miles north of La Paz, ended again 10 miles south of La Paz... Drove into the fish cannery town of 'San Lucas' on a single
track dirt road... The Hacienda Hotel was the only resort there and planes landed on the salt flat that is the harbor, today! To get home faster, we
took the ferry to Mazatlan.
Photo of me (8 1/2) and my first dorado, off Cabo San Lucas...
[Edited on 7-9-2007 by David K]
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Oso
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 2637
Registered: 8-29-2003
Location: on da border
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Mood: wait and see
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The Blue Fox. 17 yrs old. Nuff said.
All my childhood I wanted to be older. Now I\'m older and this chitn sucks.
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Ken Bondy
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3326
Registered: 12-13-2002
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Mood: Mellow
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An excerpt from my "book" that seems to fit here:
"I think I was a Mexican in another life. I have a strangely powerful attraction for Mexico and all things Latin. The attraction is particularly
strong for that part of Mexico known as Baja California. Perhaps it was just proximity; I grew up in the Los Angeles area, less than 200 miles from
the Mexican border. I can’t remember exactly how I got interested in Baja (the other life, maybe?) but I started going to Tijuana shortly after high
school. I am uncomfortable admitting this, but one of the initial attractions I had to Latin culture was bullfighting. I was a huge Hemingway fan
and “Death in the Afternoon” was a strong influence. The Latin pageantry, the whole spectacle of the Tijuana “Bullring by the Sea” grabbed me—but
eventually the brutality and cruelty of the “corrida” outweighed the fun parts of the afternoon and I lost interest. I do remember loving the
cultural shock of crossing the border, the mostly friendly chaos of the Tijuana streets, the drive out Calle Segunda to Playas de Tijuana, the colors,
the smells of the mesquite fires. It was amazing that everything could be that different by just passing a few feet over some imaginary line. It was
an attraction for me that would last a lifetime.
I made my first trip to the southern part of the peninsula in the late 1960s. It was a fishing trip to the classic “east cape” resort Rancho Buena
Vista. On that trip we flew commercially to La Paz, and then took an air taxi flight in a high-wing single (I think it was a Cessna 206 or 207) from
La Paz airport to the dirt strip at Buena Vista. The experience was literally life-changing for me—flying in a small airplane, landing on a dirt
strip, the first taste of the Sea of Cortez where the desert just became ocean—the whole “Baja experience” back when it was still young, simple, and
pristine. Back then Cabo San Lucas was a dusty little village. When I got back I started collecting and reading everything I could find on Baja
California. I went crazy over Ray Cannon’s classic book “The Sea of Cortez.” Baja would become a major part of my life and experience for the next
40 years; it remains so today.
I learned to fly in the early 1970s and earned my private pilot’s license in 1973. Within a year I had my instrument and multiengine ratings. Baja
influenced my decision to take flying lessons. I knew flying would open up my access to the peninsula, making everything easier to get to and in much
less time. In 20 years of flying I eventually logged over 1,700 hours, flying a wide variety of single-engine airplanes (Cessna 150, 152, 172, 177,
182, 210, Beechcraft Bonanzas F33, V35 and A36) and several multiengine airplanes (Beechcraft Travelair and Duchess, Piper Aztec.) In 1979 I bought a
beautiful 1963 Beechcraft Baron, and in the next ten years logged over 1,000 hours in it, more than half of my total time. The Baron was like a
family member.
My four kids kind of grew up in Baja. They loved Baja and the Mexicans loved them. The kids all thought they were Mexican…eventually that had to be
explained. There were several places we particularly enjoyed and visited often—Hotel Punta Pescadero on the “east cape” near the southern end of the
peninsula, Meling Ranch in the mountains north of San Quintin, and the cities of Loreto and La Paz.
But our favorite place was Punta San Francisquito, “PFQ” for short, a small basic Sea of Cortez resort about halfway down the peninsula on what must
be one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. With a difficult drive on marginal dirt roads it is accessible by land (we have driven in several
times in recent years) but it is known primarily as a “fly-in” place. We made over 100 flying trips there from the mid 70s to the mid 90s. We would
make it down to San Francisquito for long weekends at least once a month in the summers. We could be there in less than 4 hours from Van Nuys
airport, where I kept the Baron. Driving takes two full days. We kept a locker there, with two inflatable boats, scuba tanks, a small compressor,
and an ungodly stash of fishing, diving, snorkeling and other beach, camping, and kid gear."
++Ken++
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David K
Honored Nomad
Posts: 65303
Registered: 8-30-2002
Location: San Diego County
Member Is Offline
Mood: Have Baja Fever
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That is wonderful Ken! Thank you!!!
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Baja Bernie
`Normal` Nomad Correspondent
Posts: 2962
Registered: 8-31-2003
Location: Sunset Beach
Member Is Offline
Mood: Just dancing through life
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Hey David--you were a cute kid!
Oso...............you were never what people normally call a kid! Me neither!
My smidgen of a claim to fame is that I have had so many really good friends. By Bernie Swaim December 2007
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dean miller
Nomad
Posts: 456
Registered: 1-28-2004
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First trip ...
December 1951--to Ensenada
Looking for clean clear water for spear fishing
Discovered clean clear water that was 20 degrees colder that the water in sothern California. Was very disappointed
Ensenada was a small muddy fishing villiage...top attractions was Gordos, Victors, Hussongs & Jack Dempsey's closed hotel.
SDM
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MrBillM
Platinum Nomad
Posts: 21656
Registered: 8-20-2003
Location: Out and About
Member Is Offline
Mood: It's a Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah Day
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Fond Memories of Early Baja Days
Like Oso, I also have fond memories of the wonderful decadence of Tijuana starting at age 5 in 1950. After that, I made countless trips with my
father to take in the Horse/Dog Racing at Agua Caliente and, in the evening, the Jai Alai Games at the Fronton Palace in addition to the wandering
through the "Skin" bars on Avenida Revolucion.
Probably the most memorable trip of my youth, though, was in Ensenada at age 14 where we had gone for a fishing trip with a Gringo who had a house
there. A great day of fishing was followed by an even better night of drinking and carousing with two working Chicas at Daddy's expense. My youthful
dreams come true.
The only problem with the Blue Fox was that it was always over-crowded. Fortunately, There were plenty of competing entertainment venues.
Those WERE the Good Old Days.
[Edited on 7-9-2007 by MrBillM]
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capn.sharky
Senior Nomad
Posts: 686
Registered: 9-4-2003
Member Is Offline
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" trips with my father to take in the Horse/Dog Racing at Agua Caliente" Bill M--me too! Caliente was the only track on the west coast that you could
bet off track. You are about a year younger than I am. Did you bet the 5-10? We stayed for the dogs at night and I always seemed to do better on
them than the horses in the day. Remember the burro at the Blue Fox? Club Macambo was my favorite hangout. I'll bet you even have a picture of you
in the cart with the striped donkey in front. You will be the one wearing the huge sombrero with "Tijuana" written on it. Ah yes, those were the
days my friend.
If there is no fishing in heaven, I am not going
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pappy
Senior Nomad
Posts: 679
Registered: 12-10-2003
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ensenada, camped at the estero catching the fiddler crabs, hangin' out on the deck of an old, sun tattered wooden boat. gnarly rash on torso next
day:-itched like hell. it was fiberglass strands from deck of old boat...best trip of my young life nonetheless. started a love affair with that
penninsula....1968.....
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MrBillM
Platinum Nomad
Posts: 21656
Registered: 8-20-2003
Location: Out and About
Member Is Offline
Mood: It's a Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah Day
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Caliente Off-Track
Ah, Memories.
In February 1955 on my 10th Birthday weekend, I went out to Santa Anita on the back of my Father's Old Harley. Thanks to Swaps winning the Santa
Anita Derby, my dad won a bunch. After drinking all day, it seemed like a good idea to him that we'd ride down to Tijuana to take in the racing at
Caliente on Sunday. The thing I remember most about that ride South is freezing my butt off and being miserable sitting on that tiny passenger pad
for hours. Sunday at Caliente, he won again and decided to stay around and bet the U.S. races, eventually losing just about everything by Tuesday.
I always enjoyed the Jai Alai games more than the Dogs. One reason might have been that the Best Hamburgers I ever tasted were served at the Palace
Snackbar for 25 cents. The games were actually pretty exciting, too, and it took longer to lose money. I think they were just as crooked as some of
the Horse races. We were cheering once because we had picked both of the final players in the Quiniela and couldn't lose regardless of finish. They
disqualified one of the players for stepping on to the court too soon. Lost Again.
I played the 5-10 many many times. Never won, of course.
[Edited on 7-9-2007 by MrBillM]
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Ken Bondy
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3326
Registered: 12-13-2002
Member Is Offline
Mood: Mellow
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Great thread. Mas recuerdos de Baja:
"For five or six years in the early to mid 80s one of the San Francisquito employees was a magnetic, good-looking young Mexican kid named Savino. At
one time I am sure I knew his last name, now I can’t remember it and I can’t find it in any of my notes. He was probably in his early twenties when
we first met him. Our kids really liked him. Savino did everything, he was a master mechanic, fixed everything that needed fixing, and he was a
decent bartender (although I don’t think I ever saw him do any cooking.) But his main skill was as a world-class fisherman. He handled the pangas
with great skill, and he knew where to find the fish. He could approach a boiling school of yellowtail from just the right angle and stop at just the
right point without disturbing them. When there was no action on the surface he generally knew where to find them down deep. Even when we kept our
own little fleet of two inflatable boats there, we would still often go out with Savino in one of the PFQ pangas, because he was such a good fisherman
and so much fun to be with. Most of our memorable stories from San Francisquito seem to involve Savino.
One afternoon at PFQ we saw a huge cloud of birds working several miles out off the north point, maybe a third of the way to Isla San Lorenzo. The
birds were too far for the inflatables, so we rousted Savino from the bar and headed out in one of the PFQ pangas. When we got to the boil it was
amazing; the ocean was exploding. Every imaginable marine animal was there eating—shoals of small fish were blasting out of the water, birds were
wheeling and shrieking above and in the water, and the yellowtail were so thick you could walk on them. Hundreds of dolphins were breaking the
surface, graceful thresher sharks were launching themselves completely out of the water, and even a pod of pilot whales was there. It was late summer
and the presence of dolphins on the surface suggested yellowfin tuna below, so we dropped the jigs down below the yellowtail, and were immediately
rewarded with four heavy hookups. When the first tuna showed color, we realized with horror that we were without a gaff. That was no big problem
with the first three fish; they were in the 20-25 pound class and, with some effort, could be “bounced” into the boat with just the rod. Not so with
the last one, that fourth fish was big.
The big fish was being fought by a close friend, now gone, Frank Armellini. When we saw the fish we knew it would be a problem, we estimated his
weight at about 70 pounds. Frank worked him carefully and after a forty-five minute struggle the big fish was on his side next to the panga. There
was no possibility of “bouncing” a fish that big without breaking the line; he had to be hauled in with bare human hands. I heroically volunteered to
do it. The aft body of a yellowfin tuna, even a big one like this, narrows to a relatively small diameter just forward of the sharply forked tail.
With this fish it was about the diameter of the skinny end of a baseball bat. That allows a fairly decent two-handed grip. I figured that would be
better for hauling him in than by grabbing him by the gills, because the gill covers have sharp edges and don’t offer as good a grip as the tail. All
that was good logic, but I forgot to take one thing into consideration, buoyancy. Hundreds of years ago a real smart guy named Archimedes discovered
that an object in water is acted on by an upward force equal to the weight of the water it displaces. Since the density of the tuna was about the
same as the water, he was virtually weightless when he was completely submerged. So it was easy to get some of him out of the water, but the more of
him that came out of the water the heavier he got. When I had half of him out of the water, I was lifting damn near 40 pounds. So I found myself in
this crazy rocking cycle with the fish—leaning over the gunnels of the panga I would pick up as much weight as I could, the panga would tilt over to
my side as the weight increased, and each time I reached my strength limit the tuna would slip back into the water. We did several cycles like this.
I just couldn’t lift him over the side. I was getting harassed and ridiculed, of course, by the other laughing occupants of the panga, and this
didn’t help my temperament. Finally I managed to squeeze out a great shot of adrenaline, and with one mighty heave, I hauled him over the side. In
doing that I of course fell over backwards and the fish, now rested, landed on top of me and started thrashing. It was quite a scene, me on my back
embracing this wildly gyrating yellowfin tuna. Lures, poles, beer, oars, tackle boxes, shoes, hats, and people scattered in all directions. But
after all that work I was not to be denied. The fish finally calmed down and I was able to roll it off of me and into the bottom of the panga. And
after this incredible selfless effort, can you believe I was subjected to even more laughter and ridicule. But the battle was won. The great fish
weighed 75 pounds and made magnificent sashimi. None of us, including Savino, ever again forgot a gaff.
My dear friend Jim Bailey and I kept two inflatable boats there in a locker. Both were Metzelers, superb pieces of German equipment, one a twelve
footer called (by Metzeler) a “Maya,” and a bigger one, a sixteen footer called, appropriately, the “Elefant.” Our drill, after coming back in from
fishing or diving or whatever we were doing on the water that day, was to haul the boats up on the beach to a point well above the high tide line
where it would remain overnight. One afternoon we hauled the bigger boat, the Elefant, up to a point which we thought was safe, and proceeded with
the evening festivities. In the morning the boat was gone. We had substantially underestimated an extreme high tide, and sometime during the night,
the water reached the boat, and the Elefant floated away. The morning was beautiful, warm and clear with virtually unlimited visibility, the sea was
brilliant blue and dead calm, and there was no Elefant in sight. Frank Armellini was flying the smallest airplane that trip, a Cessna 172, he had
plenty of fuel (none was available then at PFQ), and so Frank volunteered to do an aerial search for the boat. We talked to Savino who felt, based on
his knowledge of the currents, that it would most likely have drifted to the south. So Frank took off in the 172 and headed south; it didn’t take him
long to find our Elefant. It was drifting about five miles offshore and, amazingly, about ten miles south of where it had started, sometime in the
night. Frank spotted the location of the boat using landmarks on the coast, and headed back. Savino fired up the panga and Bailey and I headed for
our drifting, crewless boat. It was right where Frank said it would be, and Bailey and I boarded it to bring it home. Savino waited until the
engine, a Johnson 25 hp, lit off, and then both boats headed back north to PFQ. On the way back we passed huge boils of yellowtail working on the
surface, and since we still had fishing tackle on board, managed to land a few for the day’s ceviche. Our haul-out protocol changed that day; from
that point on we tethered the boats to the center pole of a palapa so they wouldn’t ever again wander away in the night.
Savino spoke very little English, about the same as we spoke Spanish. In reality our Spanish was probably a little better than his English. But we
clearly communicated. He would often join us in the late evenings when his work was done, in front of our cabana. With the fire almost out, after
everybody had eaten and drank and most of the guests and staff were asleep, we would lie on the sand contemplating cosmic things, and finish off the
beer or the tequila. We would look at the stars and babble away in some half-Spanish, half-English form of marginally spoken language. It didn’t
matter too much what was said or understood, it was just fun to have him around. One night he started telling me and Bailey about his greatest dream,
to buy a panga of his own, take it to Bahia de Los Angeles, and be an independent fishing guide up there. But he lamented that he would probably
never have enough money to buy a panga of his own. I remembered all this, and wishing him well in his quest for a panga, just before I fell asleep.
After I fell asleep Bailey continued wishing him well, and those wishes included asking him how much a panga might cost. About US $2,000, Savino
replied. Bailey, kind, emotional, and generous soul that he is, told Savino that he and I (“I” being now sound asleep) would be glad to give him the
money to buy the panga. Savino was overcome with gratitude; he just couldn’t believe our generosity. Neither could I, when in the morning Bailey
sheepishly informed me that I owed Savino $1,000. Hearing the whole story, how could I refuse? After all, Bailey told me that Savino offered us both
free fishing for life. What a deal! It would save us thousands in the long run. So that morning we each wrote Savino a check for $1,000. Mine came
back, cleared through an Ensenada bank, in my bank statement about 4 months later, covered with magnificent flowing endorsements, signed by at least
10 Mexican bank officials and with several American bank stamps.
It was not a good investment, and the story, so full of promise, has a sad ending. Savino did eventually go to Bahia de Los Angeles, but he never
bought the panga. He used the money for something else. Others who knew him in Bahia told me he got involved with drugs. Eventually he got in
trouble with the police and ended up in jail, for a long time, in Ensenada. What a waste of a beautiful young life."
++Ken++
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Sharksbaja
Elite Nomad
Posts: 5814
Registered: 9-7-2004
Location: Newport, Mulege B.C.S.
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Si, yo recuerdo
1958>The small children peddling Chiclets for a penny in TJ. Shopping for pottery at the roadside tiendas en route to stay at the Rosarito Beach
Hotel. A very special destination.
I can recall the wondrful little curio stores filled with colorful sombreros, switchblades and sweet smelling leather goods.
I can't forget the wretched smells and flowing roadside sewage that signaled your arrival in Mexico. Nor can I forget the extreme poverty and the
decrepid living conditions for thousands.
How could I forget the wonderful exit with vendors passing by our car windows with statutes of Jesus and other interesting goods and items.
I miss the days when clams and crabs were along many stretches of the beaches. Oh my, how it has changed there!
DON\'T SQUINT! Give yer eyes a break!
Try holding down [control] key and toggle the [+ and -] keys
Viva Mulege!
Nomads\' Sunsets
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danaeb
Senior Nomad
Posts: 991
Registered: 11-13-2006
Location: San Diego; El Centenario
Member Is Offline
Mood: groovy
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Let's see....
I was about six , mid 50's. It usually involved a visit with relatives. I think my parents liked being the bohemians so they would always show off
their knowledge of TJ. It was daring! It was slightly scary for the relatives! I don't remember all of it, but it always seemed to include La
Especial for lunch (and c-cktail for the adults), after which they'd all give the kids a couple of dollars to spend on the tourist bric-a-brac down
the steps in the big arcade. But man, for a kid, what you could buy with those dollars: plaster piggy banks, castenets, maracas, dios mio - a kid's
paradise!
Experience enables you to recognize a mistake every time you repeat it.
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