By now you have probably recovered from your weekend, or perhaps you played it smart and rang in the New Year remembering how you went to bed.
My New Year can be summed up in just a few words: Baja. Remy. Veuve. Cazadores. K48. K58. Fresca. Pacifico. Margaritas. Muchas margaritas. Rooaaaad triiiiiiiip! ¡Y las olas muy divertido!
After a week of torrential rain and the possibility of surfing anywhere in these SoCal waters a little dicey, I couldn’t wait to hop across the border for some sun, surf, sand, cerveza and ceviche!
A quick four-hour drive down south and we were looking at endless miles of deserted, unspoiled, azure beaches with nary a McMansion on the bluffs above. The waves were small but perfect fun size — the type of wave you didn’t have to think about riding, you just stood up, maybe party-waved with a few of your friends, laughed, ooh’ed and ahh’ed over the dolphins, and paddled back out while the sun set beneath the horizon.
And when the last of the fiery rays disappeared into the ocean, we would walk the five minutes back to our house, a five-bedroom rental in a snazzy gringo community with a private surf break right in front, and let the festivities begin.
New Year’s Eve Day started off with a round (or two, or three) of Remy… some margaritas… a couple bottles of mulled wine… a case of cervezas (to soak up all the fajitas coming off the grill)… followed by champagne… LOTS of champagne!… and the countdown to end all countdowns. We got shushed by the security guards. We got shushed by our neighbors. We got the hint and went for a 1AM stroll around the neighborhood, where we met new (and much cooler) neighbors who allowed us to crash their bonfire on the beach. The details of the rest of that night are a bit fuzzy.
The next day we were thankful we didn’t have to drink anymore!
We went on a surf-scoping mission along the coast… and the whole time, I was mentally calculating how much I would need to build a house down there. Seriously — all these empty oceanfront lots, all these waves, and no one out to enjoy them? Unreal.
We found the perfect little spot where we could drive the trucks straight down onto the sand… oooh, I could get used to that.
We had our pick of peaks up and down the coastline, all day long. We even caught fresh mussels off the beach, which our friend turned into this savory snack later that night.
Of course, it’s not an adventure until something goes wrong.
Truck #1 doesn’t start. We think it’s the battery. We find jump cables in truck #2. But truck #2 gets stuck in the sand while driving over to truck #1. We dig out truck #1 with a scavenged plank of plywood. We finally connect the cables to the two trucks. Truck #1 still doesn’t start.
A particularly resourceful friend crawls under the truck and after performing some magic with what just looked like a screwdriver, truck #1 miraculously starts. Something about saltwater corrosion. Lesson learned: always bring a mechanic on road trips. Oh, and a boy scout too. Between having a mechanic and a boy scout in your group of friends, you’re covered for virtually any catastrophe that comes up!
With grumbling tummies, we head off to the best little taco stand near K38 for some post-surf, stuff-your-face, spicy, greasy, goodness. For some reason, I always crave a Mexi meal after a day of surfing. Or climbing. Or snowboarding. You just can’t go wrong with a homemade tortilla heaped with piles of carne and chile. Que rico!
And of course, no trip is complete without a little shopping excursion. After some mellow haggling, the boyfriend and I bought some macetas and a beautiful chimenea for our abode. LOVE. IT!
It made the two-hour wait at the border crossing not so bad, after all.