CABO PULMO, BAJA CALIFORNIA SUR, MEXICO / 2014
“Muchas ballenas!” Carlos glances at us over his shoulder as he points toward the hazy, blue horizon.
“Lots of whales,” I say, turning to Tor, who is hunched forward and peering out the windshield.
The truck guns sharply up a hill and barrels around a curve. Below, lies only rugged coast. No houses or hotels. Just a line of craggy peaks that flares down into a blanket of desert. Desert that tumbles into cliffs. Cliffs that rise, fortress-like, above the jade hem of the Sea of Cortez.
This is the Mexico of my mind—dusty and sun-baked, cacti with bright blossoms, scrub land, distant mountains that loom like moody warlords.
As we slowly roll down the hillside and into town, we observe Cabo Pulmo’s quiet streets with curiosity. Roosters strut across the road and behind a fence, a pair of cows chew sleepily. In the generous shade of a hibiscus bush, an elderly man sits, wide-brimmed hat tipped back, smiling good-naturedly at passersby.
We climb the steps of the bright, blue Dive Center. From the palapa-roofed restaurant, we catch another glimpse of the sea. It is startlingly close; its water shimmers like peacock feathers in the sunlight. We find an empty table and sit, steeped in a distinct, satisfying silence. Already, I feel the humid, salty air beginning to do its work—soaking my thirsty skin, falling like a healing mist in my hair, my eyes, and at the nape of my neck.
*
With little over a hundred residents and square mileage of twenty-seven miles, the village of Cabo Pulmo is tiny. However, the area’s impact as a protected national park is enormous. It has been heralded as the most successful marine reserve in the world. This is thanks to the people who once made their living fishing its waters. Twenty years ago, when the fish began to dwindle due to damage inflicted on the reef, the local fishermen found it more important to try and undo the destruction than continue to fish. Incredibly, they lobbied the Mexican government to declare the reef a protected area. By doing this, they not only saved the reef, but committed to shifting their livelihood from fishing to eco-tourism. The town now exists completely off the grid with everything run on solar power.
Only occasionally do we hear the whir of back-up generators rumbling in the deeply dark, nearly silent nights.
*
We quickly make ourselves at home in the garden casita at Encanto Pulmo, an artful, eco-friendly house that we stumbled upon during an internet search for lodging. Encanto is a colorful, airy compound where the eye of an artist clearly reigns—no post left unpainted, no wall unadorned, yet all of the decor unpretentious and tasteful. Harmonious and bright. Even the garden is a cosmos all its own and home to a surprising assortment of colorful birds and butterflies.
Every facet of comfort is available at Encanto Pulmo. Our little house is stocked with a coffee maker, ceiling fan, fresh water dispenser, queen-sized bed, hot shower—even a chimenea, which we light eagerly at night in the courtyard. Serenaded by crackling flames, we moon-gaze from our loungers, sharing a packet of lemon Emperador cookies as we warm our toes.
Without the distraction of television, the evenings take on a sort of sonic charm. There is the nightly call of geckoes, fluttering orioles and desert larks, the moo of the odd cow and temperamental whinnies of the horses next door. With this peaceful soundtrack, we sit up reading in the cozy four-poster bed as night falls around us, often turning in as early as eight.
*
In the mornings, we stroll down the street to El Caballero—one of five restaurants in Cabo Pulmo and serves delicious regional food, such as juevos rancheros, and sopa de tortilla followed by a healthy serving of flan. Tito’s Restaurant, near the town entrance, offers excellent tacos and carne asada, and also has a small store featuring local art and souvenirs.
Our favorite place, however, quickly becomes La Palapa, mostly because of its breezy, seaside location—the perfect place to enjoy fresh, delectable fish tacos on a daily basis. It becomes a regular stop on our way back from the beach.
Within a day of landing in Cabo Pulmo, we become Pro Idlers. While we revel in this accomplishment, it leaves us oddly energized. One day, curious about the ever-stretching beach and the adjacent arroyo, we pack a lunch and hike the cliffs, exploring crags and rifts, all leading down to one sparkling beach after another. We spend endless hours climbing down gullies to find ourselves on pristine expanses of white sand, the crash of the ocean echoing in surround-sound off the cliff walls.
It is the perfect place to banish the last bastion of racing thoughts. Not another soul in sight.
Cabo Pulmo’s seemingly quiet and “nothing to it” appearance is deceiving. Our leisurely days are also strangely packed with random exploits that just sort of happen—examining tide pools, clambering over rock formations, spying on crab colonies, tracking a strange, hopping creature through the dunes, floating in the surf, snorkeling on the reef.
In the late afternoons, we sit on the beach and watch, “The Show”, an adroit gang of pelicans that hunt relentlessly in the shallows, darting beneath the water and re-surfacing with heads tilted back as they swallow their prey in quick, stabbing movements. Soon after this, our favorite part of the day arrives, the sun creeping inland toward the mountains, cooling our sunburned faces and signaling that it is once again time for—oh, yes—fish tacos.
