Ensenada, Mexico

Jenna and I woke early to watch as the ship pulled into the harbor of Ensenada. Thick rain clouds shrouded the bay and there was no spectacular sunrise. A container ship moved torpidly through the water. Below us on a buoy a sea lion barked. As we moved closer I could see traffic moving on the frontage road. Low green hills surrounded the city. In the middle of town I could see the towers of the cathedral.

I had never been to Mexico, so even though our excursion would be short, I was excited. Our Carnival Cruise from Southern Californian to Baja allowed for an eight-hour port of call in Ensenada. I knew my wife wanted to do a zip-line tour, but I figured we would have plenty of time to catch a glimpse of Ensenada. I did my homework on Google Maps before we left and got a general idea of where to spend our time, including a visit to Catedral de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.

Our first priority was to buy a zip-line tour. We paid way too much for a bus ride to downtown, where we were herded to a building with a lady behind a window selling tours. A sheet of paper on the glass listed our possibilities. None of them listed zip-lining alone, but coupled with another tour, a visit to La Bufadora, the renowned blowhole. This was the option we chose, paying $61 U.S. Dollars for each person.

While waiting for the tour to fill, our guide moved us to an adjacent bar. The walls of the room were painted black and over the speakers blared insane music that was a combination of rap, mariachi, and sirens. We hadn't been seated for more than thirty seconds when the first vendor came to our table trying to sell homemade bracelets. We had just shrugged him off when another came, this time with “buy your name on a chain” written on his cardboard box. After him, still another.

Just after the last vendor, another man came to our table and gave us all water bottles and a bowl of chips and salsa while we waited. I thought this was very considerate of him until he said it would be $10 for the five of us. We said “no thanks” and gave the bottles back, but he let us keep the chips and salsa “on the house.”

Finally we were able to leave the bar and we sat in a small bus with a tour guide named Tango, driving through the streets of Ensenada. Tango told us stories the entire time, but I was more interested in looking out the window. Especially the further we got from the city center, the more fascinated I became with what I saw. We traveled on a battered paved road, but everything beyond was dirt. Small store shacks sat side-by-side along the highway, selling everything from tacos to hardware. Not a tourist in sight. I knew this was the real Ensenada. If the driver had dropped me off right there and let me walk back, I would have been content. But we continued on.

We left the city and drove through a verdant valley with fields and orchards on both sides. An overhead banner welcomed us to wine country. Written on the hillside using white rocks read the caption: “ORANDO SE CAMBIAN LAS COSAS          ROMANOS 10:9”

Not much further the bus pulled off the road, arriving at our destination. I won't go into much detail on our zip-lining adventure, other than to say it was fun. The seven zip-lines stretched long and took us over spectacular scenery. In addition, the course also included several wobbly bridges, most spanning over deep ravines. Even though our safety harnesses were clipped onto cables, it was very nerve-racking for me, especially watching my 12-year old daughter walk across. But we all made it safely to the end. Now it was back in the bus.

For another forty minutes we drove to La Bufadora. This time it had begun to rain and our breathing fogged the windows and I wasn't able to watch very well outside . Tango continued his humerus stories. Through the foggy glass I was able to see that we had come alongside the ocean and were now climbing a hillside above the rugged cliffs.

La Bufadora is a marine geyser located at the base of craggy cliff-side, 17 miles southwest of Ensenada. It is the result of air being trapped in a sea cave, and then exploding upwards toward the sky like the blowhole of a whale. To arrive it is necessary to walk a quarter mile along vendors of all kinds, aggressively selling their wares. It is likely that someone from every shop will approach you during your walk. Tango walked as far as the blowhole with us, then let us mosey back on our own.

Stone walls are built around the blowhole, allowing tourists to gawk at the water spewing up. I think, however, that the best view is probably down on the water. From our elevated angle it was difficult to see more than a portion of the blast.

My enjoyment came from walking through all the shops. We only had an hour until we had to be back on the bus. Every vendor approached and I ignored them all, unless I was interested. They sold backpacks, panchos, ball caps, Day of the Dead skulls, churros, tacos, t-shirts, jewelry, leather bags, marionettes etc.

Some spoke in Spanish, but most knew how to approach in English. I didn't see many price tags, and most purchases came about through haggling. The kids had fun picking out souvenirs. The prices were somewhat cheap, but nowhere near the deals I found in Southeast Asia.

I couldn't leave the area of Ensenada without having a fish taco. According to tradition, fish tacos originated in Ensenada. I found a taco stand amidst the stalls and the whole family ordered an assortment of tacos for $1.50 each. For myself I ordered 1 fish, 1 nopal and 1 alambre. The first taco came with two fat and battered chunks of fish, and nothing else. I used a condiment bar of onions, cilantro, cabbage and various salsas to decorate my fish taco. It tasted very fluffy and fresh, and yet simple. I ate the tacos at a little table behind the grill where they charred the corn tortilla. The nopal taco was a little bland, while the alambre was surprisingly delicious. It consisted of tender beef, peppers and cheese.

By now the rain had picked up and we were coming to our deadline with the tour guide. We piled into the bus with all our bags in-hand, and made the 40-minute drive back to Ensenada proper.

By the time we returned, we had less than thirty minutes before we had to catch another bus for the ship. The rain had stopped, but the ground and storefronts were all damp. By the time we got to Primera Street, one of the main tourist strips in Ensenada, the shops were still open with their merchandise hung outside. Mexican men in rough American accents approached: “Would you like to try a glass of Tequila,” or “We have the finest leather in Ensenada.” I didn't have the time or interest in either. All we had time for was a walk around the block. ♠