Puerto Peñasco

The evening was perfect, just before sunset. The sweet smell of sea filled the air. Low tide left puddles of water reflecting orange hues. 

Shallow tide pools now revealed an array of small shells. As we walked gathering shells, tourist boats with mariachi bands sailed near the horizon. Somewhere behind us another band played their tunes. A couple tossed a softball back and forth, while a group of youth played volleyball. 

The four of us wandered away from the water and toward a sandy hill with food stands and shops. We found a small shack where we ordered four chalupas and a torta. The service was good, but slow, and we spent some time waiting in front. 

It was there, sitting in a red plastic chair, where I met Raul, a 78 year old Mexican from Las Cruces, New Mexico. We began our conversation in Spanish, but it flowed in and out of English. He spoke through a salt and pepper goatee and looked great for his age. He has a home in Puerto Peñasco, as well as Las Cruces. I learned all about his business ventures, including the restaurant he owns and the fact that until three years ago he had to make 800 burritos a day! He comes to Puerto Peñasco often to relax and enjoy his second home. 

The Point restaurant.

Port of Puerto Peñasco.

Thus was our first evening in this dusty Sonoran beach town on the Sea of Cortez. We had just driven over ten hours from our home, through four different states, passing mile after mile of Joshua trees, saguaro cactus and empty open desert. We had never done anything quite like this. 

Puerto Peñasco is known as a resort town on the edge of the sea. It is a lure to those from the United States, especially Arizona, as it lies just 60 miles below the Mexican border. From the internet I knew what the beach and water looked like. But it was the town that drew my curiosity. No one really talked about the town of Puerto Peñasco. I knew it wasn't ancient nor Colonial in architecture like many other Mexican villages, but still there had to be an inner heartbeat that made it move. That's what I set out to find. 

Photos at sunset.

The life-blood of the town is the Malecón, a popular street filled with shops and high-pressure shopkeepers trying to sell you things you don't need. This place was pure chaos. “Come in,” they would say, “because we have exactly what you're looking for!” 

Any kind of souvenir you might want, you could find it here: t-shirts, sunglasses, bracelets. We gave in and bought a chess set. There was also the aroma of fish and seafood, a reality given their proximity to the sea. If you needed to book a tour, this was the place to come. You couldn't walk down the street without an aggressive salesman shadowing you. 

The Malecón was even worse at night. Loud music blared everywhere from speakers. There were twice as many people and half of them, it seemed, were drunk. The smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke and fish filled the air. Just a block away were street vendors selling tacos and elotes. On the balcony overlooking the sea a mariachi band played for money. 

Puerto Peñasco hoped to become the next Cancún. So far, that hasn't happened. Venture capitalists have come in, but for many of them things haven't panned out. A drive around the beach area reveals many abandoned hotel projects or other buildings that are now skeletons attracting dust. I've got a friend who is buying rental property down here. He plans on fixing it up and hiring a third party to manage. 

The main street coming into town is busy. Parking stalls in the area are small and sometimes hard to find. Some areas of town are shadier than others. The streets are a combination of dirt or pavement. 

Dirt roads at Cholla Bay.

Mural at Cholla Bay.

On the north end of town is a peninsula called Cholla Bay. We drove there out of curiosity. Before arriving at the quiet settlement the pavement ended and all the roads became sand. Most of them seemed drivable in our car, but we were cautious. 

Most of the peninsula consists of what I assumed were houses. There were a handful of restaurants. Several times we saw trucks hauling a boat behind it with several men in the boat. I don't know what that was about. 

Completing a satisfying lunch at Cholla Bay.

There was no beach, but we saw a place or two where a boat could be launched in the water. There was no view either. Houses aligned the coastline and I am sure that many of them had wonderful views out their backyard. 

We chose to eat at one of the few restaurants. I made it a point to order fish. As a note, the prices here weren't too different from what you'd find in the States. I suppose it's too close to the border and too many rich Americans come and visit. 

Storefront at Cholla Mall.

On our way back into town we came across another unexpected find. Cholla Mall, as it is called, almost looked like a scene from the apocalypse. This long street with shops on both sides boasted no visitors other than those of our family. Shop doors were open with goods inside, but no customers to find. These were the days of Covid-19 and the effects of the pandemic, I'm sure, made customers more sparse than normal. 

We walked up and down the street, poking in and out of shops and surprisingly not getting hassled. We were still looking for a few final souvenirs to buy. As this little strip mall sat on the edge of town, I felt as if it were part of the expansion movement, a shopping complex built to accommodate future growth. If you build it, they will come. Kind of in the same vein as all the abandoned hotels. Perhaps the growth didn't happen or the economy tanked. Or maybe it was Covid. Who knows? But Cholla Mall was pathetically empty. 

I did, however, enjoy one of the murals on the side of a building. The painting consisted of two saguaro cacti and two Native warriors. One wore a headdress of a deer and looked like he was jumping in the air doing a karate move. 

Interesting mural at Cholla Mall.

Most of our time in Puerto Peñasco was spent with the water, not the town. The Sea of Cortez and the desert that comes to its edge is what attracts the people. The biosphere of the sea is unique and has over 1500 different kinds of species. We took a cruise out to an island and saw sea lions and dolphins. 

When back in town we drove around to find a place to eat. The food here is nothing special and was similar to what you'd find at a taco shop in the States. I enjoyed eating in outdoor settings with the din of the town at our ears. 

Puerto Peñasco cemetery.

We drove to a cemetery and took ten minutes to walk through. As expected the entire graveyard consisted of a dirt floor and shrines built above the ground. I found many figures of Jesus and his mother, Mary, and the cross. 

On our final evening we found ourselves again at the Malecón. We just couldn't get enough of the hustling, I guess. We arrived just before sunset and the golden light that comes at that time of day. The same mariachi band played at the sea's edge, serenading seagulls and all others walking past. 

Mariachi band playing on the Malecón.

In an amazing coincidence, we stumbled across some friends of ours who also made the ten-hour drive. We had a good visit and took a picture together. They pointed us in the direction of a taco stand that provided an evening snack. 

Just a block away from the Malecón is the facade of a church that appears colonial-like in it's exterior—the Sagrado Corazon de Jesus. The pastel-colored church is painted yellow with orange trimming and has two bell towers. I'm sure this recent construction is an attempt to make this modern town appear more like the stereotypical old Mexican village. I appreciated that. 

Back at the Malecón we once again found the chaos of the shops and the music and the smells that brought this village alive. You couldn't tell there was a pandemic. We rubbed shoulders with those we passed, smelt their breath and guarded our wallets. The street lamps came on and the sky overhead turned dark. I heard as much English as I did Spanish. The shopkeepers knew what they had. We had bought all our souvenirs by now so we kept our eyes forward and walked toward the car. ♠

Sagrado Corazón de Jesús Church.

 

Sea of Cortez

My first impression was the stillness of the water. Very small waves. Shallow. Low-tide revealing a plethora of tide pools with small, but perfectly intact shells. 

Today we took a boat ride further south into the sea. Along the shore we passed white-washed beach homes, resorts, unfinished hotels, beach-goers, sand dunes and dry rocky mountains in the distance. The day was flawless, with almost no clouds and a perfectly serene surface of water. 

Jenna spotted a school of dolphins. They swam in our direction, occasionally arcing out of the water, their fins pointing skyward. As they moved closer they swam directly beneath our boat, then followed us for a short distance. 

We turned our course seaward from the coast until those dry rocky mountains nearly disappeared over the horizon. We came to another set of rocky hills, these being a small chain of islands. They were covered with sea lions and birds. 

As we turned off the engine of the boat we could hear the barking of the lions. I wondered what it was like for them to have their own little playground. They jumped off rocks, baked in the sun and whatever else their heart desired. 

We spent the next two hours watching them and exploring the coves of the islands in kayaks. My favorite experience was swimming with the sea lions—watching them swoosh within inches of my feet, but never touching! They didn't mind at all that we swam with them, treating us as if we were just another sea creature. 

By the end of the day we were exhausted. Although it felt as if we had boated 100 miles across the water, we barely scratched the surface of the Sea of Cortez. It was a healthy reminder that there are so many places in this world that I have yet to explore. 

Until a few months ago, I couldn't point out the Sea of Cortez on a map. If someone had asked to find the Gulf of California . . . then maybe. This inlet is tucked between Baja California and the main body of Mexico. It stretches 700 miles and has a maximum width of 150 miles. There are 37 islands 

It is believed that this gulf is one of the most diverse seas on Earth. An estimated 900 species of fish live here, along with 32 types of marine mammals. There are blue, humpback and gray whales that call these waters home. In addition there are sharks, dolphins, manta rays, sea lions and Leatherback Sea Turtles. On one of the islands is a rattlesnake that is found nowhere else in the world. 

All this marine wildlife is a stark contrast to the hot and barren Sonoran Desert just outside its waters. Sand dunes often flank the coast line and in some areas there grows an abundant sea of cactus. 

It was named by Francisco de Ulloa in 1539 in honor of the Spanish conquistador, Hernán Cortés. Ulloa originally believed that the gulf led to the mythical Strait of Anian, which connected the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. Another Spaniard, Melchior Diaz explored the area extensively in 1540, including conducting a survey of the lower Colorado River where it runs into the gulf. 

A couple days later we chose a secluded sandy beach. The dunes sloped downward into the crystal clear blue water. I strapped on goggles and slowly floated on my belly a short distance from the shore, scouring the floor of the sea with my eyes. Remnants of shells were scattered everywhere, most of them white and some twirled in narrow conical twists like the horn of a unicorn. 

I swam parallel to the shore, coming up for air from time to time. When I saw something on the sandy bottom I would extend my arm—if I could reach—and pull it closer to my view. Then I would decide whether to keep it. In this manner I collected a modest cluster of shells. 

I have decided that the Sea of Cortez is a gem that most don't consider. I have only skimmed the top, yet there is an allure, a desire, to return and explore more. 

Perhaps John Steinbeck said it best: “Trying to remember the Gulf is like trying to re-create a dream. This is by no means a sentimental thing, it has little to do with beauty or even conscious liking. But the Gulf does draw one, and we have talked to rich men who own boats, who can go where they will. Regularly they find themselves sucked into the Gulf. And since we have returned, there is always in the backs of our minds the positive drive to go back again. If it were lush and rich, one could understand the pull, but it is fierce and hostile and sullen. The stone mountains pile up to the sky and there is little fresh water. But we know we must go back if we live, and we don't know why.” ♠

 

¿Sonoyta, anyone?

Holy Family Catholic Church on Benito Juarez Street.

Our introduction to Sonoyta was rather unpleasant. 

We were still within feet inside the Mexican border when the armed guard waved us to the side and approached our car. “Where do you have your pistol?” he asked in Spanish. 

“I don't have one,” I insisted. 

“Is it under your seat? Is it in the glove box?” 

I was baffled that he would assume that I tried to smuggle a firearm across the U.S. / Mexican border! Or was it just a ruse to get me to admit if I had? 

He ordered the four of us out of our car and began a systematic search. He used his flashlight to rummage through the front and back seats, and then the trunk. He found nothing, but had me worried that he would find some reason to send us off to jail, or at least fine us. 

Then, he waved us on. 

Armed guards at the border.

We didn't go far. We then parked on the side of the road of the immigration office to get our tourist visas stamped. They only let one group inside at a time, so we had to wait outside. 

A man stood outside the door dressed in full military gear, including helmet, bullet-proof vest and fully-automatic rifle. He kept asking me if I knew the price of a certain kind of pistol. I was perplexed and not sure if something was lost in translation. 

At last it was our turn to go inside. We gave our passports and tourist cards to a short brown lady who checked the details, stamped them, and sent us on our way. 

Relieved to have “passed” our entry into Mexico, we returned to our car and began driving the main drag southward. 

Immediately we passed a couple dogs and a man in a wheelchair holding out a jar. We passed an array of street shops and markets. We also noticed the stark contrast of now abundant trash on the southern side of the border. The scene bade me to stop, but we couldn't. We had to march seventy miles further. Sonoyta would have to come later. 

Stray dog.

This was the first time I had ever driven my own car across the Mexican border. I was a bit nervous. Sonoyta is a border-town that piqued my curiosity, but at the same time filled me with trepidation.

Sonoyta is a unique city. It serves as a portal for U.S. tourists coming into Mexico, as well as a launching point for illegal Mexican immigrants looking to sneak into the States. I can't imagine anyone wanting to cross illegally here as it would require an arduous walk through the Sonoran Desert. 

Sonyota is located just inside the Mexican border.

Sonoyta and rural communities to the east have become the battleground for rival cartels who vie for control of the land to move people and drugs into the United States. As a result, the city has seen a high rate of homicide and other violence. 

Before we came through, my daughter heard a story from a friend who had been driving through Sonora and was stopped by the cartel in the middle of the road. They were robbed.  

Just over a year ago, nine women and children were massacred by one of the cartels as they drove to a wedding on a dusty dirt road in Sonora. The women were connected to a Mormon fundamentalist group. Some were burned alive in their car. These people were living in Sonora and accustomed to the dangers. 

Stories like these didn't sit well with us. But you can't live in fear, and we decided the rewards outweighed the risks, so we decided to come anyway. We spent the next several days enjoying the sun and sand in a resort town well away from the border. 

Sonoyta lies in the heart of the Sonoran Desert.

Organ pipe cactus.

Fast forward five days and we were back in Sonoyta. This time we had one primary goal—to spend our remaining 1,200 pesos before crossing the border. We could have just exchanged the money, but where's the fun in that?!! 

Our first purchase came easily. There were men on the street selling asparagus, nuts and other commodities. We rolled down the window and bought a big bag of oranges for 70 pesos. 

Sonoyta is a highly militarized town. Within a minute of entering its borders we spotted six police cars, including a group of cops frisking another man. Later we saw a small convoy of military police with helmets and service rifles. 

Main road running through Sonoyta.

One of my goals was to find a certain taco shop that specialized in “wet tacos.” I knew the name of it and general location, but finding it seemed elusive. We drove up and down the street twice and tried going around the block when Jenna spotted the name of the shop on a hand-written sign. 

We found it on a side-street, with the name “Taqueria Sabas” barely visible. It looked like it was located in someone's house, with plastic chairs and tables along the outside. 

We sat down and immediately a young man came to take our order. When I asked if he had a menu, he said they only sold one thing—tacos. We ordered six of them. 

The “kitchen” was located inside the house. We waited at our table on the patio with a few other groups that looked much less gringo than ourselves. When we asked if there was a bathroom, we were directed to an outhouse a few feet away. (There was no light in the outhouse, but that which came through a small window. There was also no toilet paper and the door wouldn't open from the inside!) 

Wet tacos are a lot like enchiladas, but in the shape of a taco. Inside they have chunks of beef, onions and cabbage. A red sauce is poured on top. You eat it with a plastic spoon. They taste nothing like enchiladas. 

He brought us a simple tray of condiments that included red and green salsa, and limes. The flavor of the wet tacos was nothing extra ordinary, but defiantly unique and worth the experience. 

Wet tacos.

Next, we worked on spending those pesos. We found a hole-in-the-wall shop and bought Savanah a skirt. “Mas adelante,” closer to the border, we found another shop where we bought a couple of blankets. 

Then, with only 200 pesos left, we stopped by a convenience store and bought snacks for our trip. The funny thing is that when we went to pay, the total came to 201 pesos. I offered to put something back, but the cashier lady told me not to worry about it! 

We had one more stop. I was a little worried about this one because it took us a couple miles off the main drag. 

We drove east on Calle Obregón past homes and several vacant buildings. Many of them were skeletons. We turned right onto a dirt road and drove past an unused basketball court. 

Getting off the beaten path like we were I was worried about getting robbed or killed. Four people with Utah plates would certainly grab the attention of the cartel. 

We arrived at our destination—the cemetery. I am always fascinated with how different cultures tend to have different types of cemeteries. 

Instead of the usual rows of headstones like we see in the States, the graves here were marked with shines to the deceased. Some were bigger, like mausoleums, and others just a simple cross. 

But what caught my attention the most were the saguaro-clad hills that surrounded the cemetery. That seemed to bring the arid realm of the living face-to-face with the land of the dead. 

Saguaro-clad hills surround the cemetery.

Mausoleum at Sonoyta Municipal Cemetery.

We made our way safely back to the main part of town and eventually to the frontier. We crossed “the line” where I was stopped by a U.S. border patrol agent. Not knowing how many documents I would need to show, I asked him, “What do you need to see?” 

In a friendly, but sarcastic tone he replied, “This is the international border. I need to see your passports.” 

My wife had a good chuckle. Soon we were safe on the other side of the line. ♠

 

Sonoyta, Mexico.