SAYULITA Sunsets JUNE 2014

SAYULITA Sunsets JUNE 2014

Six Packs, Sun Tans and Tourists from the States

I wonder what is the last thing you want to deal with after being on an overnight bus? I’ve had many opportunities to ponder this age old question and in conclusion I believe you could say ANYTHING at all and be quite accurate. But quite certainly I know some things that make the list: blaring sun on the side of a highway; a local bus ride with windows stuck closed; an empty water bottle and a full bladder without option to refill or empty either; (and most definitely) a steep climb up a hill with backpack and surfboard in hand. Definitely these things made the list when I jumped off the bus in Puerto Vallarta and embarked on the last leg towards Sayulita.

Because I planned to spend a couple of weeks here killing time before meeting the girls in Belize I tried out a couple of different hostels and campgrounds to get the best one. Now “best” is a very relative term, and in this instance I declared this mosquito den to be my “best” option because it was the cheapest and the least busy. This is an abode where if it rains outside it also rains inside, and thanks to the open-to-the-outside walls and windows on two sides I found that most other tourists were deterred either on arrival or after one night so I almost always had the room to myself. I set about to perform the usual explosion of belongings and tucked in my life saving mosquito net one more time. Home sweet home.

A funny thing I realised over my first month traveling down the coast is how often I had to wax my board. As a teenager growing up in a consistently cold climate (and not actually surfing very often) I think I could count on one hand the number of times I bought wax. Certainly not often – we thought “that shit is expensive” as we pushed the remaining blobs of wax around in to critical locations over the board. But this year going from the tropical Andaman Islands, to ice cold California, coolish Baja and Mazatlan back to tropical Sayulita I found myself on hands and knees for the umpteenth time completely re-waxing mi “tabla”. Wax on, wax off.

I had an amusing conversation with a 13 year old girl out in the surf (an American living in town with her family) after over hearing her ask her friend for some wax. Neither of them had any wax because their Dad’s usually bought it for them. If it was left to them they would take to combing the deck to avoid buying their own block “because that shit’s expensive” haha, yes, yes it is at 13. I pointed them to my bag on the beach and they confidently rubbed a few solid circles on their long boards and so began an odd friendship – especially solidified by the fact I looked like their friend from swim squad “except much older”, they made me laugh, you little ripper, we can definitely be friends. Besides the obliviously entertaining young teens I met in the surf I was initially a little traumatised by the other gorgeous tanned six-pack bearing chicks that walked around in their almost thong bikinis. Oh daaaaamn it. The hours not spent surfing were clearly spent tanning somewhere doing extreme yoga in small bikinis. Luckily without fail every person I met was (as always) generous and welcoming, all smiles, all warmth and love. Well how could it be otherwise if you've chosen to live in such a place!?

Besides surfing the small swell every day I served a short stint in Spanish School out the back of town. For those of you who’ve attempted to master a language and are familiar with the “immersion” technique you can imagine my trauma at attending school as a complete beginner, one on one because nobody else rocked up that week… without a word of English to sooth my transition. She appeared so friendly and cuddly as she welcomed me in with her big bosom leading her, seemingly buoyed by a large billowing skirt that bounced around her with a delightful riot of colours… but then my hopes plummeted and crashed as she rambled on about Spanish grammar, in Spanish, as I fumbled with my dictionary to decipher if we were talking about nouns or verbs or nothing of the sort, all the while wondering how to greet people or order tacos from the lady on the corner. Needless to say it wasn’t the most pleasant travel experience to date but if I throw it in the mix with ‘10 days silent meditation’ and ‘contracting dengue fever’ I suppose it wasn’t entirely the worst either.

My first week at Sayulita was hot. My second week was hot and wet. One night the skies truly opened up in such a way that I couldn’t sleep and spent a small portion of the wee morning hours fashioning a rain-deflector to keep my bed somewhat dry. Like I said - when it rains outside, it rains inside. On a positive note I discovered multiple Spanish apps and quickly learnt how to greet my hostel owner every morning when I would find him sweeping the flooded floors and making reference to the rain, so much rain. Si, Si… I soon opened every day with my three faithful phrases which I could use the whole way to the beach: 

1) Good morning, how are you?

2) Lot’s of rain yeah?

3) I’m going to the beach, seeyah later.

After the first serious rain, the previously dry river bed that had been traversed by people and vehicles just 24 hours earlier, became a flowing brown river! Sayulita is an incredibly busy beach but that morning I found it vacant and drab under a cloudy sky, the swell weighed down heavy and brown with the mud from the river. No white wash today, just brown. Excellent! Nobody was out! One man with a long board commented on the potential rubbish and infections that were being flushed out by these first rains then jumped in to paddle out probably hoping he’d turned me off. Hmmm. Good points. But nobody was out and the swell had picked up so I followed him out. The visibility wasn’t even 1cm. It was like surfing a mudslide and I felt like we should have been in a quirky 2 second gap-filler in a surf movie. This was some seriously weird surfing conditions!

The storms continued to come daily with little regard to the hoards of US tourists that had come for a sunny surf holiday. With a little luck the storms stayed confined to the moonlit hours providing incredible lightning shows. Although if we were given reprieve to enjoy our sunshine by day then we were paying with our sleep that night, our earplugs competing with explosive clapping thunder and for me at least a little sideways rain and stray debris from overhanging trees.

Because of the forgiving conditions at Sayulita it seems to have developed in to a little grommet nursery. Along with few other towns around the world this place boasts all the necessary supportive elements for groms to thrive: a local professional surfer as inspiration and mentor; a local economy that thrives and depends on surf tourism; and a beginner wave tickling the towns’ doorstep. Some of the young ones are in their teens but there’s a whole group under ten that are ripping. Attempting to imitate the older surfers doing 360’s and the like. I suppose it’s not hard to enjoy even the smallest surf when you’re only 4ft tall, every set wave is going to be overhead with room to carve. One little surf rat is the son of a café owner and we got chatting over breakfast. She had a special tiny board custom made for him but he’s still too small to comfortably catch waves on his own so Dad goes out to push him in then he does the rest. Speaking to his dad in the surf he says half the time he doesn’t see the sets coming because he’s busy looking at the fish in the reef. Sure enough he points to his son, bum in the air, face down blowing bubbles with his board drifting at the end of its tether. How very adorable!

I met so many great people during my time in Sayulita, not the least being this young man, “you can call me River”. I was walking to check the surf during a lunch break from school one day and I overheard a guitar and two solid voices wailing out a tune behind the fence of one of my ex-hostels. I wandered in to find this gorgeous young lad (who I would soon call "River"), and two other backpackers sharing one last song before they continued south on their journey. I’m not sure what his real world name is but I gather he named the traveling version of himself “River”.  With “you can call me River” and a few other short term best friends we embarked on a couple of big nights out testing the weekend party scene I had until that point avoided. He might have flailed a little hopelessly in the surf but he more than made up for that with his ability to drink beer, tequila, and still coordinate himself enough to sing and play guitar. A most excellent young Australian wanderer.

Next on the list of excellent people I became short term best friends with is Rach and Em from the US. Both spoke Spanish as fluently as they spoke English and completely inspired me to break out of my trusty three phrase combo. A funny thing about these two is they landed in Sayulita a month earlier as a start point for a rapid adventure journey around Mexico… however as testament to Sayulita’s magnetic easy vibe I found these girls still stuck in the Sayulita vortex a month after their arrival. They were speaking of plans to gather funds in the US and return to the vortex indefinitely. And why not.

Another couple of surfista chicas who were ridiculously fluent in Spanish were Milka and Katri from Finalnd who I met at one of the board rental shacks. We bonded at the shack with a cute little puppy at our feet and then in the surf sharing a rare passing swell. Besides their excellent Spanish they were inspiring surfers. Not the best by far, but most improved for sure. That’s the basis of my current journey, to improve, and there they were improving noticeably  every day, changing boards, accepting advice with sincerity and practicing to no end. Nothing beats the grin of someone paddling back out after mastering their first few solid turns. These girls were deserving grinners!

Before they flew out they invited me and the surf shop boys over for a barbecue. Man can those girls put on a feast! The evening swirled along in a blend of Spanglish and laughter that we all could follow until eventually one of the boys manned the BBQ and the girls served drinks, salsas and salads. It was a cohesive mix of Aussie, Finnish and Mexi warmth on the rooftop by the sea. Moments like this fill a traveler with a rare sense of place, something akin to comfort and homeliness long since forgone.

I was in full swing of saying farewell to all the people who I’d come to call good friends and starting to think it was time to move on when, to my delight, I met this cheeky boy’s smile out in the surf, followed shortly after by his wife’s cheeky smile on the beach! Brilliant timing and what a surprising duo! I often find myself thinking in stereotypes because people too willingly fit in those conventional boxes BUT these are two US citizens that broke the mold and won my heart. I love a good surprise and I love to share cold beers so obviously I fell in love with this couple. Over the days surfing together and sharing cold beers on the beach I gradually came to know them as one of the most well-travelled, curious, adventurous, entertaining US couples I’ve had the pleasure of hanging with. Together we reminisced about Africa and Asia and shared and compared our bucket list of travel destinations and dive sights.

Our lovely honeymoon friendship ended on the best possible note with a party wave, complete with a mid-surf high five, jumping off on to the sand to be met with a bucket of cold beers. It makes me smile thinking of the next random person who will meet this couple on future adventures.

The time eventually came when I had to meet all the girls on the east coast for a birthday catch up with my twinny so I booked a flight and packed my bags in the usual carefree disorganised manner that left multiple items unaccounted for and many people wondering where I'd gone.

I left behind my surfboard, planning to return and recommence the southbound surf trip with Amy in a month or two (depending how long we would spend in Belize and Cuba). Not only was my Spanish not good enough to communicate this variable, but there was nobody to communicate it to at 7am when I decided to leave. I counted out a wad of cash to pay for my stay and with little other option I handed it clumsily to a sleepy Mexican guest with a flourish of charades and a few confusing gestures towards my board. As usual I hadn’t left any room for movement with my transport so I had to flee mid charades to make my bus to Puerto Vallarta and hope for the best. Two hours later I literally jogged from my bus stop to the airport when I arrived, and through to my boarding flight.

Now that’s what I call perfect timing!

MAZATLAN Main Course MAY 2014

MAZATLAN, May 2014

A Funky Monkey and a Spiky Surf

Baja California was a safe, palatable Mexican entre. A tasting plate of mountains, deserts, Gringos, Mexicans, surf spots and endless taco stands… but I was ready for the main course, ready for the real thing. Mainland Mexico awaited me with promise of all this and so much more!

I had a 19 hour overnight ferry to contemplate what lay ahead. Is the Pacific Coast as dangerous as they say? Is Mazatlan a city to fear? Will there be gangs on the beach and gunfire in the street?  Two months previous a string of mid-level cartel players were captured by joint Mexican-US forces and the crackdown culminated in the capture of “El Chapo”, the Chief of the Sinaloa cartel, in Mazatlan. Apparently his drug empire stretched through North America, Europe and as far back as Australia which put him square on America’s most wanted list for a long time.

All through Baja people spoke of his capture and its consequence with mixed opinions but as a general rule they expected it would mean I should find a safer, more peaceful version of Mazatlan on arrival. I only had to make the dash from the ferry terminal to the nearest bus stand if it didn’t seem right so I wasn’t particularly worried.

I twisted away the hours with a Rubiks Cube, a godforsaken little square of frustration! As La Paz and Baja shrunk in to the distance I used my dying moments of Telcel reception to download a page of Rubik’s Cube hints and tips, thank goodness! Let the battle begin. I tamed that cube over and over again in to orderly sides of red, yellow, green, blue orange and white. I had great intentions to learn to solve it by heart but I never quite got there. I’ll save that challenge for another long journey… of that I’m sure there will be many more.

By the time I arrived in Mazatlan I had teamed up with the only other tourist on the ferry and phoned ahead to the only hostel in town – The Funky Monkey. Now just in case anyone is planning to head to Mazatlan I’m going to give a huge plug to the Funky Monkey Hostel. I can say on reflection after many months in Mexico that it’s one of the best hostels I’ve stayed in, no doubt. With a super friendly and entertaining owner to top it off. The place had a swimming pool (seriously), air conditioning (unreal!), and a super cosy lounge area decorated with a mix of Mexican sombreros and shirtless surfers.

Simmo and Reece, two of the shirtless young Aussie lads, introduced me to what would become our holy bible for the coming months of mainland surfing. Now here comes another plug… if anyone is heading to Mexi mainland to surf the Pacific coast then get your hands on “The Mainland Mexico Surf Guide”. The intro might be directed at less experienced US travelers but the surf content is unparalleled for its one-stop-shop info. It has a tidy little overview of all major (and some off the beaten track) surf spots from Sinaloa in the north to Oaxaca in the south.

I sent word to Amy back in Aus (who was packing her bags to fly out and meet me) praying she might find a copy of our own. I still can’t even believe the postal miracle she experienced - after ordering the book online she received it in the post the following day in time to fly out! Es un milagro! Our mexi surf guide would become our most prized possession, much admired, photographed and envied among fellow traveling surfers. Gone are the days of blind travel. The surf guide knows where we want to go and Lonely Planet knows how to get us there. Most coastal surf spots are off the communication grid so we leant heavily on these “offline” gems.

Another guy staying at the Funky Monkey, Tupi, had driven down from the US for a short surf trip and took us around in his car to check out some beaches. On our way along the coast he pointed out the hotel where El Chapo had been famously captured. Found naked and unsuspecting in his bed, bodyguards nowhere to be seen, the drug squad finally succeeded. A little further up we came across a crazy example of cliff diving on one of the city’s headlands. Craaaaazy! It wasn’t a leap from dizzying heights but the landing was a life threatening mix of rough crashing seas and gnarly exposed rocks. I sensed that this cliff was all about the landing, not the dazzling dive itself.

Speaking of gnarly rocks I should mention the surf in Mazatlan. The two main breaks in town are a left and a right that break either side of an old derelict night club on the point. Camarones and Valentinos. The rocks are largely avoidable at mid-high tide however another hidden danger is nestled in the sanctuary of this rocky point. Stupid little sea urchins. Dare I say hundreds, millions… haha, I have no idea how many were in their devious underwater cartel but you could HEAR them clicking their spiny arms plotting against us. We were told some funny stories about drunk people’s unfortunate encounters with them after being at the night club over the years but we didn’t expect to meet any up too close since we were being somewhat careful. On my last day in the water we sat dangling our feet bumping our toes on the rocks as the water surged up and down giving rise to the walls of surf. The ocean sucked from under us one more time then OUCH! I scooped an urchin with my foot and took on board a dozen of its spines. Then OUCH! Simmo scooped one with his hand paddling out. Argh damn it. Ouchy wah wahs. We agreed it hurt a little but not too bad. “Got nothing on a blue bottle sting” agreed the tough Aussies. I pulled out the loose ones and we kept surfing until the pain swelled up from pressing in to the board. I casually checked with Simmo if his hand was hurting… cos I’m thinking oooow mine hurts but I don’t wanna sayyyyyy. I figured girls are allowed to be a little weaker so I paddled in and started digging out some more spines with broken sea shells and sulking, glancing up every so often to see how the boys were going.

Simmo and Reese were both perfect gentleman wanting to carry my board and attempted to hail a cab but it seems three wet surfers weren’t an enticing sight on the roadside that morning. We set off on foot and I hobbled and grinded the remaining spikes in with each step (the one negative of Funky Monkey Hostel was the 30 minute walk through the city from the surf). Much to the intrigue and delight of the staff at Starbucks we had a half-way coffee break to take stock and recoup. Leaving behind puddles of saltwater and sand we limped home where Reese and Simon got a little excited about finally using the first aid kit “Mum packed for us”. Reese whipped out a blade and if you ask me took more pleasure than I liked in the task of picking open the soul of my foot. Simmo sat at the table wincing and digging at his own hand, wise man. Laying on my front by the pool, foot in the air with blood trickling down my leg, I was quite sure I preferred the urchin to Reese’s scalpel. That’s enough of that mate, I’ll take my chance with infection for the rest.

After one false attempt at leaving Mazatlan (the washing lady, bless her clean cotton socks, couldn’t find my laundry), and with a speckled addition of holes in my foot I eventually hopped a night bus south to Puerto Vallarta en route to Sayulita. The promised land of chilled surf, hippy campgrounds and endless sunshine. Sounded too good to be true but I let my expectations run wild nonetheless. Perfection, here I come!

BAJA South MAY 2014

BAJA CALIFORNIA SUR

A Southern Circuit - MAY 2014

With the first great road trip behind me I said farewell to the Adelaide boys and wished them luck on their extreme southbound journey. Never one to find myself alone for long, I met two cute young colorado chickie babes on a short Baja holiday, an Aussie dive master at the closing end of a long Central American journey, and two Emily's on a weekend break from a volunteer gig at a nearby ranch.

To top off my good fortune of finding all these great people, I soon found that our unsavoury 24hr hotel shared it's street frontage with a particularly fine taco establishment. It offered all the usual fare (carne, pollo, pescado) but the real kicker was the sting ray!? Toby gave it a crack but I hovered on safe ground with the beef, chicken and fish each time I dined.

I had no expectations of La Paz City so imagine my surprise when we stumbled across some of the most beautiful pristine bays I've ever seen. Aqua clear, entire bays of waste deep water - a 'non swimmers' heaven, and there were more than a few of those! Kayaks and snorkelers meandered around the bay basking in the contrast of the burning sun and the crisp water.

"Rach I saw you up on the hill for ages. Wasn't it hot up there? What were you doing squatting on the edge?" Haha, just taking heaps of self-timer photos of course ;) Got-no-mates but I got a great view! 

We checked out a tourist beach on our way back to town but it was kind of busy and noisy. Ice cold beers and generous portions of guacamole made up for the undesireable atmosphere. Yummo!

As the weekend came to a close the Emily's had to get back to the Ranch for work and Toby had plans to drive to the southern tip of Baja to dive Cabo Pulmo. Brilliant! Me too! We can drop the girls, see the Ranch and make it to Cabo Pulmo by sun down. As luck would have it Toby had recently had literally everything he owned stolen out of his car so there was ample room for three extra chickies to slide on in. Tobes may debate whether or not this was a good trade but the girls were happy with the ride.

We delivered the girls safely to the Ranch but Toby and I had no luck getting in contact with anyone or anything at Cabo Pulmo. With the sun setting and no certainty of accommodation or safety at our destination we decided to invite ourselves to stay at the Ranch. I scanned the area and chose an elevated concrete pad to call home for the night. I strung up the mozzie net and started converting my meagre belongings in to a sleeping set up. I whipped the surfboard out and used the case as a sleeping mat, layed my wetsuit underneath for extra padding (now that's a little luxurious), and stuffed my spare clothes inside a tshirt to make a sweet pillow. The girls shared their last beers with us and brought an extroardinary home made salsa while Toby and I had nothing to contribute but a crushed bag of tostadas he had left over in his van. We watched a beautiful sunset and went to bed early as the cold seeped over the land replacing the sun.

In the morning we gathered our gear and had a little laugh at the girls who were already in boots mucking out the yards and tending the vegie patch. Is this a holiday? I never would have thought to volunteer on a Ranch in Baja, Mexico but there you go, the girls made it seem like a pretty cool thing to do after all.

The painted cow skulls clunked as we locked the Ranch gate behind us and hit the road again. We turned off the highway and as the sealed road turned to gravel, then to cracked dust the ocean horizon came in to view. We glanced passed the burning dashboard over the bare plains and came to realise why we weren't able to contact anyone out there... it's the middle of nowhere. Phone lines and internet are a sporadic luxury but in general do exist when the perfect conditions align. An inconvenient place to do business I imagine.

We followed the dust trail hugging the coast glancing sideways at each other... both doubting our trajectory in to nothingness but had stopped commenting on the fact. When we looked online this place had struck me as an established dive destination... so where are all the establishments!? Eventually we reached our dusty goal. Superb! It took us an hour to question both dive operators and discuss our options over beer and burritos before we finally suited up and took the plunge. The diving was okay but not mind blowing, except for a huge bull shark that joined us briefly, now that was actually a little mind blowing I suppose!

We didn't linger long after our dives because Toby, god bless him, had an appointment to make in San Fransisco (northern California) in two days time. He agreed to drop me somewhere in Los Cabos so I'd be able to find food and shelter and we spent our last driving hours debating the actual physical possibility of him making San Fran in two days, even driving without sleep. I do believe that Toby the trooper made it just one day late. A little mexican miracle. 

From one extreme to another, Cabo Pulmo to Cabo San Lucas, tinnies on trailers to million dollar docks. Between the temperature raging at approximately one thousand degrees celcius and the low quality fan room my budget allowed I can't say I enjoyed the Cabo region very much. It was a little too pricey, a litte too hot and a little too busy. An absolute highlight was meeting a group of expat men who helped drag my breakfast in to lunch and on to afternoon beers at the marina one day. The four men ranged from mid 40's to 80's and had the carefree air of men who lived full lives and retired with full bank accounts. They joked and swore, telling stories about each other and themsleves and had me cringing and sliding off my bar stool in fits of laughter. Every now and then a serious moment would grip the table and someone would tell me about how Keith had once saved someone's life, how Carston nearly killed someone, and most surprisingly: how Mitch had been an integral member of the dive team who recovered the Apollo 11 astronauts in 1969 securing the worlds first successful moon expedition. I don't think I've spent a day in my life drinking with a more interesting group of lads!

The following day I ventured to the beach early in the morning to lower the risk of heat stroke. The cloudy, tepid water didn't provide any relief so I skulked over to the Tiki Bar where I had agreed to meet Mitch again for breakfast. With icky salt water crystalising on my skin and disolving again in sweat Mitch greeted me with a brilliant idea that cheered me up and introduced me to a few more of the local expat crew. Mitch knew a surfer (Dustan) who just moved in to a big house on the cliffs up north near San Pedritos and was certain I could go crash at his place. Everyone at the table agreed and a buzz of expectation swept the air as Mitch made the call and passed the phone around. Within the hour Dusty had answered Mitch's enthusiastic call about the young Australian surfer girl and whisked me away in his 4wd with his mate Mike. How generous and overwhelming! 

On the short drive north to Dustan's we stopped by Mike's place to drop him off and inspect the progress on his block. Red dirt and cactuses blanketed the earth around his trailer and a lazy dog panted away the heat under a plastic chair. We stayed for a couple of beers under the lean to and looked with a great sense of tranquility over the coastline below. Nothing out here to disturb your peace.The guys lifted a few heavy things and poked at the hard ground half heartedly with a shovel before quickly giving up and tossing the Mexican labourer another cold beer for his trouble. 

Dustan took me home via Cerritos to check the surf but we found it big and closing out. We followed the standard protocol and drank beers, ate guacamole, and I had a short violent swim in the shore break. His two guard dogs greeted us when we got back to his place and made me wonder if maybe I was a little scared of dogs. Firstly the protective growling and chaotic nipping, then the fear of drowning in passionate dog slobber. A rollercoaster of doggy emotions! 

Dusty's place was protected like fort knox. The two dogs perched high on the front wall, the smattering line of glassed concrete and the strings of barbed wire would turn away any casual opportunist theif. That and the local police who could often be seen sharing beers with him on his property. In a sudden lucid moment I wasn't quite sure what to make of my whirlwind adoption when I found myself alone with this stranger isolated high up on the point contained by glass and barbed wire. It turned out to be a great friendship and awesome opportunity, we even returned days later with my new gang of friends to make a bonfire and hang out til the wee hours of the morning. The surf community all over Mexico, whether expats or locals, has never failed to be inclusive and welcoming, supportive and keen to assist. How lucky to feel a part of this outgoing international community of surfers.

I told Dusty I had my eye on a place called San Pescadero Surf Camp that was somewhere "down there" so we threw my gear back in his car and he drove me down to town and asked around until he found what appeared to be the camp. Unfortunately the so called surf camp was miles inland from the coast, but it triggered such a fine chain of events it was all made up for in the end.

The surf camp had a nice shady palapa where I coud pitch my tent with a couple of significant pros and cons. It was in the shade - essential, it was somewhat private - nice, but it had a concrete base - ouch, and was a thriving breeding ground for mosquitos - naw. Shade wins above all else so I smiled and pitched camp without hesitation.

I don't know what I did to deserve such luxury but the camp had a sweet pool with a swim up bar (that we would most definitely take advantage of later), and a fully equipped outdoor kitchen. Awesome! That's a money saver. I jumped in the pool immediately then clunked around the kitchen boiling rice and cooking random things I had ferreted from my pack when fate brought me the nicest surprise! Through the drooping palm fronds I could see two sets of legs and hear someone greeting me in rambling spanish.  

 As they stooped down to enter the kitchen our eyes popped out of our heads and nearly crashed in to each other - it was Allie and Taylor, the two Colorado chickies from La Paz! They had grown tired of the remote beach camping and lack of facilities so the universe guided us all back together here. Surf and good times for all.

I put my Australian experience to great use while staying there and moved along a few bigger than average spiders that were interfering with our communal bathroom.  I had such a great time with the girls at the surf camp, and we even recruited one more chick, Christine, who was amazingly in possession of a borrowed car! We had wheels, we had tents, and we had a gang. 

The next best thing that happened to us at Pescadero was meeting One Legged Bill. To help decipher the code name, he was a man called Bill with one leg. Such a character! He's starting a local tour business using that name so next time I'm in the area I guess I can look him up for outdoor adventures but in the meantime we were getting guided for free and loving his company. We spent hours around the pool passing the time doing nothing particularly productive except every now and then the girls would serenade us with beautiful music. Taylor and Allie were traveling with their ukelele and violin and had spent their beach evenings learning to play and sing together. Such a beautiful thing, it really touched Bill and it blew me away. Such gorgeous talented girls, I can't tell you how much I smiled being in their presence. 

We eventually made the call that we should move down and camp on the beach. Not much surfing was getting done between dips in the pool and rolling medicinal joints for Bill. We sent a whisper in to the wind of Todos Santos that there were four girls in need of beach real estate to pitch a few tents and in came Ty with a valiant offer of his beach frontage and his down stairs bathroom. Legend.

We scattered our things like only four girls can and claimed every surface in sight with tents, bikinis, surfboards and bags. We have arrived! Prime beach real estate, so close to the water we were getting sprayed by the shore break.

With the swell lines running a little too straight and closing out it turned out that for a couple of days we hardly surfed much at all and when we did we got walloped in the shories.

After only surfing with groups of guys for as long as I can remember I discovered the true awesomeness of "surfing" with a group of girls. Sunbaking, reading books, talking rubbish and sometimes, only sometimes, surfing. What a treat haha.

Ty gets home... "How's the surf been?" Worried he's missed out. "We dunno. We've been sleeping/ sunbaking/ swimming/ reading/ eating all day". We went up the beach for a sunset surf one day and grouped up with a bunch of guys who were camping nearby and ended the night with a nice bonfire. We walked home under a full shelter of blazing stars that night making grand plans to surf more often and meet more people.

Another fun thing about hanging out with girls is the hours and hours of mucking around doing hand stands and bend backs playing in the sand. Certainly gives "throwing rocks" a run for it's money hey Adelaide boys?

My lovely mermaids serenaded me one last time before we were due to leave the west coast and head back to La Paz where we would part ways. I can't imagine a more special tune has ever been sung, such talent and such passion. Lovely little ladies.

On our last sunset Ty and Ty (there were two Ty's living there) took advantage of some of the gorgeous ladies they had on premises and did a photoshoot featuring Allie and some of their new surfboard designs.

Such great guys and a great all round crew to have hung out with. Not much to do now but start gathering the explosion of our things and prepare for the next leg of our journeys.

Ty took us girls to town for our last breaky before the bus and we had a slight Alice in Wonderland experience. The night before I had been presented with a Coronita for the first time (half size corona bottle) that gave me a big hand, tiny bottle, Alice in Wonderland vibe. Then to follow up the crazy coronita we were faced with gigantic soup-bowlesque coffee cups when we ordered small coffees that morning. Bowl of coffee anyone? Nobody, and I mean nobody, is napping on the La Paz bus today. Bzzzz. We hit the road wired on caffiene and chatted like school girls the whole way east.

From our shared hotel room in La Paz the next morning Allie and Taylor caught a taxi at crazy-o'clock to make their flight homeward bound while I made plans to catch the 19 hour ferry to Mazatlan, mainland Mexico. I saw a stunning sunset that lingered longer than usual as the ferry pull away to make the crossing of the Gulf of California and I thanked mother nature for the fine send off.

I sat next to a guy called Mark who I ended up traveling with for the next couple of weeks from La Paz to Mazatlan, and eventually on to Puerto Vallarta. Never alone for long. Such a lucky ride I'm on this lifetime.