Around
midday we’d arrive at a new beach, have lunch
shaded from the glaring sun under an awning, set
up camp and then go snorkelling or hiking in the
afternoon. Most times we chose the former, just
drifting on the surface near the shore, looking
at starfish, octopus and sea anemones and
avoiding the poisonous stonefish that blended in
to the rocks rather too efficiently. One
afternoon though we chose a three-hour scramble
to the other side of the island for spectacular
hilltop views, and on another we just lazed on
the beach.
Evenings always
commenced with “happy hour” — Alvaro never, ever
ran out of margaritas or piña coladas — before
the sun set around six, then we’d settle down to
dinner and chat. In fact, we talked so much
about everything imaginable Oprah would have
been proud of us. After all, it’s not every
beach in Mexico that contains two non-Finnish
Finnish speakers, a lesbian mother of four, a
former Broadway child star, a gay couple about
to adopt a daughter, a woman who happily talks
about both her husband and boyfriend, and a
dotcom founder with two children born 13 days
apart.
Midway through the week we swam with a colony
of California sea lions, which we all agreed was
quite magical as dozens of them darted by our
heads, somersaulted beneath us and came and
playfully nipped us to see if we merited further
chomping.
This is not a trip for those who want to go
clubbing every night or whose essential holiday
packing includes a hairdryer. The shower for the
week was the ocean. Piddling was done as subtly
as possible in the sea. For anything else there
was “Paco”, the portable lavatory, which, after
a stern lecture on proper use from Bernado on
day one, stayed remarkably fragrant all week.
If that sounds a bit grim, it wasn’t at all.
It was easy to forget Paco when lying on the
sand at night watching shooting stars, eating
Alvaro’s delicious antojitos, looking at
brightly coloured fish watching us watching them
watching us, or kayaking inside dark sea caves.
By the end of our seven days I was very
happily exhausted. I was glad to get back to the
mainland and freshen up but as soon as I’d
scrubbed off the layers of salt and dirt and
insect repellent, I wanted to go back and get
out on the water again. No chance, though. The
guides were already getting ready for the next
group. “There are five single girls from
Ventura, California,” remarked Francisco over
tequilas and beers, in wide-eyed wonderment, as
if Ventura was the mythical home of a tribe of
Amazonian superwomen. If only I had been a week
later it could have been a whole different trip
— but with the experiences I’d had and friends I
had made, I would not have swapped.
Staying there: Journey Latin
America (020-8747 8315, http://www.journeylatinamerica.co.uk/)
offers a ten-day kayaking trip in Baja
California from £1,132 per person including all
flights, two nights’ hotel accommodation in La
Paz, six nights’ full-board camping, guiding,
kayaking and camping equipment. Reading: Cabo:
La Paz to Cabo San Lucas (Moon Handbooks,
£11.99); Adventure Kayaking Baja (Wilderness
Press, £8.90); Baja California (Lonely Planet,
£10.99); The Log from the Sea of Cortez, by John
Steinbeck (Penguin £10.99).