This year we read John Steinbeck’s classic novel, “The Pearl”. Spoiler Alert: I’ve summarized it below, as my sun-withered brain remembers it, including the ending. So if you have hopes of reading it soon, stop right here.

The short story reads like a parable, taking place during La Paz’s booming pearl industry in the early 1900’s. The main character is Kino, a poor fisherman whose baby boy becomes deathly ill. Lacking money for the treatment, Kino and his wife, Juana, are desperate for a miracle. They get one.

Kino, in gathering oysters from the Sea of Cortez, discovers an enormous pearl - one so large, no one has seen it’s equal. He immediately realizes the significance of this find and begins to dream…a better house, a newer boat, a rifle, a church wedding, his newborn son’s future education… and most importantly the cure for his son’s illness. This will solve everything.

But the La Paz pearl merchants tried to swindle him; they were all in cahoots, offering only rock-bottom prices. Knowing his pearl was worth so much more, he rejected their ludicrous offers. So he hid it, hoping to journey to the capital for a better price.

Meanwhile, people begin to treat him differently, knowing he possesses this valuable item. They warn against the arrogance of hope for a better future, deride him for thinking he can ever rise above his station in life.

In addition to jealous neighbors, so too do evil villains emerge. The smarmy doctor maintains Kino’s boy in perpetual illness, while hoping to discover the location of the pearl. Kino’s house is ransacked.  His boat is destroyed. His house burns down. He gradually transforms into a different person - fearful, obsessed, suspicious, and violent. Sensing her family’s self-destruction, his loving wife wants him to throw the pearl back into the sea. She thinks it’s a curse. But Kino would not be dissuaded.

One day, a band of thieves attacked him, and in fighting back, Kino killed one of the perpetrators. Despite this righteous act, he knew they’d brand him a murderer and someone would inevitably seize his precious pearl.

So Kino gathered his family and fled into the mountains. But they were soon followed and backed into a canyon out of which they could not climb. Kino hid Juana and their son into a cleft in the cliff while he backtracked, attempting to lure the posse away. They would never stop hunting while he still possessed the pearl, so Kino decided to attack his pursuers.

But just then, one man heard a whimpering. Assuming it was a coyote, he aimed and fired at the noise. The whimper stopped. And Kino knew. The bullet had found its mark… his child, still cradled in his mother’s arms.

Kino and his wife returned to La Paz. As they grimly walked the path home, carrying their dead son, the neighbors watched in silence. Kino still had the pearl – the pearl that was supposed to solve everything; but he’d just lost everything because of it. Too late, Kino realized the price of his pearl…and threw it back into the sea.

------

Sigh. So sad. So SAD!
Steinbeck’s word smithery is pure genius in this palpable parable, peppered with plucky perception. Ah, you’ll just have to read it, despite the fact I’ve ruin the ending. I cannot do Kino’s character justice in this brief summary… his initial aspirations, his sheer perseverance, his escalating anxiety, his covetous transformation, the final blow, and his anguished realization.

Life’s eternal struggle is knowing when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. You can’t blame Kino for wanting a better life for his family. The sad part is that most of us don’t recognize when blind ambition, greed or even pride has warped into acid, until it’s too late. But should our potential failings stop us from playing the game? No. Because life is like a box of chocolates…you never know what you’re gonna get.

Because in a parallel universe…
in the real world…
Kino sold that pearl and became a rich man.

Wait. What?

The Pink Pearl House
Nestled beside the Baja seashore sits the tiny hamlet of Timbabiche, its backdrop a dreamy desert mountain skyline. Looming above the surrounding sandy hills, a unique landmark appears… a two-story, pink stucco house. The only structure large enough to be visible from miles away at sea, it looks positively colossal against this vast expanse of desert nothingness.

Why such a large house in the middle of nowhere?
This elaborate home was built in the 1920’s…
by a poor fisherman, just like Kino…
from the profits of a single pearl (reportedly 5 carats).
Steinbeck’s parallel universe.

Casa Grande
In the abundant pearl-harvesting era of the early 1900’s, there’s sure to have been more than one lucky pearl discovery. But at least this version had a happy ending. That pearl financed a fleet of boats and the construction of this huge house, officially known as “Casa Grande” or the Big House. As I read The Pearl, I couldn’t help but wonder whether some of Kino’s troubles mirrored those of the man who built Casa Grande. Yet this man survived and his family thrived.

Except subsequent generations couldn’t agree on what to do with Casa Grande. It fell into disrepair and eventually was scavenged for building materials. Now a shell of its former grandeur, the pink house stands sentinel over Timbabiche. But we were to discover, generations of the family still live there, right beside it.

Meet Jimmy, Casa Grande’s Great-Grandson
We’d just anchored in Timbabiche when a smiling Jimmy approached in his fishing panga. Tempting our tastebuds with freshly flopping fish aboard, we purchased a delicious sierra. Our friends procured several sea creatures and bandaged his thumb after he’d sliced it open with a fishing knife. They learned Jimmy is actually a master scuba diver, having attended school in La Paz. Ah, makes sense. Free-diving for scallops, octopus and lobster seemed for him as easy as breathing.

A couple days later, we bought fresh scallops and started talking. We had hiked to the pink house the day prior and asked him about the pink house.

“Casa Grande? My great-grandfather built it!”

Wow! Jimmy’s great-grandfather found the pearl of his dreams. What had happened to cause its decline, we did not think appropriate to ask. Jimmy was obviously very proud of the pink house, as is. I didn’t want to ruin it by asking what the heck happened?

Jimmy told us that about 80 people live in the village, invisibly scattered among the rural dirt tracks. The white, stucco-roofed building (an intriguing Moroccan, tent-looking design - see gallery), is a school servicing about 12 children. But Jimmy’s wife and kids live in the nearest town where they attend a different school; the town is a 3-hour drive one-way. He fishes during the week and drives the long way to visit his family every few days. Out there, fishing by himself every day, Jimmy struck me as a genial but lonely guy. We wish him well.

Maybe one day, the Casa Grande will be his…the pale pink shell of a beautiful pearl.​

We are happily anchored at Ensenada Grande, the first stop on our 6-week trip up to San Carlos from La Paz. As I lounge below on my sea berth, a tall mast looms visible through the companionway. Yikes! I know the boat is close if I can see him through that narrow slot. I launch up on deck, but Brian is already intently watching. This boat drops anchor right between us and another boat. Ugh. He’s pretty darn close, but not disturbingly so. We watch and wait.

10 minutes later, we overhear a VHF radio call in heavily-Spanish-accented English.
“Boat with the French flag… this is Valencia… you have anchored too close.” (Boat names changed to protect the innocent.)
Crickets…

Again. “Boat with the French flag… this is Valencia… you have anchored too close.”
Silence.

Again, with a bit more emphasis.
Silence.

The oblivious yacht is a 40ft Beneteau sailboat, so we’ll call him Mr. Beneteau. We cannot see his boat name and apparently neither can Valencia. It’s on his stern, probably in foolish flowery font – why owners don’t make their boat names clearly visible is beyond me.

The Audacious Mr. Beneteau
The French boat had anchored too close for Valencia’s comfort. Except Mr. Beneteau’s VHF radio was off so Valencia could not relay his analysis on the matter. While one Valencia crewmember kept trying to hail them over the radio, the other crewmember stood on the bow, waving arms, shouting in vain through the wailing 20kt wind. You’d be surprised how little sound carries in 20 knots of wind. If you prefer not to shout, or it’s too windy to do so, a good way to get someone’s attention is just stand on the bow, arms akimbo and glower at the offending boat. Pointing helps. Eventually they will notice. And they did.

So finally I hear heavily-French-accented English, coming from a very weak radio signal, hailing Valencia. But now Valencia is not hearing them. Wow. This just gets better and better. Grammy-winning evening entertainment!

Eavesdropping
After several unanswered return calls from Mr. Beneteau, Valencia responds and they switch from a hailing channel to a talking channel. Of course we switch too, duh. #1, we want to listen in on this highly entertaining shit show, and #2, we have a stake in this conversation. It might be our shit show when the wind switches. Don’t judge. Everybody does it.

Valencia (flustered woman):“You have anchored too close to our boat.”

Mr. Beneteau (a meek, high-pitched, squeaky woman): “Oh, no, no…it’s OK.”

Valencia (now obviously irritated): “You are right on top of our anchor.”

Mr. Beneteau: Crickets…

“It’s OK” means “I don’t care”
Brian and I look at each other, jaws dropped. OMG. Did she just say “It’s OK”? Seriously, that’s not the right answer. But it’s always the answer. Our first year in La Paz, I described our dealings with another cruiser saying that exact same thing to us in this exact same anchorage about the exact same issue. We both start laughing at the irony.

Did they move? Nope.
We waited and watched, doing a mild bit of staring-down of our own. See, we’d prefer they move too. But they remain consciously obtuse - irreverent towards the safety-comfort-level of their neighbors. While pretty close, we feel Mr. Beneteau is a tolerable distance, so we opt to stay put. But Valencia, the boat so offended as to call Mr. Beneteau out on his proximity, does not move either. Either they decided they weren’t in dire straits, or they were just too lazy to get up and move.

Anchoring Etiquette: Don’t be a Dingo
In general, anchoring etiquette is simple: if you as the anchored boat think the incoming boat parked too close (and announces so), it is on the incoming guy to move; but if they refuse, and you remain, and an accident ensues… who do you think your insurance company will hold responsible for your boat damages? If you are uncomfortable with the situation enough to voice your opinion… and the other boat is a dingo and refuses… a healthy fear for the safety of your boat should prompt your departure, regardless of ego or convenience.

Fast forward several days later and we are anchored in San Evaristo, pondering this identical predicament…

San Evaristo Cluster-Fun.
A very large, very old, very ugly powerboat/barge contraption chugged its way into the snug harbor. I picture a 70ft, two-tiered version of the grimy, barnacle-encrusted “African Queen” (from the Katherine Hepburn movie of same name). It really didn’t look like that at all, but the offensive boat became personified as such in my mind as soon as he plopped his anchor down… right on top of us.

Now, when I say right on top, I mean it. This is not Valencia vs. Mr. Beneteau spacing, both with decent enough distance to remain in place all night. This was downright painful, body-hugging, spandex tight.

Radar Blob Monster
Intimidated by his size and proximity, I actually turned on the radar to confirm our suspicions about their distance. Our buddy-boat, Lorelei, was about 200ft to our left – a close but respectable distance for a friend-boat who you are comfortable yelling at if all hell breaks loose. But The African Queen’s massive radar blob was glowing like the sun, merely 100ft away. Damn…my eyes! Are you kidding? We have nearly that length of anchor chain out! This guy WILL whack us when we inevitably swing around to the west at night.

Now highly agitated, we glowered. We scowled. We gave our best disgusted glare. We waited for him to realize the error of his ways; sometimes they do and re-anchor. But African Queen appeared perfectly content attached to our hip.

So we opted to move, sans confrontation. We could already predict the answer anyway: “No really, It’s OK!” The African Queen was so big, and so NOT-maintained we did not relish them picking up and re-anchoring anywhere nearby. Would you want to park your still-in-good-shape 1990’s BMW next to a rusted-out, 1960’s Suburban tank? No. The screaming baby-on-board was the deal breaker. We’re out! We picked up anchor (ending up nose-to-nose within 20ft of their bow) and waved as we drove out the bay. Thanks, Dingo.

North Shore Sanctuary
Moving around to the north shore of San Evaristo, we safely ensconced ourselves in the wide bay, devoid of dingos. Only one other boat was parked…waaaay over there. Sigh. Peace.

Just as it was getting dark, our buddy boat, Lorelei, motors around the corner. What are you guys doing here? Well, they had their own anchoring saga to relay. Apparently, San Evaristo was THE place NOT to be tonight. Too bad we’d turned our radio off and missed THIS evening radio show…

Beware the Charter Catamarans
After we left, 4 charter catamarans traveling together like a pack of wild dingos tried to squeeze their wide-load rear ends in the already limited front row space. Two attempted to side-tie (tie together side-by-side with only fenders between and one boat’s anchor down) in between the now 300 feet between Lorelei and African Queen. Two 15ft boats swinging on one anchor in such close proximity to the others could have been catastrophic. Especially since oblivious charter cats habitually put down like 30 feet of scope, kind of like anchoring 20 tons with a fish hook.

Herding Cats
These catamarans were first warned by two boats that this was not a good idea, there’s not enough swing room for their double mass. In return, what did their dingo leader say? Everybody now… “No, no, It’s OK!” To which both cruisers shouted “NO, it’s NOT OK!” Herding cats is impossible.

Finally, after several other anchored boats expressed their extreme vocal displeasure, the cats reluctantly gave up the side-tying but continued their squeeze. With the obnoxious group boxing them in on both sides and still a bit too close for comfort, Lorelei grudgingly gave up and relocated to our neck of the woods. Sometimes you just can’t win these battles. I am regretful that our friend had to move out of these dingos’ way…but African Queen had it coming!

A Final Dressing-Down
Coincidently, as I began to edit this blog, I heard a one-sided radio conversation on this very topic. I recognize this particular woman’s teacher-like voice from the local radio net. Anchored in Isla Coronado, she incredulously and vehemently pronounces the following to someone whose response I can’t hear:

“Well I have no idea why in this big bay you picked that spot? We have a very heavy boat, we don’t swing the same way and we will be pointed west tonight so you will be right on top of our anchor once the wind switches.”

Ouch. I’m pretty sure that dingo moved.

On April 19th we departed La Paz, heading north into the Sea of Cortez on a 6 week journey to Indigo’s “summer home” in San Carlos, Sonora, Mexico. Since we are leaving La Paz (maybe for good, maybe not), I will leave you with a magical mural montage – the artsy side of La Paz.

Comex, the largest paint manufacturer in Central America, has (in conjunction with the tomato farmers) sponsored dozens of murals throughout the city. These paintings rejuvenate crumbling facades, bringing color and vitality to back alleyways and main streets alike. Ranging from several feet to several stories in height, this street art is often deceptively intricate, incorporating numerous miniature scenes-within-the-whole. Images featuring whales, turtles, fishermen, cactus and ranchers reveal La Paz’s deep and reverent connection to the sea, the land and its people. Oh, and of course… skulls…gotta have skulls (representing Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead)!

Enjoy!​

The Malecon lazily stretches like an undulating paved ribbon along the serene waterfront. The star of La Paz, it glistens brightly in sunlight and smiles by day, moonlight and merrymakers by night. Loving couples walk hand-in-hand along its path; triple generations saunter together, encircled by tricycling tots; joggers and bicyclers and chittering whale shark tourists and ice-cream-munchers and smiling selfie-takers join in the daily parade. We enjoy our walks here…for the people-watching, for the sunlight-soaking, for the life-contemplating that only a relaxing, stress-free stroll can stimulate. For the rest of our walks in La Paz are decidedly NOT relaxing!

Where the Real Sidewalk Ends
When we’re not walking the mostly-well-maintained Malecon, circumnavigating La Paz on foot is often akin to boulder-hopping in remote desert anchorages. There is no such thing as a stroll anywhere else in La Paz; we are most definitely on a hike, or a trek, sometimes a downright slog. From day one, we learned quickly that we’d better be looking down at all times or our next schlep will be to the hospital. IPhone-gawkers beware - texting while walking here really is hazardous to one’s health.

Sidewalk Unpredictability
Why? Finding contiguous and consistent walkways are like finding a chupacabre – they’re a myth. Every store-front or dwelling is apparently responsible for its own sidewalk. Therefore, every 20 feet the sidewalk changes: from cobblestone, to concrete, to sand, to tile, to gravel, or an inexplicable conglomeration. In my (expert) estimation, only 3% are well-maintained. The rest are a veritable minefield.

Obstacles Galore
We’ve hopped over countless, unmarked holes (perfect ankle-breakers); cracked concrete chunks; wildly uneven stairs and cobbled together curbs; slippery slopes (wheee) and sheer 3ft ledges (oops, turn around); overgrown thorny cacti and low tree branches lying in wait to scratch your legs or jab your eye out; rusty rebar poking out of the ground (we know a guy who severed his Achilles tendon falling on one); non-cordoned-off street construction (we got within 10ft of a digging backhoe); and dangling electrical wires and fallen power lines. Sometimes I feel like we are maneuvering an American Ninja obstacle course.

Pointer Dog
Motorcyclists riding en masse have a rule… if you see a pothole or rock hazard on the road, you physically point to it as you pass so the next driver is aware. Then he points to it, and so on down the line. So goes walking in La Paz. Whoever leads is sort of the Pointer dog, indicating potential problems along our route. Actually announcing the offender (“Hole!” or “Big step!”) mid-stride is sometimes necessary, especially at night. Large obstacles are usually easy to see and require no notice. It’s the ankle-twisters: 3” diameter open drain holes, a seemingly innocuous 1” step, the jagged and rusty steel signpost broken off at ground level, or the invisible power cable planted vertically mid-sidewalk (I almost ran smack dab into one on a bright sunny day). With so many obstacles, I could keep pointing the entire walk. Over there… right here… over there…

Meh. It’s Mexico.
At first, I was annoyed by all these inconsistencies. Now, it’s par for the course. Just another quirky facet of visiting Mexico that you can’t fix, so you get over it…and take photos of the absurdities to remind yourself just how good we have it up north.

Scalking
Now we are fully adept at scalking: scanning ground and air while walking. Our eyes focus like lasers on the ground 90% of the time. The other 10% involves glancing upwards to enjoy the view or to make sure we are on the right street. Talking…while scalking… requires a bit more concentration. Holding a conversation while threading the sidewalk gambit, especially when walking with several people, involves silted banter with frequent interruptions. “Hole!” “Wait...what was I saying again?”

The real take-away here is: Don’t be an idiot. Watch your step!
Patchwork sidewalks do have an upshot (other than constantly testing our cognizance levels). No slip-and-fall lawyers. We are somehow (amazingly) expected NOT to hurt ourselves! SIDESTEP those holes; AVOID running into power lines; REFRAIN from touching open electrical boxes on the outside of buildings (I know it’s hard); DODGE that runaway shrubbery; CIRCUMVENT those non-cordoned construction areas. Hmmm…common sense…whatta concept. I applaud this sense of personal responsibility in Mexico, even if it is just an environmental cause and effect.

On the other hand… There are days when I dream of perfectly manicured concrete pathways, textbook curb heights, painted crosswalks. Sigh… I sure do miss a smooth sidewalk!​

#1 Beach in Mexico!
Balandra Beach is a must-do when visiting La Paz. We’d taunted our SoCal friends so much with photos of blue bays and beautiful beaches that they finally decided to come see for themselves. So we took them to Balandra, considered by some as one of the most spectacular in the world. Last year, it was rated the number one beach in all of Mexico by USA Today’s readers. Check out touropia.com for an amazing aerial shot. While I disagree with the #1 status, simply because we've been to several spectacular, more remote beaches, it's definitely in my top ten! 

The Perfect Beach
If you are looking for sapphire blue waters and white sand beaches, you’ve come to the right place. Crystal clear, the shallow water extends out hundreds of feet into the bay, perfect for kiddies, kayaking & paddleboarding. Snorkeling opportunities are limitless - just search for some underwater rocks and you’ll find fishies (mostly small ones since it’s very shallow). A hard-packed, sandy sea floor makes for easy strolling to explore the various caletas (little coves). And, well, if beaches aren’t your thing, you can always indulge in photography: dark brown/black volcanic outcroppings contrast with creamy sand, while rippling turquoise water meets a stark azure sky. Ahhh.

Mushroom Rock
Balandra’s main attraction is “El Hongo” or “Mushroom Rock”, a natural rock formation that sort of looks like a mushroom. Maybe “fungus” ball growing on a stick is more accurate. (Hongo can mean either.) Despite the unusual shape, it’s still a pretty amazing natural wonder. It’s mushroomy stem has eroded over the years to a teensy foot. But don’t look too closely - it’s been shoddily shored up with concrete and rebar to keep the precariously perched blob from toppling. So treasured by the townspeople, El Hongo has become an icon symbolizing La Paz. There is even a replica statue of it in the town square. A visit to the real El Hongo is a must, but you may get wet depending on the tide.

In the Boonies
Balandra is just 20 miles from La Paz close to the end of a windy, nearly uninhabited, dead-end road. Beware: there are no “facilities” at Balandra. But there is no parking fee either. Usually, kayaks are available for rent. There may or may not be a food truck selling snacks and beer. Eight of us hopped in a taxi-van and had our driver wait while we explored for a couple hours. There is also bus service from downtown La Paz. Got your own car? Once finished with Balandra, keep driving to the end of the road & have lunch at the restaurant on Tecolote Beach.

Secluded Paradise
Balandra Beach is far off the beaten track so if you are looking for Cancun-type hordes, you will be disappointed. Its allure is its seclusion. Go on a weekday to beat the “crowds”, meaning 10’s of people. Go early to stake out one of the palapas for shade. But don’t miss this beach!