Baja: The Experience - Day 6 - The Paintings

2/23/17, “The Paintings”

Guerrero Negro, Baja California Sur, Mexico

I have done a lot of odd things and had a lot of bizarre experiences in my travels, but the adventure of the past 17 hours and, for that matter, the past six Days, far outweighs them all.  Those were my thoughts around 2 AM, when I looked up at the stars out the window as we made our way overnight from the southernmost tip of Baja California Sur to its northern border.  When I fell asleep in the back seat of the car around 4 AM, the front seats occupied by the two Mexicans, and old friend and a new friend, who would serve as my companions for Phase 2 of the trip, I realized that this gringo was, in all likelihood, doing what no gringo had done before.

After spending four days at sea, we were undertaking this marathon drive through Mexico’s most rugged and remote region for one singular purpose: to be able to say that we had been to every World Heritage Site in Mexico.  Once we got back to port, only three remained: the rock paintings, the whale sanctuary, and the protected areas of the Gulf of California. 

It would be no easy task to do all three of those and get back to the airport at Cabo in the three Days that remained, but it was doable, and that was why we were taking these extreme measures.  I knew that if we could just see the rock paintings today, we would be back on our original schedule by the time we got to Guerrero Negro tonight.  If not, I would have to enact to Plan F.  That was why we hit the ground running, so to speak, once we got to port.  I will now recount those adventures.

After I closed last night, Scott gave me all the details.  The car rental places did not stay opened past midnight, so that was not an option, but he went above and beyond the call of duty to make Phase 2 of this trip work for us.  He had someone in La Paz pick up a car for us earlier in the day and drive it down to Los Cabos.  We would have use of the car until Saturday, when we would need to return it to La Paz, and he would then make arrangements to get me to the airport in Cabo.  The guy who brought the car to Los Cabos would drive us as far as La Paz, where we would drop him off and make our own way further north overnight.  Further, we could also pick up a driver in La Paz, if we didn’t want to the do the drive ourselves.  I didn’t think it was necessary, and Roberto did not think he could manage the overnight shift, even if we shared driving duties.  I was fine, since I had been sleeping most of my time at sea.

There was a bit of complication, as a Christina Aguilera concert was letting out at the same time we arrived in port, so our driver had trouble getting into the marina.  I was nervous the longer we waited, and I knew that I would be unable to relax until we were in the car and on our way.  Eventually, he showed up, and Scott asked us if we knew how to drive stick.  Roberto did, but I did not, so we took him up on the offer to pick up the driver in La Paz, at 2:30 AM, on our way.  As I said, this was all very bizarre, but Scott was covering all the car expenses, we just had to provide the meals.  That was more than fair.

We got in the car, and I got to work on publishing my entry, data and connection issues making the process slower than usual.  Meanwhile, I lit up my Davidoff Yamasa Toro and put on Red, to denote the start of the journey.  We picked up the driver, Elias, in La Paz, right on schedule, and I was now in the car with three Mexicans, the lone gringo, far away from his Hobbit-hole.  I had certainly left the Shire.  There and back again, though, that was all that mattered, so long as we hit our sites on the way.

Reader, adventures with dwarves and orcs seem more believable than the tale I am about to recount.   We dropped off the first driver, and I published my entry a little after 3 AM.  We then got some snacks and drinks, and I had changed into my pajamas.  Roberto and Elias were chatting a mile a minute, and loudly.  I could not sleep above the chatter, so I politely asked him Roberto if he wanted to get some rest.  The meaning was clear.

I slept uncomfortably in the back seat of the car, but, four hours later, shortly after daybreak, I woke up to a scenic viewpoint, where we stopped.  I then changed into my clothes for the next day and announced, “Day 6.”  I lit up an Oliva, and we were on the road, stopping again for breakfast an hour or so later.

I opted for a shrimp omelet, which took far too long to cook, while Roberto and Elias had ceviche.  After breakfast, I lit up a Caoba, and we were on our way again.  We arrived at San Ignacio at midday, and when I saw that round-trip tours to Cueva del Raton (the most accessible paintings) took five hours, I started to wonder if we had been too late, and it had all been for naught.  However, that was for organized tours, and we could go our own if we got proper permission at the INAH office.

We took care of the paperwork there, properly this time, and they said we could go right now if we wanted.  All the arrangements had been made.  I lit up a Graycliff, and we were on our way.  I read a lot more of “Lord the Rings” during this drive, it should be noted.  It would be 44 km on the highway, followed by 30 km on the side-road, the last few klicks of which were unpaved.  We had a small sedan.  “I’ve driven on worse for less,” I noted as we made our way up the dirt road.  Elias seemed even more excited about this than we were.  I was afraid we weren’t going to make it, but Elias proved himself an exceptionally competent driver.

The vistas were breathtaking during this drive, but only one thing mattered to me: the rock paintings.  Eventually we reached the hotel office, where we had to check in and meet our guide.  He looked like someone off the screen of a Sergio Leone movie.  He first took us to the Plaque, which involved walking up a steep path to the town, and, again, I felt like a Hobbit.

I lit up an Hoyo de Monterrey for the walk, and we soon found the Plaque in the center of town, so took our ceremonial pictures there before returning to the car.  From there, we drove back to the cave entrance, and the guide had to undo the locks to the gate at the barbed wire fence.  I said that it felt like we were passing through the Gates of Moria, though the joke was lost.

We were there.  I didn’t even have to put out my cigar.  At last, we had done it.  I felt cheered, and that made the paintings seem even more impressive.  We took some ceremonial pictures and more pictures of the paintings.  They were seriously impressive.  What was more impressive, though, was that I had now been to every cultural WHS in Mexico.  Only two natural sites remained.  The significance of the moment was not lost on me, but Elias was even more wowed by it than we were.  We said goodbyes to the guide, and, though celebrations were in order, they would have to wait until we got back on the paved road.

That seemed to take far quicker than the way up, and I remarked that it was because it was now a known quantity.  Once we saw the pavement ahead, we let ourselves relax, at long last, after four days at sea and over 12 hours in the car.  It was now just an hour or so to the hotel, and we made good time, as I lit up an LFD for the ride.

We were able to get a room with three beds, so we settled in before saying we would head out to dinner in an hour.  I then went outside, where I lit up my 2013 Christmas Pipe and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and we can do what we do best: eat, drink, smoke, and sleep.

While the dateline of Guerrero Negro is not as impressive as such datelines as the Drake Passage and Seoul and Beverly Hills or Machu Picchu and Lubmini or London and Quebec, with only the journey to the sanctuary of Machu Picchu coming close, this adventure easily trumps them all.  Those are, of course, the other places where I have previously smoked my 2013 Christmas Pipe.