No border crossing has given me as much of a kick as the storied fortress two hundred miles south of LA where the tidy white picket fences of San Diego meet the chaotic broken concrete sprawl of Tijuana. It’s the busiest border in the world and all the barbed wire fencing, watchtowers and heavily armed security is enough to make even the most insouciant of travellers feel nervous and guilty. Stranger yet, although you’re crossing into a foreign country, American residents don’t need a passport nor even any local currency, as US dollars are accepted everywhere and even the smallest market stall will give you north of the border change.
For years our LA friends had warned us against making this road trip. San Diegans, with the border right in their backyard of course know better, but for most Angelenos it’s Cabo St Lucas at the southern tip of Baja, which is just a couple of hours plane ride away that’s their ‘beach away from beach’ as, so the stories go, only the foolhardy risked roadside shakedowns by corrupt police officers and military checkpoints, appalling road conditions and non existent road signs in the lawless northern badlands.
It took renting a house in the gated beachside community of Playa La Misión and the low profile of our daughter’s beaten up Honda as our chosen vehicle for me to finally persuade Sabrina to make this trip and explode these myths once and for all as we headed south in the shallow depths of a Southern California winter.
The surprises started right at the border. We’d steeled ourselves for a two hour gauntlet of vehicle searches and document checks but instead were waved through so quickly and cursorily that I wondered if we’d failed to stop when required (that weird mixture of nerves and imaginary guilt I was talking about had kicked in) and as a result I’d barely noticed the direction sign to the “Cuota” (Toll Rd) that we’d been strongly advised to take, bypassing the rabbit hole of downtown Tijuana.
We’d expected the local seafood to be fantastic and it lived up to its advance billing. In Ensenada we were looking for a tiny street food cart which Anthony Bourdain had recently raved about, but first we had to make our way past the cruise ship day trippers and snowbirds shopping for cut price Viagra and other prescription drugs, near the cruise terminal. Not our thing, but a huge industry by all accounts.
Eventually we joined the queue at the justly famed ‘Mariscos La Guerrerense’ seafood cart on the corner of First and Alvarado, where we snacked on miraculously fresh Ceviche Tostadas. The tiny sweet black clams were especially memorable.
Further north up the coast, we enjoyed the obligatory Lobster Burrito lunch at Puerto Nuevo, with its three streets of cheek by jowl Lobster restaurants; (‘Puerto Nuevo 2’ Restaurant which is about as far inland from the seafront establishment touts as you can get, is the place we’d recommend).
What was a complete surprise was the amazing lunch we had at Latin America’s one and only Artesenal Cheese farm, Cava de Marcelo. Run by the Ramonetti Family since 1911 this bucolic retreat lies past a military checkpoint at the end of a muddy, rutted dirt road like a transplanted Argentine estancia. We didn’t have time for the farm tour as Sabrina was eyeing the swollen black sky nervously and wondering whether our car would make it back through the quagmire, so we didn’t tempt fate by leaving too late. Instead we ate lunch huddled by a wood fire in an outbuilding, where raw milk cheeses made with Rosemary, Black Pepper and Basil were a tasty prelude to oysters grilled in the half shell with melted cheese and spinach, smoked sardines with ricotta, grilled local trout and a pulled duck sandwich on freshly baked bread.
The signature dish of our week however was the Spicy Barbecued Quail we devoured in a cliff top hotel a short drive from our rented beach house- six tiny birds on a plate for each of us.
Spicy Barbecued Quail: Serves Three
6 quails, spatchcocked (cut down the backbone and flattened)
Spicy Marinade:
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 heaped tsp, chili flakes
1 tsp salt
¼ tsp pepper
2 tsp olive oil
Mix all the marinade ingredients together and rub the quails with the mixture. Let them sit overnight. Heat the barbecue and grill the birds until done.
As for roadside shakedowns, there were checkpoints aplenty but the police and military personnel asked for nothing more than an occasionally popped trunk and we kept studiously to the speed limits, so as not to give the local law enforcement any reason to stop us.
With the New Year holiday dramatically increasing the gringo count we strayed less and less from our home beach, watching the clam diggers fill their buckets late afternoon, and buying a freshly chopped coconut served with chili and lime from one of the palapa roofed stands, before strolling back to light the potbellied stove and enjoy yet another stunning sunset through our picture windows.
Long may the myths which keep this place from being overrun, prevail.
Another good place! And yes, the odd border crossing. First time I went, kept looking for a checkpoint and finally asked a police "How do you get IN?" He shrugged, "In what?" When I said "the...country," he just pointed at stairs to a bridge. Fair enough. You guys are adventurous eaters!
Sounds like you were fortunate not to pay any 'local taxes' to the forces of law and order. While the quail are on the BBQ, why not revive the Dansette with Herb Alpert's Definitive Hits Collection......the perfect accompaniment!