San Felipe, ideal for a siesta by the sea

Even the waves forget to lap in this laid-back Baja beach town. The price is right, too.

By Susannah Rosenblatt, Times Staff Writer
12:00 AM PST, December 19, 2004

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It's a cliché to describe Baja beach towns as sleepy. Then again, naps did punctuate my four days here.

Rest and relaxation are primary selling points of San Felipe, a fishing village set along a quiet bay on Baja's eastern coast, far away from the masses in Ensenada and Rosarito. In many ways it's classic Baja, low key and low cost. A no-frills beachfront bungalow was our gateway to a long weekend of sunshine, seafood dinners and kayaking on calm, warm Gulf of California waters — just the things for backpacker-types like us.

My boyfriend, Aaron, and I drove from L.A. to San Diego, then followed Interstate 8 east to the border crossing at Calexico one Thursday last month. Our mandatory Mexican car insurance, bought at one of the roadside stands in Calexico, cost about $35.

Over the border, Mexicali gradually vanished as we drove south beyond its congested traffic circles toward open desert on bumpy, two-lane Route 5. About 360 miles and seven hours from L.A., we rolled into San Felipe. The town's few paved roads led to the Hotel El Cortéz, at the southern end of the main tourist drag, Avenida Mar de Cortéz. Its rust-colored stucco buildings stood out, even in twilight, along the shore.

We checked into one of El Cortéz's bungalows ($75 a night), set apart from the main hotel building and furnished simply with two double beds. All units have a view of the water, and some have kitchenettes, though ours didn't.

The pool, beachside bar and restaurant were nearby. Little concrete squares — like individual patios — lay in the soft sand, shaded by palapas. Around us lazed young families and middle-aged couples, most of them Californians if license plates were any indication.

As pinks and purples splashed clouds at sunset, we explored the vast tidal flats barefoot. The gentle gulf water in San Felipe leaves hundreds of yards of sandbars and pools at low tide. The shallow 60-degree water and mucky sand gave off a salty, sulfurous smell, but we still enjoyed spying birds' wet footprints as a breeze wrinkled the water's surface in the fading light.

San Felipe held diversions beyond lounging and nodding off. Our first day there — cloudless and warm — we ambled along the malecón, San Felipe's oceanfront avenue, in search of the kayak rental place we had found on the Internet. Fish taco stands, cantinas and shops selling straw hats, beach towels and ceramic souvenirs lined the inland side of the street. On the other side, signs advertised fresh camarones (shrimp) by the kilo, hawked by locals from car-trunk coolers. But no kayaks.

That morning I passed a score of small fishing boats, or pangas, parked on the sand or bobbing in the shallows. Enterprising vacationers can rent one and try to catch dinner with the help of a guide. There were no takers at the time, just nattering gulls and brazen pelicans perched on white boats. A few tourists did mosey on horseback up and down the beach, where half- buried crabs lay among stingrays washed ashore.

At the north end of the bay, a lighthouse rises from an outcropping of rock. One afternoon we climbed the weathered stairs to a whitewashed chapel of the Virgin of Guadalupe, filled with flowers and candles.

Wandering back toward the hotel, we passed a sunburned man mumbling something about kayak rentals. Here was Roger Aubuchon, the man we had been looking for (and accidentally had passed twice).

Roger, 54, and his wife, Teddi, 56, are expats from Southern California who have called Mexico home for seven years. The couple ran a Rosarito surf shop for six years, then left that tourist town in search of calmer waters.

"No restrictions," Roger said of life in San Felipe. "It's just true freedom."

Now they rent bikes, paddleboats and other watercraft here — $15 an hour for our two-person ocean kayak (or in our case, $20 for 80 minutes).

Aaron and I paddled past indifferent pelicans and a boat of fishermen and around a rocky bluff. The glassy water glittered with sunlight, and the only sound was the splish of our paddles.

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