BAJA CALIFORNIA
San Felipe, Mexico lures with rustic and laidback ways
Along the Sea of Cortez, a down-home paradise for U.S. retirees and anglers feels the effects of development. More about RVs than high-rises, San Felipe hopes to attract with its rustic and laidback ways.
The battle of the beaches: Two seaside towns on the Gulf of California are tussling for tourists. Both promise sun, sand and serenity. But San Felipe is quaint. Peñasco has more pizzazz. And they both want you.
San Felipe, Mexico
Rodrigo Ortega Montes was barefoot and beaming, a hammer in one hand, a bucket full of clams and sea snails in the other.
"Very rich," he said in Spanish, meaning the snails.
We were alone on the beach. When I introduced myself, Ortega told me how he had left Mazatlán, worked in California for a few years, then found his way to a construction job here. He squinted south at the blue horizon, the knife-sharp outline of a rocky hill with the sun behind it, and raised his arms.
"All this," he said, "and no migra."
Whether you're coming from the north or south -- with or without immigration officials to consider -- life can be grand in this corner of Baja California. But it is getting more complicated.
San Felipe, about 350 miles south and slightly east of Los Angeles, was founded in 1916 or 1925 (depending on who's counting) as a fishing port. Once the paved road to the U.S. border went through in the early 1950s, American anglers and adventurers started coming as well. Now a sign puts the full-time population at 19,263, though the 2005 census places the number at 14,831.
Even with no commercial flights, the town gets as many as 250,000 American and Canadian visitors yearly, many of them snowbirds in RVs who park their vehicles in dozens of campgrounds known as campos.
During spring break season -- essentially, the month of March -- the city teems with college students eager to drink legally at age 18 and line up for foam parties. (If you have to ask, you're too old.) Off-road races such as the San Felipe 250 (March 14 and 15) come up now and again.
The rule of thumb: Californians come from spring through fall, and Canadians descend in winter. And every day the sun rises over the sea and sets over the mountains.
Growth amid the rustic
Besides fishing, clamming, drinking and lounging, visitors roar through the desert on off-road vehicles of all kinds. For a day trip, many make the 55-mile paved drive to Puertecitos, a quirky American expat and retirement enclave with natural hot springs at the sea's edge.
At night, you can stroll past the row of semi-rustic restaurants and bars along the malecón. At any hour, you're likely to catch fishermen fussing with their boats. On beaches at the edge of town, you see hundreds of four-posted huts -- parking ports waiting for RVs.
A character study of two Mexican vacation towns
Sonora's Puerto Peñasco and Baja California's San Felipe appeal in different ways to visitors from north of the border.
These details will be familiar to any Californian who has made a few Baja road trips. So what's different now?
For miles to the north and south, hundreds of vacation homes and condos have gone up. Construction surged in the '90s and slowed more recently, leaving the city poised between rapid growth and persistent rusticity.
Two unfinished projects look as though they'll surpass five stories, but otherwise, nearly every building in town is three stories or less. In other words, growth in San Felipe is so far a horizontal story, not a vertical one, and it seems to be happening at 20 mph, not 70. Which, given the quality of so many Baja roads, may be prudent.
Greeted by the gulf
Arriving by road -- yes, it's paved -- you reach San Felipe by miles of stark borderlands driving (with a military checkpoint or two along the way). To your right rise the serrated foothills of Baja's Sierra San Pedro Mártir range, with the usual Baja stubble of ocotillo, mesquite and scattered cardón cactus. On the left it's all flat. And don't pull over -- there's no shoulder and you could end up sinking into the sand.
This was once a big wetlands, the estuary of the Colorado River. Now that there's nearly nothing left of the Colorado by the time it gets here, the old delta has devolved into a dead zone, too salty even for cactus.
Rolling beyond that dead zone and into San Felipe, you sidle up to the Gulf of California, a.k.a. the Sea of Cortés. You pass a dozen or more beachfront campgrounds for RV people and owners of rustic vacation homes. The rocky slopes of 955-foot Cerro el Machorro rise at the northern end of the town and bay, and white sandy beaches march south into the distance.
Depending on when you look, the beach might seem a bit broad or downright eerie -- the retreating sea can lay bare as much as a quarter-mile of damp sand.
On a low hill in the shadow of Cerro el Machorro, the Catholic faithful have put up a blue and white shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe, a spot that offers the best view in town and is visible to boats for miles around. The two rowdiest spring-break party bars, Rockodile and the Beachcomber, stand along the malecón, the three-block street and promenade that fronts the beach.
At the northern end of the malecón, beyond the metal footbridge that leads to the Guadalupe shrine, stand the Lighthouse restaurant and a hulking ship-shaped discotheque called the Boom Boom Room, which was closed during my visit.
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