Bahia de los Angeles: Best chilaquiles ever
September 10, 2014 – ($499 mxn)
Bahia de los Angeles
From small, cozy towns to big maze-like cities, each one has an intangible characteristic to it, an atmosphere one perceives. It cannot be seen, only felt. Bahia de los Angeles had a warm and friendly atmosphere of a small fishing town, and walking the main street in the morning, under the toasty sun, seeing amicable faces around confirmed this. The hospitality of the people serving us breakfast at the seafood restaurant we were invited to was exceptional.
That morning, we met with our friendly driver who had taken us to tacos the night before. We had breakfast at his restaurant and met his just-as-friendly wife. Although a seafood restaurant, I opted for the best chilaquiles I had ever had (no offense, Mom) accompanied by savory beans and cheese. Simple, yet delicious. With no rush, we ate and decided to stay another day at Bahia de los Angeles. We would later try to convince our hotel’s groundskeeper, Jose, to throw in another round of beers for a second night stay. With the same genuine smile he had when we first met him, he stated that had been an unofficial deal he managed to get for us the first night, but was not applicable for subsequent nights. Perhaps, had we pushed harder for it, we could have gotten it, but we were not about to carry out our entire luggage and go through the hassle of switching hotels for a round of beer; Jose knew this too.
After breakfast, we packed our motorcycles with nothing but spearfishing gear and rode north for about 25 minutes on a washboard dirt road to La Gringa beach. This dirt road challenged the motorcycle’s suspension at staying together; it was horrible. After clearing the washboard terrain, we arrived at La Gringa, marked by rocks painted in white, laid on a hillside, spelling out the beach’s name. There was not an obvious road, not even a dirt one, it was just a beach, with calm waters and scarce fishing boats nearby. We continued riding further north, scoping for an optimal fishing spot.
We found a small nook within the bay that offered easy access to the water. I had minimal spearfishing experience and required guidance from Tom and Dominic. Even getting used to snorkeling was a challenge, let alone managing a spear, diving, staying underwater, luring a fish, and accurately spearing it. The visibility underwater was exceptional. I could see varied amounts of fish, from minute to medium sized, striped with lively colors or plain and dull for camouflage, in schools of several or an outlier by itself. It was a beautiful view I would enjoy for the next few hours.
When I felt more comfortable, I went further out to find Tom and Dominic who already had several fish in their catch bag. I followed Tom, as he described and demonstrated the process of properly spearfishing. We swam for a few minutes, he then pointed at a triggerfish, indicating he would try catching it. Tom took a deep breath and dove, stealthily sinking to the rocky floor, grabbing and holding on to a larger rock so he would not float back to the surface. He waited and slowly positioned himself and his spear, until the triggerfish was in range. I watched from the surface how Tom let go of his spear and instantly snapped through the fish.
As Dominic and Tom continued to catch dinner, I got out onto the rocky shore by which we had accessed the water. I was not feeling great. I was overly exhausted. We had been in the water for a few hours by now, but I was more tired than that. I laid back on the rocks for a nap and was awakened by Tom and Dominic coming back some 20 minutes later. Added to my exhaustion, I now felt nauseous, and the image of several fish being gutted and their insides thrown at birds that swallowed them whole was not helpful. I walked away. I climbed up the rocks to where we had parked the motorcycles and could no longer stand the nausea; those “best chilaquiles I had ever had” were now laying on the ground, partially digested, and would most likely be bird’s meal.
With the sun setting in the horizon and gutted fish packed in Ziploc bags, we headed back, past the washboard dirt road, to our hotel, where groundskeeper Jose would prepare triggerfish ceviche as we all rinsed off the salty seawater. With a round of beer (not courtesy of the hotel), we began eating the day’s catch, but I was still unable to ingest anything else after having expelled my breakfast. It was a shame. Dominic said it was tasty and well-prepared ceviche. Dispirited, I gave away my second beer and went back to the room to sleep the rest of the night in hopes that the following day I would be reenergized.