The road back was littered with the usual Mexican ruins.

It's really hard to show how wide open this space is, so here's four views of the same area.  This first one is looking east, towards the bay, at my bike parked at the side of the road that goes up the coast,

this is looking north towards La Gringa,

south towards Bahia de Los Angeles (home),

and west inland.  I wish I'd captured one of the monstrous barren mountains that are everywhere on the horizon.

All that clamming worked up a real gringo appetite, so we broke down and hit the local seafood joint.  Needless to say it was absolutely delicious.  Not all that cheap though:  3 people came to $21 (american), but of course we chowed and drank abundantly well.  Funny how you start expecting the gringo discount.  

And that night we cooked a little seafood of our own.  That's our clam bounty in the foreground, and the Baja television in the back.   

Again, the programming was excellent, the perfect accompaniment for our TV dinners.  Our neighbor John brought over an impressive assortment of small musical instruments (tambourine, shakers, washboard, and of course a flying pig), and I pulled out a few musical toys of my own, and we jammed it up most of the night.  Making music in the desert has a whole nother feel to it, very open and abstract and slow.  I know this sounds corny, but while I was playing my bamboo jawharp with my eyes closed I felt a face looking at me from inches away.  I figured it was just someone checking out the jawharp, but when I opened my eyes no one was there.  Again I know this sounds corny, but for the rest of the night I felt a local spirit or whatever you want to call it watching the jam, and I was thinking how they'd probably enjoy it, since we were making good honest respectful music. 

 

Yes, the desert is taking hold.  So on that note, manyana.