New Years in Loreto
Trip Start
Dec 17, 2005
1
6
Trip End
Jan 08, 2006
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Loreto, Baja California, Mexico
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Middle-aged tourists sporting garish blouses and blonde dye jobs sing along to mid-90's music, their wasted husbands¬ dancing and holding each other up in an embarrassing chorus-line huddle.
Amanda and I give each other a look. But it's after midnight on New Years and after a long bus ride we're badly in need of a drink. We push through the crowd to the bar, which is slick with water and liquor, and I call our drink orders to an obviously disinterested barman.
When our tequila shots and beer chasers finally arrive they're scooped up by the towering white guy standing beside me. I'm ready to ignore the possible danger of picking a fight with the man. "Sorry," he says sheepishly. "I thought they were mine."
With another round in front of us we're starting to relax and enjoy the depravity. We have a place to stay in Loretto, a massive suite and perhaps the last room in town, found just before midnight struck. The booze limbers our exhausted bodies, and we can smile at the seemingly triumphant success of our New Years Eve gamble.
When the crowd starts to thin and the music dies we're left wondering what to do next. In an unfamiliar town at this time of night it's not always easy to find a decent place for a drink. And we're just getting started. Can the party really be over? Then Jorge takes a seat at the mike, a guitar in his lap and a snifter of booze on a nearby table.
Also on the table is a drum machine, and things are looking grim until he breaks into a roaring cover of Santana's Oye Como Va and brings the house down. The crowd dances with new enthusiasm, and those who've left are missing out. Jorge is like a Mexican Roy Orbison, with a remarkable voice, slicked back hair, dark suit and impenetrably dark sunglasses.
He rips into more outstanding material, stirring Spanish ballads and blistering, flamenco-like tunes, and I find myself whistling, shouting, and yelping encouragement. Faster, louder, more! It's the most moving performance I've seen in years.
Between songs he fumbles for his drink and delivers a crooning banter in English and Spanish. When his set ends Jorge wanders over to me and introduces himself, leaning towards Amanda and immodestly feeling her up.
But Amanda had noticed him flip back the cover of his wristwatch and feel the watch face with his finger. Jorge didn't see me loudly root him on, he heard me. And in groping Amanda he was "looking" for his wife, a fact we note when he feels his way to the next chair, where she sits. He put his hands out as if to identify his wife, who he introduces us to. We look on in wonder.
Mike's Bar ceases to be the wanton mess that we were saddled with but, thanks to Jorge, has become the last gem in our tour. When we leave Jorge is into his last set, and his music is the perfect soundtrack to our walk back to the hotel.
If only the beach was as wonderful. In Cabo, our bartender friend, Roberto, told us of white sand and sunshine, but the beach in Loretto is dirty brown and, well, dirty, along a dreary and shallow, lake-like waterfront. We wander the beach for a while but it's an anticlimax after the beaches of Cabo and La Pas.
The true charm of Loretto is it's colonial buildings, including a stately old mission church and a cobble stone central market crowned with arches of leafy ficcus trees. And following last night's show the beach seems a bit of an afterthought.
We're at the end of our Beaches and Bars tour and have found what we were looking for. A late night bus takes us, tired and fulfilled, onto the long road back to Ensendada.
