A horse tied to a cactus serves as the landmark for making a left turn as we head south on Mexico 1, our destination a small village rumored to hold some of the most spectacular scenery to date.
Fellow travelers have told us of Agua Verde since we first setup camp back in San Felipe, but justice cannot be served until rounding the first bend affording a view of the islands and small heads down the treacherous mountain pass below. Our brakes prove their merit as rocky dirt roads are narrowly carved from jutting cliffs. In every direction, our eyes are meant to melt over these mountains, the Sierra La Giganto, the aqua rolling in and out of the Mar del Cortez. Trees of all shapes and twisting varieties begin to line the beach, boasting names like sweet acacia and candelabra cacti and chuparosa. A magnificent frigatebird floats it’s perfect soar over the water as the wind is heavy enough to make breaking waves. We have the beach more or less to ourselves, otherwise.
Occasionally a local from the small village just behind the forest wanders over to speak to us in Spanish. We all get by, they not knowing our language but all of us with just enough knowledge and making sound effects and gesticulating ideas like fishing or sunrise, high tide and goat cheese.
Night falls over us, stars speckling a black sky. We burn dead acacia in a sandy firepit, listening to the downright thunder of the sea even as we fall asleep.
Mornings come early and the weekend affords us the opportunity to stay another day, try it all once again.