Tiffani’s Yamaha FZ-07 Tour: El Desemboque—One of the Most Peaceful Seaside Jewels

This is it! It feels so strange to be so close to the end. And this time I really am going to have to make the hard calls about getting integrated back into normal life for a bit so I can start saving up funds for the next leg. That might be legitimately tougher than the entire trip to Panama and back, but I’m nothing if not driven, so I’m sure it’ll be alright! After waiting out Tropical Storm Lidia, one of the many bursts of bad weather that seemed to be plaguing the continent as of late, we got back on the road. We decided to follow the coast of the Sea of Cortez until we couldn’t follow it anymore, so we pulled off onto a deserted back road that hugged the water. The road was as wrecked and pitted as I had come to expect, and it was practically second nature to swerve and dodge every dark spot vaguely visible on the road ahead. We continued without incident up until we got to the first dip in the road.

You know those signs you see in the desert posted before a dip to warn of possible flash-flooding from storms? Well, it turns out Tropical Storm Lidia was kind enough to actually let us taste some of those alleged rivers and lakes. The first dip we came across was a bit startling, as we carefully cut through about 6 inches of water. No big deal; just like riding through a big puddle, I thought.

Then we came up on the next one. This time, the water must have reached as high as a foot. We went in blindly, hoping to not encounter any extra-deep pot holes, but we mastered that pond without much trouble.

And then we came up on the next one. We both stopped dead in our tracks and stared at the situation in front of us. A truck was approaching from the other direction, and we both looked at each other and nodded in agreement without saying a word. Let’s let the truck test the waters first, and we’ll go from there.

We watched a new Tundra take the plunge up to its bumper, tagging a pothole or two on the way across. It looked like a bit of a struggle, but the truck survived even if the water on this one was probably nearing the 2-foot range.

My confidence wasn’t high, but it was higher than my desire to turn around and redo the awful road we came in on. Hollywood rode through first, and upon making it across, I found myself shaking my head in acceptance rather than fear. Just another day in the life in a third-world country, eh?

I rode through, keeping my throttle steady, telling myself very consciously to not even consider letting off. The FZ cut through the depths without too much trouble, even when I found myself getting kicked off my path by the rushing current. It's funny to think that if I had encountered something like this a year ago, I would have been petrified. But today? Today this felt more like yet another minor inconvenience rather than a real obstacle. I guess I've come a longer way than I realized.

We stopped at a nearby town, which was almost equally flooded along the streets. We strolled along a dock made of rotting wood laid down with no bolts or nails actually securing the boards to the dock, and I once again found myself shaking my head in acceptance. Just Mexico things, indeed.

I got ceviche in a large conch shell and enjoyed our last chance at 10-peso oysters. The actual food in much of Mexico, at least when it comes to the quality of meats and ingredients, is really nothing to write home about. Except for the seafood. The seafood is entirely worth writing home about every chance you get.

We headed out shortly and eventually made it to the small fishing town of El Desemboque. In all honesty, this may have been one of my favorite stops in the country. El Desemboque is a very small fishing village with nothing more than a handful of shacks, a tiny hotel, a single table’s worth of groceries sold under an E-Z Up and a beer store. I guess those are the basic essentials. But more magical than that, it offered a completely empty, shockingly clean and smooth shore. When the tide was in, it nearly reached the walls of the only hotel in town. When it was out, you had to trek a good quarter mile just to reach the water. Waves lapped over our feet as we walked along the warm and flat beach. Much like Las Lajas in Panama, you could walk forever and still only be knee deep in the waves. What a peaceful and wonderful little place.

We watched the sunset then woke up the next day to see dolphins playing in the wake, close enough to wade out to. I began pacing through the water, and a large crab scurried past my feet. I could barely believe such a simple and unspoiled place still existed so close to the border. I’ll definitely return here one day.

I needed this kind of tranquil place, given how chaotic my mind had become of late with thoughts and anxiety over what exists on the other side of that border wall. But for today, I don’t want to ruin my peace with thoughts of the future. There are about 600 miles left to the border where all of my friends and family live, and there’s no reason to get too sad. Onward and upward!