Sam & Tammy

I went jogging today for the first time since we moved to Baja. My destination–the beach about a half mile from our abode. Shouldn’t be too hard right? Well, yes and no.

Leaving our house the rhythm of my feet carrying me swiftly and succinctly across the ground was exhilarating. As my shoes pounded the dirt/concrete/occasional piece of trash I was confronted with a variety of smells–wood fire, gray water sewage, barbecuing beef, smelly trash cans, chlorine, salty ocean air, and engine oil. As I neared the beach I picked up my pace, envisioning myself jogging on hard packed sand to the sounds and smells of the ocean.

My first attempt at reaching the ocean was thwarted by a small gated subdivision. I had heard that heading south at this point afforded a speedy entrance to the beach, so I headed north, determined not to take the “easy way”. After all this was my first jog in months, and I wasn’t going to take it easy–I was in the groove and feeling good about it.

As the blocks sped by I entered just about every cross street headed towards the coast, only to be confronted with the walls and gates of homes facing the beach. Even the vacant lots I encountered were walled and gated with large “Propiedad Privada” signs. Soon I was leaving Rosarito following a dirt road that runs along the “Couta” or toll road; I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever make it to the beach, and kicking myself for my audacious decision to head in this direction.

My hopes picked up when I saw an empty lot next to a condo high rise that was under construction. Hopping over a dilapidated barbed wire fence and was half way to the beach when over my shoulder I hear a whistle, which I ignore, then a slightly louder “hey”. I quickly calculated my odds at outrunning the slightly rotund uniformed security guard I could see out of the corner of my eye, I kept running. Then I calculated the chances he had access to a radio to call in some backup in the form of local authorities or lifeguards, I stopped. The following exchange was in Spanish:

“I’m headed to the beach.”

“Not through here, it’s private property”

“Then where?”

“Back that direction” pointing south

I took one look at him and another at the beach, not fifty yards away. For a fleeting moment I envisioned myself jogging straight toward the beach leaving him to huff and puff far behind me. Then I turned and dejectedly plodded back towards the aforementioned dirt road as the security guard watched importantly from his vantage point as if to make sure I wouldn’t try and pull a fast one, he didn’t need bother I had already resigned myself. Two hotel/condo buildings north I was able to gain “public” access to the beach and I enjoyed the 2 1/2 mile return journey immensely!

There is a federal law in Mexico that’s been around longer than I have that the beaches cannot be privately owned, similar to the national and state parks in the US. Obviously the commercial interests have found a convenient solution–stick hotels, gated communities and condo buildings right along side each other and for all intents and purposes you have a semi private beach, as no one can get to “your” beach without going a long way around.

As frustrating as it was to not be able to reach the beach today there is also the other side. If I had paid top dollar for my beach front house I might prefer my backyard not to be overrun with the weekend rush of tourists and bathers, along with all the noise and trash they brought with them. So what do you think? If you had your own country to run, would you allow private parties to own the beach?