Driving Chairman Bao
Here's Bao, condo-shopping in Puerto Penasco, also known as Rocky Point.
All my life, I've lived within an hour of one ocean or another, and much as I love Tucson, I do miss the sea. So last year, when I discovered that the Sea of Cortez was just four hours' drive from my front door, I immediately checked it out, booking us into the luxurious Sonoran Spa for four nights.
We crossed the border into Mexico unenventfully (which is always the best way to cross a border) and found ourselves on a two-lane road that went deeper and deeper into a white expanse of desert and gently rolling dunes, on and on until I wondered whether we'd somehow taken a wrong turn. There was nothing that looked like a luxorious resort anywhere in sight. There was nothing, period.
Then I saw it, shimmering, soaring towers in the distance. It was like a mirage, a scene out of the Arabian Nights, Brigadoon by the sea. All these magnificent, ocean-front condos, in the middle of a desert! I hadn't been so blown away by anything since transitting the Abu Dubai airport at midnight.
But would Bao like it? His first encounter with the sea at Ocean Beach in San Diego had not been successful. A wave rolled in and he got his feet wet, and that was it. Water, as far as Bao was concerned, belongs in a water dish.
The Sea of Cortez behaves itself. There's a huge tide fall, and the waves are small and disciplined. At low tide, the beach is full of shells and interesting, smelly things. At high tides, there's lawns and gardens. Bao loves it. He especially likes digging in the sand, because in 30 seconds, he can dig a hole as big as he is.
So we're going to buy a condo.