We walked through the arch on into Mulege, stopping into the first restaurant on our right. After a bit of confusion, we managed to use their phone to call Bill so he could come pick us up. Bill was a guy I’d met through a friend in Phoenix, a guy in his 60’s or so often referred to as Pirate Bill, probably because of his sailor’s mouth and taste for rum. Mulege was his home now, Bridget and I were happy to see him when he pulled up alongside us.
He drove us around the small village, proud and knowledgeable of the neighborhoods and people living in town. He showed us the big homes along the river, “where gringos live and get washed out every few years in the hurricanes, then just rebuild again”.
He didn’t live in the gringo area, he was a local and lived amongst them in a nice little home halfway up a hill. He grew wine grapes and had other little gardens, trees and a deck that overlooked some of the neighborhood he’d recently built. Stray cats roamed about, some of which he was happy to feed, others he considered freeloaders who’d sneak in through the bathroom window.
We spent the first night in town sipping beer and swilling down rum, sitting out on the deck talking to his neighbor Pepe in improving, but still broken Spanish. Big laughs, loud voices and plenty of stories.
The next day Bridget and I went hiking in the desert hills behind his neighborhood in search of a bat cave he’d told us about. We didn’t find it, but we did find the top of it all for a great view of the area and the water, great birds flying above and below us.
Back at his house, the rum started early and went into the night, laughs, passion and drunken emotion a plenty.
We spent several more days there, more drinks and exploring around. Bridget and I took another wander in search of the bat cave, successful this time, going inside to see generations of bat droppings caked on the floor. Bill told us he’d occasionally get some for his garden, it worked like a charm.
Afterwards we ran around the palm trees paradise along the river, running, jumping and climbing trees. By night we’d filled our bellies with white wine and fish with mango sauce that Bridget whipped up, another day in paradise.
Another day we’d walked through town to the beach, Bridget dipped into the water while I gave fishing a shot with my little hand line, catching nothing but some sun and the occasional chunk of seaweed. I snapped a picture of Bridget in the water, her back to me and arms extended with half her torso out of the water and she looked out on the amazing view.
This photo along with a couple others would later be a point of contention and distress, as she’d taken her top off while enjoying the Baja waters. Although they captured none of her naughty bits, they upset her enough when posted along with other pictures from the trip. By the time she’d convinced me to take them down, the damage had been done, a rift created and things between us never quite bounced back. This would come much later though.
All told we stayed in Mulege just shy of a week, but that was perhaps a day or two past our welcome, I’d started getting the feeling Bill was looking forward to enjoying his solo privacy. Welcome worn or not, we’d finally hit the road again, Bill dropped us off up on the highway south of town, we were on to the next thing.
