We left the Bellinghausen brewery that morning and started towards Ensenada at the direction of our old friend Mauricio, but only after indulging in an overpriced tourist breakfast on the main drag of Valle de Guadalupe. Driving around the afternoon prior, we had noticed the growth, the development of the past six years. Everything was the same and everything was different. Where there had once been a single development of modern micro-casitas in the valley, now multiple properties boasted flocks of yurts, glass faced stand alone bedrooms, and pop-up geodesic domes, with more tiny foundations showing the continued growth of the trend. Where there had once been a couple incredibly polished wineries in a valley of dusty ranch estates, now there were modern monoliths dotting the thoroughfares. The amenities of downtown had been mom-and-pop restaurant store fronts, little shops selling basic desayunos or birria or tacos, but now there were well-faced restaurants with freshly washed patios and waiters running around in pressed black slacks and stiff white aprons. Lots had changed, little hand changed, and change is neither good nor bad, but it was all evidence that we had been away for six years.

A breakfast of chilaquiles in Valle de Guadalupe.

Hobbling back to the brewery-turned-camp-spot, intent on getting some answers about Chelsea’s back very soon.

When offered the chance to order an affogato in a beautiful vineyard, you must order an affogato in a beautiful vineyard.

One of the many stunning views from the excellent coffee shop.

We got ahold of Mauricio via WhatsApp and he wanted to see us. A little confusion between us meant that we went to go check out his sister’s new coffee shop in the Valle before we realized he was actually waiting for us at his wife Abigail's new coffee shop on Ensenada’s Malécon, which meant my morning was going to be a series of shots of espresso. His sister’s coffee shop was wonderful, an airy, clean, artsy spot with fresh herbs growing on the veranda, but Abi’s shop was on the other end of the Ensenada spectrum - urban, artsy, busy with local art on the walls and design details that felt very at home on the city’s front step, as welcoming to workers grabbing to-go coffees as it was to discerning gastro-tourists looking for the best lobster croissant in Baja.

Mauricio was waiting on the street for us, defending a parking spot just for us, welcoming us with the open arms of a close friend and professional tour guide. If we were in the US, I would refer to him as the next mayor of Ensenada, but not knowing the socio-political weight of that role in Mexico, it has to suffice to say that he promotes Ensenada because he is Ensenada - a vessel that contains an otherwise unlikely mix of excellence. The city, like him, is as at home with world-class motor sports racing as it is with award winning multi-generational vineyards, comfortable showcasing both traditional street food and modern, borderline urbane fine dining, welcoming of the single day cruise line tourist and the multi-year overlanders, and those like us, somehow caught in between it all. He and his wife are explorers, tour guides, adventurers, and thankfully, our hosts in Baja. I hesitate to call him a fixer, but I believe he’s got a guy for everything, and it was our mission after that third cup of coffee to go find one of his guy’s that he had set us up with years before: Dr. Fong, Chelsea’s neurosurgeon.

We had been trying to contact Dr. Fong on the way down, hoping to get an appointment with him and a referral for an MRI to check on Chelsea’s back, both to see how the old surgery from the first Mexico trip was holding up, and to see if there was any obvious injury causing Chelsea’s new symptoms. Some contact information had changed, six years had gone by, and we weren’t even sure if Dr. Fong was still practicing, but eventually we got through to him after confirming a few phone numbers with Mauricio. We exchanged WhatsApp messages, got our point across about the recent onset of pain and numbness, and had an “order” for some MRIs in no time (“order’ may be a overstatement, as all we had was text message from him, asking for lumbar and pelvic images and directions to show it to the receptionist at the imaging center.)

Over caffeinated and hopped up on adrenaline from driving a RHD van around the busy streets of the city, we found our way back to Burboa Radiológos, the setting of one of our favorite stories to tell about our first trip to Baja. When describing the travel magic of our first trip in 2016, or when trying to persuade American acquaintances to not fear Mexico and to think “outside the box” when it comes to searching for less expensive solutions to high skill services, we often tell the story of Chelsea’s back surgery. It’s a story of two scared kids, their old cat, and their big Swiss Army truck, looking for an inexpensive diagnosis for some back pain. We were advised to visit a doctor, who directed us to an MRI center which was easily identifiable due to the giant carcass of a spent MRI core sitting in the parking lot. It’s a story of a $238 medical bill including the MRI and 3 x-rays that happened after we were given profuse apologies that the center was running behind schedule, and they couldn’t fit us in until 10:30AM despite it being only 9:45AM and despite us not having an appointment. It’s a story that has become myth even in my brain, and I was there for it. It’s also a story that I thought was partially a one-off: surely the memory of the MRI core in the parking lot was a little fabricated, the MRI core couldn’t have just been sitting there, that is too storybook, and surely the promptness of the appointment was a fluke, no office runs that well. It couldn’t have been as easy as I remembered, and if it was, it must have been luck, the kind of luck that doesn’t come twice.

Well, it wasn’t luck, or if it was, luck it showed up twice. The offices of Burboa Radiológos was right where we remembered, carcass of an MRI and all. We paused for photos before heading inside, where we were met by a receptionist with a sweet smile that didn’t fade when she realized we couldn’t speak or understand Spanish, but did entirely disappear when she learned that we didn’t have an appointment. As it was our first day in Ensenada, our plan of attack was to head straight to the MRI office unannounced, and either try to get an appointment for that day, or make an appointment in person, as it is a lot easier for us to communicate in person than over a phone. Using a translate app, the three of us hastily typed out messages back and forth, the receptionist now scowling with disapproval at our lack of an appointment.

”I do not have an apointment. I need an MRI. Pelvic and lumbar,” we typed.
”No appointment?” the receptionist responded.
"No appointment. We can wait. We can return tomorrow,” we explained.
”Ay dios mio…” sighed the receptionist, shaking her head at us, the uneducated, needy Americans, “… I will get you the next available appointment,” she typed into her computer’s text translator.
”We can return tomorrow,” we replied, repeating what was already on our screen.
”Your appointment is for 1:40PM. Go sit over there,” she directed, with an air of exasperation and I-did-what-I-could energy. I glanced at my watch, it was 1:29PM, and Chelsea’s appointment was in 11 minutes. I love Baja.

Three of my favorite things: Walter the Delica, Chelsea, and private healthcare in Ensenada. Posing outside Burboa Radiológos

Our overall strategy for getting a diagnosis on Chelsea’s back was “hurry up and wait”, and we did the hurry up part, the driving through the US and the arranging of an MRI in the first 30 hours we were in Mexico. Now, we had to wait for Dr. Fong to read the images and get back to us with a diagnosis. Mauricio and Abigail had graciously offered to put us up in the parking area of their rental house on the coast, and we graciously accepted. It was a little like coming home, or returning to a dream, as this was where Chelsea had recuperated after her back surgery. We weren’t the only travelers being welcomed that day either, and soon we were in the good company of Noré of noregomez.oficial and his three very good dogs. Between Gracie, Nore’s border collies, and Mauricio and Abigail’s canines, we were surrounded and outnumbered by a veritable pack of salty, wild dogs.

We played fetch, we blogged, we met some of Mauricio’s other guests, who invited us to a evening of tuna head tacos by the fire, and we enjoyed a local multi-brewery cervecería that had sprung up next to the compound since we had been there last. Chelsea took to sleeping in the passenger seat of the Delica, fully reclined, as that was the only way she could keep her back from worsening. That adjustment was bittersweet for me, as I was terribly worried about her when I was awake, but I wasn’t often awake when I had the bed all to myself.

We got some errands done in Ensenada - I needed a haircut and Mauricio had a guy for that, and we needed some fish tacos, which were luckily located directly next to the barber. Walter needed a bath and wipe down, and our laundry bag was full, so that gave us something to do. We spent a day bumming around Ensenada, waiting and hoping that Dr. Fong had gotten Chelsea’s films to review. We heard from him late in the afternoon and set up an office visit for the following day, giving us time to see friends and family around the town, and enjoy more meals and coffees and beers than necessary. We caught up with two of our favorite tour-guides-turned-family, Mariana and Alex, and Chelsea even got to meet her long lost uncle Jay, who’d been living in Ensenada on and off for years.

Chelsea’s office visit went well, with Doctor Fong squeezing us in moments before closing up shop and going on a vacation (… travel magic?). He had set up the office visit directly with Chelsea via WhatsApp, which gave his receptionist quite the surprise when we walked into the mostly abandoned neurosurgical practice at 4:55PM. Chelsea’s spine looked fine, with the current acute pain coming from a badly pinched nerve, likely near the original surgical site from six years ago, and the next disc up that we were worried about was still intact, and wasn’t the cause of the pain. We were relieved, as surgery wasn’t recommended for the current problems, but that left Chelsea still in pain. Dr. Fong wrote some prescriptions for steroids and an anticonvulsant to treat the neuropathy, and convinced us that Chelsea would heal and the drugs would help, and until then to limit any activities causing her pain.

Travelers are like rashes, if you catch one it will probably spread and then you will have two.

It was a dog and traveler party, never a dull moment.

Gracie playing keep-away with her disc. Quickly, this disc would be torn in half during the heated rounds of fetch, leaving us with only TWO intact discs for the remainder of the trip!

Blogging, writing, napping, resting, waiting, at Mauricio’s.

A local feast with a table of travelers.

Chelsea had been relegated to sleeping in the passenger seat of the van. We were doing the best we could.

My two best friends resting in our rolling home.

Doing laundry and some online work, I am hiding in the shadows.

Getting the van washed, killing time waiting for a diagnosis.

Dinner and vino with Mariana and Alex, it had been too long!

Waiting for a doctor while waiting for a diagnosis.

Meeting with Dr. Fong, reviweing the most recent MRI.

On the morning of our departure we met Mauricio and Abigail at their new coffee shop, Barra Mineral, for breakfast, coffee, and advice. We were working our way around their menu, with Chelsea’s favorite being “Cafe de la Bruja”, a house americano with cinnamon and cardamom. I spread a paper map out in front of us and asked Mauricio, “So how do I get from here to there?” pointing at Mazatlán and Veracruz. He had some ideas, and I started circling cities on the map, adding pops of context to the otherwise completely un-contextualized land mass of central Mexico. We had been to the East, driving through Tamaulipas to Veracruz to the Yucatán, and we had driven the west, through the 1000+ miles of Baja, but we hadn’t driven through the middle, connecting the two coasts. At least now I had a fold-out map with a few cities circled in ink, and a travel mentor whispering in my ear “Go there, its the center of the universe…”

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Oct 16 - Oct 20 : Ensenada: Coffee shops, travelers, and an MRI

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