San Ignacio, a charming little town in the heart of Baja California Sur, will forever hold a special place in my heart—and an even bigger place in Jonas and Mathilda’s. Because this is where they found their soul.
No, I don’t mean that in the Eat, Pray, Love way where people “find themselves” by drinking overpriced smoothies and Instagramming their enlightenment. I mean it literally. They found their soul.
I know, I know—sounds a bit culty, right? Like the next sentence is going to be, And that’s when we all shaved our heads, took new names, and moved into an adobe compound in the desert. But fear not, dear reader, the only thing that got adopted here was a scrappy little street dog with more confidence than a toddler in a Batman cape.
But before we get to that, let’s set the stage.
San Ignacio is a literal oasis in the middle of the Baja desert. Picture this: you’re driving through miles of sunbaked, cactus-laden terrain, sweat trickling down your back, wondering if your eyeballs will actually melt before the next gas station appears. Then, out of nowhere, palm trees. Not just a few, but an entire lush, green paradise appearing like a mirage in a sea of sand and rocks. It’s got a river running through it, shady plazas, a Mission that looks straight out of an old Western film, and, most importantly, avocado tostadas that could bring world peace.
The infamous tostadas in question were found at La Antigua Restaurant and Bar, and let me tell you, they did not disappoint. So good, in fact, that I had to go back for a second round—purely for quality control, of course.
Fueled by tostadas and an enthusiastic yet unfounded sense of navigation skills, Spencer and I decided to take on the San Ignacio River. Finn and Emma, as always, were ready for any adventure that involved getting wet and shaking all over me afterward.
We unloaded the kayak, got the paddleboard set up, and launched into the wilds—only to hit an actual roadblock. Turns out, if we had looked at a map properly, we would have realized that the river is split in half by an actual road. Meaning, we had paddled directly into a dead-end and now had to trudge our equipment across land like confused explorers who had vastly overestimated their skills.
Thankfully, Spencer is the kind of guy who sees a logistical nightmare and immediately finds a solution. With much heaving and dragging, we made it to the correct side of the river, where we finally got to explore, stopping for swims and puppy playtime. It was a beautiful paddle, and I’m sure the locals were entertained watching us struggle through Baja’s easiest-to-navigate body of water.
Meanwhile, back at camp, Mathilda stumbled upon something that would change the course of their trip forever. A den of street puppies.
Now, this wasn’t just a den—this was an entire chaotic, wiggling mass of eight street-born fluffballs, tucked into a makeshift burrow, under the watchful eye of their exhausted, but dedicated, mother.
One puppy in particular stood out. This little one was bold, confident, and deeply unimpressed by the notion that she should be afraid of humans. She whined, barked, wriggled, ran toward Mathilda, ran back, ran toward us, ran back again, and generally carried on like an excitable kid who had just discovered that sugar exists. She was also the only one who came out to properly introduce herself. A true main character from the start. Mathilda, being the ultimate animal lover, immediately wanted to save them all. She called every shelter within an unreasonable distance—none had space. Mexico’s rescues are overflowing, and the reality was, these pups were destined for a tough street life. That’s when fate (and a very wiggly puppy) intervened. If they couldn’t save them all, they could at least save one.
So, with a good scrubbing, a proper meal, and an impromptu vet visit in Santa Rosalita, the little brown (wait, actually sandy-colored and white under all that dirt) fluffball officially joined the convoy. Her name? Alma. Which means “soul” in Spanish. Mathilda and Jonas are now a trio.
Our next stop was Mulegé, where Alma, freshly snuggled and smelling considerably better, latched onto Finn with the kind of single-minded devotion usually reserved for teenage crushes. Finn, the center-of-attention-seeker, was not immediately thrilled about sharing the spotlight. He tolerated her existence but made it clear that his tail was his alone to chase, and everything within throwing distance was his to monopolize.
Sending Finn off for a swim and Alma to Mathilda’s lap for a nap, we were able to enjoy an incredible ceviche on the beach before landing the perfect camping spot on Playa La Perla beside a palapa at the doorstep of the Gulf of California (which I am now renaming the Gulf of Baja, just sayin).The next day was spent swimming, lounging, and watching Alma try to win Finn over one relentless attempt at friendship at a time.
Leaving Mulegé, we drove through some of the most spectacular desert scenery imaginable. Towering cacti, jagged mountains, vast stretches of desert meeting the endless sea—it was the kind of drive that demands poetic descriptions and high-production drone footage. Which, naturally, I forgot to take. Yep. Had the drone with me. Didn’t use it. This is why I will never be a famous Instagram influencer.
Instead, I have one blurry photo, taken in a moment of realization that I should probably capture something. It will have to suffice when I’m old and forgetful, trying to piece together the details of this trip. However, in a world where every road trip seems curated for maximum social media clout, I’m more than happy to be the person who forgets to film the magic. Because this trip isn’t about selling an aesthetic—it’s about living it. And right now, that means continuing to collect the memories, leave the marketing to someone else, and figure out how to navigate this new era of Finn, Shevanigans, and one persistent little soul named Alma.
Onward. Watch the cutest video by clicking the photo below…
Sheilagh, Finnigan – begrudgingly befriended by Alma – and Shevanigans—🚐🐾🌵
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