San Pancho (San Francisco)

San Pancho is just a bit north of Sayulita, where we’ve been (Dmitri twice, me and Nina once).  It’s supposedly what Sayulita was 10 years ago – laid back, good surfing, small town.   As we were driving, we were trying to make a reservation at a dog-friendly place and were shocked to find that there seemed to be no availability.  And the non-dog-friendly places were few and super pricey.  We finally realized that it was the Friday of the Dia de la Revelución 3-day holiday weekend.  And apparently everyone was celebrating by going to San Francisco.

I was driving when we got to town so Dmitri hopped out near the beach and went to try and find us a place to sleep.  The kid at the front desk of the hostel directed him to the owner Diego (who apparently owns half the town), and Diego set us up in the bungalow apartment right behind his own house.  It was only available for one night, though, so the next day we packed up and went to the beach to check out this surf break.

Surf was barely happening.  The beach was steep and the small wave closed out right before the the shore.  Dmitri paddled out once and caught one or two near the rocks.

Surf aside, we did enjoy the beach and the town and the vibe, so we decided to try and get the scoop from people who were setting up tents right on the beach. The folks Dmitri talked to said that you’re not supposed to camp on the beach but that everyone does it anyway and no cops come to San Pancho.   So we went and grabbed our tent and joined these rebel vagabonds.

Even after our tent was up, a whole ton of others went up and it was fairly crowded on that beach that night.  And noisy.  Incredibly noisy.  It was a holiday Saturday night and the people demanded a party!  There were 2 mariachi bands that played nearly all damn night, and people talking and singing and stumbling around until sunup.  Plus it was a hot, airless night, and the nauseating fumes of the nearby wetland/sewage pond were wafting our way.  I didn’t sleep a wink.  Nina and Dmitri, exhausted from the beach and the heat and the dancing to mariachis (see below), slept reasonably well.

The next morning, I announced that I was done with illegal beach camping on a holiday.  I wanted to move on.  No sooner had I convinced Dmitri, than a couple of four-wheelers laden with machine-gun-toting officers of the law rolled onto the beach and began telling people to pack up and move out.  Decision, reinforced.  We had imagined spending many days in San Francisco, but with no decent surf and no place to stay, it wasn’t meant to be.  We broke camp and rather happily climbed back into the luxurious air conditioning of our truck.

TIP:  Cafe Arte:  Recilla with mango and passion fruit is an amazing cocktail.  They also make the best salad we had in Mexico so far with actual kale and other dark green things.  In general salads in Mexico are pathetic excuses for vegetables, comprised of sad, wilted iceberg lettuce, some tomatoes, onions, and lime wedges for dressing.