Ensenada, Mexico, our home port, has a split personality. It can be a charming place to stroll the seaside malecon, listening to the barking of the ever-present sea lions, or a hectic whirlwind of frantic tourists cramming all they can into a few hours of port-time.

Cruiseport Marina, where El Gato is docked, shares space with the cruise ship terminal. So about four days every week, a big-ass cruiseship arrives, sometimes two, along with diesel fumes and thousands of gringos out for a big time on the town.

On those days, the several blocks surrounding the port-known locally as “Gringo Gulch”- transforms itself. Touts swarm in droves to take the touristas on every kind of tour available. Hawkers sell cheap souvenirs, and margaritas flow liberally, even for breakfast. The gringo-bars crank up the Americano music, and the pulsating vibe can be heard for blocks.

Also of note- on the Gulch, menus and signs are in English, and price are in US dollars. The touts, shopkeepers and waiters greet gringos in English, sometimes a bit aggressively, trying to be heard over the blaring music and competing calls for attention.

“Viagra, Amigo! No preescription!  Best price just for you!”

“Best food in Ensenada, my friend! Please, come inside! Best margaritas, Special price for you!”

“Hello, beautiful lady! I have the perfect dress, just for you! Please, come inside. I chow you! You need a hat! I give you best price!”

Since I am practicing my Espanol, my reply to them is often “No, Gracias, no necessita nada.” (No, thank you, I don’t need anything,) or “Tel Vez mas tarde, gracias.” (Maybe later, thanks.)

The farmacias in Gringo Gulch will sell you just about anything you desire–for a price. Controlled prescription meds can be purchased, and most farmacias proudly display “Super Viagra Man” in the doorway. SVM sports a giagantica erection, and the price is advertised at $50 a pop.

And the beggars come out in droves.  Stoic women with babies swaddled to their backs hold out empty cups, pleading for change. The older, school-aged children hawk chicklets, candy and sling-shots.

When the cruiseships depart, the town settles back down, touts and beggars disappear, and some shops close until the next ship arrives.

The sidewalks instantly become wider, language returns to Spanish, and prices on food and goods magically drop.

This is my favorite time, when we stroll the streets in peace, stopping to chat with familiar shopkeepers and enjoy the tranquility of the “real” Ensenada.