After finally arriving at Guaymas, we were met by Sue, our personal chauffeur who gracefully whisked us away to their luscious casa, complete with a casita downstairs for guests, and/or maid, and chef workers such as ourselves. The first night we went to Tortugas for some scrumptious sea bass and cervezas, or as we say in the States, fish and beer. The second night we went to the Soggy Peso on the beach where we had snacks and beer while watching tourists playing a local skill game of “hang the ring” where they swing a small ring hanging on a string so that it catches on a nail sticking out of a wooden post. It was fun to watch, and even more fun to chastise and harass the participants.
We have discovered an abundance of exciting activities in San Carlos. Why just the other day the mailman drove by, apparently a rare event, and then we saw a golfer trying to “play through” a small heard of horses on the 14th hole. It doesn’t get more exciting than that.
There is a house under construction across the road from Don and Sue’s place. I am amazed at how they build with virtually no power tools using adobe, plaster, and concrete. It might be cost effective, but it takes about a year to get a house built. When completed, the house can withstand anything Mother Nature can toss at it, including a nuke accidentally dropped by a passing inattentive pilot.
We have been snorkeling every other day. The waters are marvelous, warm 78°, very clear, and full of fish. We might look like beached whales floundering in the shallows with our butt white bottoms sticking out of the water, but the fish apparently don’t care, and there is virtually nobody on the shore to critique our snorkeling skills.
One night we had dinner at JJ’s Tacos. His motto is “Who Cares?” He sells a variety of T-shirts printed with questionable mottos, and loves to gab with his customers, always ending his conversations with “Who Cares?”, unless you can’t afford the check.
Getting things done down here can be questionable. “I will be there in ten minutes” means “I may be there today, but more likely tomorrow.” We went to the Chevy dealer to get a registration sticker for Don’s newly purchased Chevy Colorado, and it took over two hours to get the sticker printed. At least the salesperson spoke English and loved to tell stories, so the time whizzed by, only seeming like three hours instead of two. We have learned that in Mexico patience is not only a virtue, it’s a requirement. But who cares?