The sun came out yesterday and blew away the marine inversion layer of gray cloud over Bahia Inglesa. We liked that.
I walked into town twenty minutes along the waterfront to buy essential supplies like bananas, toilet paper and most critically milk for my tea and I got an eyeful of the Bahia in its sun speckled glory. Why it’s called “English Bay” I will need to look up but there’s not much to write about as we sit still waiting for our new radiator so I need to pace myself.
The village is not particularly architecturally attractive but the setting is pretty and public works have built a waterfront worthy of the community’s fame as a beach resort.
It’s a predictable mixture of lodgings eateries and souvenir stalls most of which are closed as Fall is closing in. My target was Jana supermarket which is tiny but quite comprehensive.
The clerk had the personality of a cigar store Indian and when I asked if I could use the loo he looked shocked and shook his head muttering there are public toilets on the waterfront. Which are closed I informed him. Oh well I said, I’m old I don’t suppose the town will mind if I piss in the street.
Twenty five bucks later I took a seat to ponder my options and order some empanadas for dinner. I wish I could say they were brilliant but they weren’t; they were fried and rather lacking in flavor which was a surprise. One was vegetarian with corn which I’d not had before, and the other was shrimp and cheese, a seaside staple and as they cost four bucks each I had led myself to believe they might be dreamy. On such slender threads do we hang our hopes for excitement these days.
Sitting relieved pressure on my bladder which if you’ve ever found yourself in that position you know becomes obsessively annoying. I more than ever enjoy driving a car with my own personal loo inside. Now I found myself the hapless pedestrian and it was a drag.
My backpack was as full as my bladder but I stuffed our hopefully great empanadas into a corner of the bag and set off for home wondering where I might find an accommodating wall.
In January and February this place would be overrun but as it is we have it to ourselves. The beach is splendid, the perfect soft sugary sand dreams are made of and fortunes too. “I only think of you, my heart is empty.” Spanglish poetry on the very locked toilet block.
Across the street was a fence with some scraggly desert bushes that looked like they could use some watering so I did. It’s the absurdity of culture that I felt guilty while I did it making up excuses in my head for my anti-social behavior should someone happen by and berate me. Here I am 5,000 miles away from prudish no peeing in public land still bound by that convention. No one happened by in this culture where needing to pee is a recognized public act of necessity. All was well and I walked home with a light heart and a heavy load on my back.
Someone was waiting for me and we had a joyful reunion an hour and fifteen minutes after I’d left him in the van with Layne. He’s not easy to walk when you have a mission to accomplish and he has a mind of his own.
The rest of the day was a mish mash of hot showers and cold breezes, dish washing, air frying the cardboard empanadas, giving Rusty his glucosamine pill and stuff like that. I finished a detective novel set in Venice by Donna Leon suggested by a friend and started a history of middle eastern imperialism enjoyed by Webb and Bruce had mentioned a TV comedy about a murder in the White House of all places which is worth watching.
And Layne got a message from the mechanic reporting the new radiator has been shipped. What a day, what a day. I hope yours was more exciting.
