Our trip to the Copper Canyon complete, we finally had to face the prospect of getting out of our hotel. It had been a squeaker getting in, and proved to be even more so when making our egress. Liz stayed outside the van to record the event for posterity while rounding up some help loading the springs to reduce our profile. The fellow that had been doing some tile work for the hotel was directed by the owner to down his tools and jump onto the rear ladder while two or three other people shouted unintelligible directions at Remy. The roof box made contact with the wrought iron carriage way gate, but a light application to the gas pedal freed us! More help guided the van back out onto the roadway and we were away.
The road back to the freeway was a typical Mexican secondary road- sometimes newly paved, sometimes badly potholed, a new village every 3 or 4 km, complete with speed bumps that reduce speed constantly from 90 to 40 kmh. One is never far from food, with birria, grilled chickens and whatever local produce is in season available by the roadside.
The freeway took us through the food belt of Mexico (and likely a lot of North America). Endless fields of corn, beans and other vegetables, proudly bearing the names of their chemical sponsors- Monsanto, Chimiqua, et al. We saw countless small airplanes, droning back and forth across the fields, dropping their payloads of herbi- and insecticides. Whether it was actual or merely psychosomatic, we experienced a significant tightening of the chest and could detect a haze on the horizon. The various production centres, labelled with the company names mentioned above, were fenced in like top-secret research centres. The industrialization of food, like all else, is an ugly thing.
Liz never imagined herself saying this, but the following words actually crossed her lips- "I LOVE WALMART!" We stopped in Guasave, the local centre, to stock up on supplies before we headed west to the coast. We found espresso, all kinds of it and Liz nearly did a jig! Real coffee of any kind has been impossible to find and here it was in all sorts of sizes and grinds. The only other thing we have been looking for and not able to find is Blistex. For those of you that know Liz well you can imagine the angst she is feeling as she gets closer and closer to the end of the tube she brought with her. Time to switch to Lobello.
The picture of the fellow with the fish was taken in the parking lot of the Walmart. He was relentless in his attempt to sell us that thing which he had been holding in the hot sun for at least and hour.
We find that the roads in Sinaloa are horribly marked. Directional signs are usually located right at the intersection where one needs to turn, if they are present at all. We navigated by gosh and by golly and finally found our way to Las Glorias. We have figured out that the camping guide that we have is seriously dated. We established ourselves at a campground on the beach and quickly began to appreciate the double-edged nature of seaside camping.(the picture attached is the lovely spot we had for 2 nights. ) The wind blew cool every day, beginning at about 2 PM, and we were quickly acquainted with the current fashion amongst Mexicans at the beach- ceaselessly racing on noisy quads at high speeds/sound levels up and down the beach, often while performing cat walks with squealing women hanging on for dear life behind the driver. It looked like a hoot and if we would have been able to get our hands on one of these quads for ourselves we would have joined them! Things just got louder on the weekend, with the cap being the pickup that parked on the other side of the fence from us, blaring mariachi music while drunken Mexicans conversed at top volume until well after midnight- and that was Sunday night! Much to the horror of Hollis, Liz approached the group and asked them to please turn it down as we were trying to sleep. They did as we asked but it didn't go OFF till well into the wee hours of the morning. We will be more discerning in the future.
-Remy
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