We had an assortment of goodies for breakfast purchased from the local shops and market. Sardine sandwiches, bananas and milk. Frank the Yank (Francis) appeared at our door talking incessantly and Declan sobbed in despair as this time there was no retreat. “Do go on”, he said, but Francis failed to catch the irony.
The water supply failed today. We went out and toured the market, but the quality of leather goods was a lot poorer than those that we had seen in Mexico. We caught up on sleep for several hours in the afternoon and then went in search of the Post Office.
This was on the corner of the town where the houses gave way to arid wasteland which led away to the distant hills. We sat on the steps of a blockhouse tienda (shop) drinking Coca Cola and watching soldiers working with a mechanical digger. Dust devils swirled around us and local youth pissed up against the wall opposite. It was a bleak place.
We ate in a new restaurant with a tin roof supported by living palm trees. It was a bit expensive, but the food was excellent. We then returned to the hotel and sat in the garden, avoiding Frank the Yank by hiding in the bushes while he went out.
We chatted and discussed the stars in the night sky and Declan smoked. Frank caught us on the way back and we got the rundown on his life and loves before we excused ourselves and went to bed at 22:00 hrs.
The woman who ran the hotel seems to have taken a shine to us, showing us her new earrings and running out to buy us beers and chilli snacks. Two rabbits and a chipmunk slept in their cages and two tiny white puppies dosed on the curb outside our room.
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