We rented a car today, which made San Carlos a much better place. Not enough to make me like it, but enough to hate it less. Ali and the kids fly out tomorrow. I’m four days behind them after hopefully knocking off a fair bit of the boat’s to-do list.
This is a small portion of Marina Seca (seca means dry in Spanish). A fine place for simply hauling and leaving a boat for the summer I guess.
We went to a bar/restaurant for lunch today. Ali and Ouest went in ahead of me and Lowe because he was busy trying out all the buttons in the car. They came back out a minute later having been told they had to leave. No kids allowed. I’m fine with that concept, but for it to happen in Mexico really surprised me. Mexicans bring their kids everywhere—at all hours. It was also weird because the restaurant’s logo was a giant cartoon turtle, and because it was just a casual open-air type place, not some dingy bar. Anyway, it all worked out for the best as we stumbled across this place next. We pulled around back to the parking lot and found this awaiting us.
Lowe does absolutely everything Ouest does. Everything. She’s pretty good about it right now, but I can just imagine how she’s going to feel after a couple more years of looking over her shoulder to see his beseeching eyes. When I say everything, I really do mean everything. If Ouest says she has to go pee he immediately starts pointing to his crotch to let us know he needs to too. If Ouest whispers something in my ear he follows right in behind her and mumbles in my ear too. If she throws a handful of flowers in the water, he throws flowers in the water. It goes on and on all day long.
This is his latest thing—dragging his feet through the sand to make dust. He does it everywhere. There is a row of trees along the sidewalk by the boat and under each tree he’ll walk in circles for five minutes just dragging his toes through the dirt. He leaves the sidewalks for dirt parking lots and walks in circles kicking up Linus sized clouds behind him. He requires rinsing before boarding the boat every time.
Count ‘em—thirty-seven pieces of flair.