I was talking to a local lady today that had—up until a few days ago—owned a bar here at the marina. She told me they decided to sell, in part because business sucked, and in part because the cartels had slowly been moving in. In fact, she told me, the big boss of such and such cartel lived right here in San Carlos. And the only thing I could think was why in the hell would anybody want to risk their life to make millions and millions in drug money if all it meant was they could own a big house in San Carlos? This place is terrible. Ali is mad at me for being so completely unforgiving in my assessment of it, but from the moment it came into view I knew I hated this place, and nothing has swayed me from that point of view.
My point was proven later in our conversation when she confided in me that they were moving to North Dakota. Yeah, North Dakota. The fiftieth state on my list of states to live in. If that doesn’t sum up everything there is to sum up about San Carlos I don’t know what would.
We’re here to haul the boat out in a few days, get the bottom painted, straighten out a few thru-hull issues, repack the prop shaft and the rudder shaft, and get back out again. So I shouldn’t really care about the place, but for some reason it just irks me. I think what bugs me most is the distances. I crave compactness these days—and this place is not compact. It’s about half a mile walk from the boat to the road. With two little kids a walk of that distance can take anywhere from thirty minutes to six hours. From there it’s another quarter mile to either the OXXO or the small supermarket. And really that’s about it aside from a super gringo-ized restaurant.
Today we caught the bus into town. “Town.” San Carlos is just a strip of crap situated alongside a four-lane highway with a parallel road (as if the founding fathers expected the population to boom to several hundred thousand and wanted to be ready). Our bus driver was hauling along so fast that we didn’t realize until it was too late that we’d just passed through the whole town and were now on our way to Guaymas. We got out and hiked back a few hundred yards to the first restaurant we came across. We ate an overpriced meal overlooking the ocean by first looking over six lanes of road, then took the kids home and fed them again.
I must be cranky (this is one of my crankiest posts ever). Ali’s been telling me I need to go to bed earlier. She’s probably right. Yesterday we realized the time zone had changed, meaning Lowe woke up at four this morning instead of five. Oy.