ranchos

Time blurs, dates become meaningless. Days become puncated by invitations for tacos, beers, cafes, building fires morning and night. If lucky there is sometimes a fog, called a “brisa” (in other parts brisa means breeze, so it can be confusing) . But usually there is only that short wonderful period when the sun has not creeped over the hill again, that you are not roasting by the sun. A nice time in the tropics, when the birds come alive, a goat bellows in the distance, and the air is so cool. If we were smart we would be riding then, but alas, we are not smart. What better time could there be to sleep. And then there is a fire to watch and coffee to be drunk for hours. So by the time we leave the sweating time has begun again.

Salt consumption is paramount; I carry a salt shaker and lick up a nice pile every hour or so. I guess when the locals see some gringos eating some white powder off their hands on the side of the road it really confirms their suspicions.

In the heat, most families on ranchos seem to sleep in the open air, in a bedroom with no walls, just a palm thatched roof with a bed under it.

You also see water being held in clay pots, I believe called a botijo or boteja, where water is cooled by evaporation.

After cooking this fish an interesting event happened. In the distance an extremely powerful searchlight mounted to a truck was scanning the hills. This was some military level light, it was illuminating for kilometers. Quickly tried to hide everything, then we crouched under the road bank, as the truck came closer and closer. It was an almost exact recreation of this scene:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2L0A2D7zV7A. When they got to us, could here two men talking. They went slower and slower, scanning everything on the hills. Luckily they never saw us. And somehow I avoided turning my feet into pincushions, as I couldn’t find my shoes in the haste to hide everything.