Home at last - in Kino Bay RV Park.
When we got to the place the guard had described, another guard pulled us aside and told us to go to the immigration office. There, a very nice officer took one look at me and asked whether I spoke a little Spanish. Well, sort of. Good, then I might be able to help him. My job was to help him explain to a couple of Canadians why their cell phone wasn't working. They were trying to sort out a document problem, and their cell phone was like the one I used to have. Once across the Mexican border, it went into limbo and refused to come out. Eventually these folks, who were from
Once that was taken care of, the same man took our information, gave us our visas, and sent us next door to get the vehicle permit. That involved waiting in line, being told by another man that we needed photocopies of the vehicle registration plus R's driving licence and passport - which we could obtain at the restaurant on the other side of the highway. We walked over there and waited while the lady behind the counter finished cooking and serving someone's lunch. Then she made the requisite copies and we walked back across the road, where a young lady sat down at her computer and entered all the information we gave her, took our $49.50
The rest of the trip was unremarkable, if long. We quickly reacquainted ourselves with the Mexican road signs (Slow down – fasten your seat belt – don’t drive when you’re tired - don’t throw garbage - don’t molest the signs – picky, picky, picky!) The