It's 9:05 in the morning. I wrote some stuff last night, to be posted in a hurry this morning. I've got to go down to the RV now and wait for our ride.
LOL – I simply have to record this now, while it’s fresh in my head. It’s five minutes to three in the afternoon of February 7. An hour ago, I packed up my laptop and walked down the little hill to come home, having caught up – finally – on reading my discussion boards. I had trouble getting here, as what appeared to be a caravan of oversized RVs had pulled in, and one of them was attempting to squeeze into the spot two down from ours. I managed to sidle around that one, and he finished his inbacking pretty quickly. Then the driver of the 5th wheel who wanted to get in across from us and down one spot started backing and turning, backing and turning. I said to a woman standing nearby that watching that sort of operation made me realize just how perfectly satisfactory a 24’ motor home is. She turned out to be the wife of the man trying to back the 5th wheel in. :>/ Anyway, I came into the Turtle, said good-bye to R, who then left to go surfing (the kind that involves water), and took up my Laundry Watch. I made coffee and went outside to sit in a lounge chair and drink it. I drank it. I moved R’s bicycle out of harm’s way. I poured a second cup of coffee and drank that too. Then I spent a while watching the 5th wheel back and turn, back and turn, and watching all the men within visual range putting their various two-cents worths in. I read my book. Finally, just before I came in and turned on the laptop to make this report, it seemed that my new neighbours had finally got themselves sorted. No, not quite, it seems. Oh, yes – the engine just stopped. There. One hour and ten minutes. I said to the lady of the house that I certainly hoped they were staying for a while, because if all this were in aid of a one-night stand, she must be ready to scream. Yes, they’ll be here for a while, as will their friends that backed in as I arrived, and the friends who have moved in next door to us (where the Dutch couple was, then the
I remain,
Naked in
Still Feb. 7, but much later:
Hallelujah! He arrived – well, not Tony himself, but one of his minions, at 4:30 this afternoon. We now have stacks of clean, fragrant, perfectly folded laundry. It cost more than a Laundromat would, were there such a thing as a Laundromat in Mazatlan, but I feel as if I got a bargain at 110 pesos ($11ish). All I had to do was fret about getting my laundry back.
An hour or so later, there was a knock at the door. It was one of the men from the park. Had we sent laundry out? Yes. Had it been returned? Yes. Was it ours? Well, yes. That’s good, he said. We got somebody else’s laundry instead of our own. Oh, dear. I gave him the slip of paper that had come with ours, as it had the laundry’s address on it. Poor man went off, knocking on all the doors in the park, apparently, in search of his clothes. Half an hour after that, there was another knock. This time it was the man’s wife, duplicating his efforts. After that, I abandoned ship, went to watch the sunset, only to find that it had been canceled. The cloud cover was so heavy, the sun wasn’t visible, except where it reflected off clouds off to the north and south – second-hand sunset.
I’m going to post this as soon as my internet time starts in the morning (9 a.m.). Our friend is to pick us up at 9 a.m. – of course – to take us on our mystery tour. Ian has heard wonderful things about this little mining town.
“Where is it?” “ Fifty kilometres north of here.”
“What is it called?” “I can’t remember. It starts with an E.”
“Like
“Okay. Have a look at the map.”
“It’s not there.”
“Okay. Have a look at our other map.”
“No. It’s not there. It’s on my map.”
I did say it was a mystery tour.
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