I feel I have done as much as a lonely tourist can do in the area, so I took it easy, lingered at my morning coffee, and only left around 10 am with two goals: To have my hair cut and to visit the recreation area around the Río Mayo. I was looking for a small barber shop, where the barber would let me now what was going on in town, and got the perfect place in that part of Navojoa that is called Pueblo Viejo. My barber was a girl who lived up to the tradition and told me all about the old town at the same time that she happily snipped what little hair I have left (she assured me that her onion treatment was miraculous in encouraging hair growth). Of crucial importance was her hint that I had to eat tacos tostados de birria and vishi on the other side of the plaza. I am not one to ignore good advice, so I went there and had the unknown vishi (turned out to be broth from the birria) and a couple of tacos. Mmm mmm. How am I going to survive going back to boring hot cakes for breakfast?
The Taco Master (and the barber for that matter) insisted on calling me güerito, and when I remonstrated they told me that I was white and no question about it. ☹
When I asked for the way to the river the company guffawed and with many winks and side glances informed me that Navojoa was the only place where they went to party along the dry channel of a river. It broke my heart. The riparian corridor is indeed the locus of a soccer fields and bike tracks, but the river has been on life support for years due to ag withdrawals, and now that the dam is empty it is getting absolutely no water. Most of the trees have died, although the municipality is making a new effort to plant pecan trees that are obviously being watered by water truck. How very sad to see a dead river.
Deeply depressed I went for a drive through the town, which is not a bad town, except that the layout of the city must have been planned by a wiz kid, who not satisfied by the square arrangement of cross streets also introduced a grid of diagonal streets. That means that at every intersection you have six streets crossing, rather than four, with no clear idea of who has priority. This would be the perfect place to have a roundabout, but no, you just get a straight multiple-street intersection, and you have to play blindman’s bluff at every corner.
I was musing about what to do next, when it started raining, and raining hard. I retreated to my hotel for shelter and a nap, with the vague idea that I would go out to dinner later in the afternoon.
Grilled octopus for dinner. Yumm!
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