October 30 Lazy Day by the Rio Batopilas

While a handful of guests waited for a turn in the shower, I jumped in the river. The evenings were a perfectly comfortable 65 degrees and the December days reached around 90, but the river was near freezing. I recalled, "Frio" is he name of a similar river in Texas. Finally, I knew what the "F" on the other shower faucet handle stood for. I was learning Spanish by association. We decided to find a way across the wide, shallow river to get a closer look at the historic Alexander Shepherd mining headquarters. A narrow wooden bridge made a fine crossing, for some little kids. We traversed the hundred yards of six-inch wide planks with little grace. No cameras got wet and we found a hole in a fence by the opposite riverbank, allowing us to explore the strange orange-colored stone walls of the nineteenth-century castle. We returned to our guest house before noon to find Bob and Joe preparing for a day at the office. Joe, we learned, was Bob's future son-in-law, but the wedding date had passed. This must have served someone's purpose, but we weren't sure whose. We were certain both were beach bums, though Bob worked in computer programming back in California. We went with them to investigate their supposed jobsite. They led us through an old wooden door, with a sign reading "Bob and Joe's Surf Shop," into a dimly lit room full of musty furniture. Bob explained, "An American bought the old hacienda up the road and got rid of all this furniture. We moved it into the surf shop and now we refinish it and sell it back to the new owner." He went on, "Surfing doesn't pay much here, so we fix up one or two pieces a month to pay our bill at Monse's." We thought about making arrangements at the Carpenter's house for dinner, but decided to return to Dona Micha's for another tried and true home-cooked meal. With reservations made, we wandered the streets during siesta, photographing the rustic structures and lazy farm animals milling about the dirt streets. Following dinner, we reported our consumption of Cocas to Monse and settled our tab, since we would try to leave the big canyon in the morning. Bob and Monse, by now as familiar as shipmates in close quarters, slammed doors and argued in Spanish and English about missing food from the kitchen and Cocas unaccounted for. Bob joined us on the patio by the river, where we were watching the stars appear in the sky, and sighed, "I'll have to leave here some day, then what will she do?" Monse's husband was in poor health and Bob contributed more than just a few pesos rent to keep the guest house running. He helped with repairs and provided a steady income through the slow seasons. Brenda changed Monse's mood by making a big purchase from her front room full of Tarahumara crafts -- a large Tarahumara drum we feared might have to be tied to the top of the Trooper. The homey atmosphere, with flowering plants and fresh fruit hanging from the trees, made it difficult for us to leave the little huespedes by the river. NEXT PAGE