A short lie in prompts interesting discussion as to our next move. We could hit the road and push on, or we could stay for another night and have a chilled day in Cholla Bay. In the end it’s a no brainer, and we head into town to grab a bite to eat. The town is filled with a mix of Mexicans and Americans. Murray informs me this is the closest beach to Arizona at 4 hours away, so a large proportion of the buildings here are American holiday homes. We eat right on the Pacific, with some wonderful seafood in blazing sunshine.
We wander the market streets filled with vendors flogging their wares, in search of a hammock for the back of the ambulance. A rowdy crowd of shirtless college kids sit atop a beach bar veranda, heckling Mexican girls as they go past, attempting to get them to sit on laps. It doesn’t feel like we’re in Mexico just yet, rather some university frat town, but as at any time I enter a country where I don’t speak the language, I still feel a little uneasy.
We spend the evening socialising in local bars, including a strange establishment called Wrecked, which feels like you’re on a cruise ship. A clientele of middle aged parents and teenagers, we stood out like a sore thumbs thumb. The house band were excellent though and I had a little boogie into the night. Then I saw her. Flicking her mousey brown hair to the music like it was a shampoo commercial. Dancing with no shoes on, a flowing dress that suggested all your summer romance dreams had come true in the space of ten seconds. “How old are you?” I enquire as we’re stepping in time. “17” grins the reply. I beat a hasty retreat and live to fight another day. Banged Up Abroad is a show I don’t want to appear on.
Wrecked
A short lie in prompts interesting discussion as to our next move. We could hit the road and push on, or we could stay for another night and have a chilled day in Cholla Bay. In the end it’s a no brainer, and we head into town to grab a bite to eat. The town is filled with a mix of Mexicans and Americans. Murray informs me this is the closest beach to Arizona at 4 hours away, so a large proportion of the buildings here are American holiday homes. We eat right on the Pacific, with some wonderful seafood in blazing sunshine.
We wander the market streets filled with vendors flogging their wares, in search of a hammock for the back of the ambulance. A rowdy crowd of shirtless college kids sit atop a beach bar veranda, heckling Mexican girls as they go past, attempting to get them to sit on laps. It doesn’t feel like we’re in Mexico just yet, rather some university frat town, but as at any time I enter a country where I don’t speak the language, I still feel a little uneasy.
We spend the evening socialising in local bars, including a strange establishment called Wrecked, which feels like you’re on a cruise ship. A clientele of middle aged parents and teenagers, we stood out like a sore thumbs thumb. The house band were excellent though and I had a little boogie into the night. Then I saw her. Flicking her mousey brown hair to the music like it was a shampoo commercial. Dancing with no shoes on, a flowing dress that suggested all your summer romance dreams had come true in the space of ten seconds. “How old are you?” I enquire as we’re stepping in time. “17” grins the reply. I beat a hasty retreat and live to fight another day. Banged Up Abroad is a show I don’t want to appear on.