Desperately Seeking Cash and Cookies in Las Varas

GoogleEarth view of Chacala Bay. The three white blobs are boats at anchor. The cluster of white blobs are fishing pangas at their dock and the dinghy landing is in the little notch to the right of it
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One last day in Chacala, while we troubleshoot the watermaker, which seems to run happily along for hours and then our indicator shows NO increase in our water level. I know I'm not using that much agua to do the dishes, dammit!

So we decided to hire a water truck to deliver ten five-gallon jugs to the dinghy landing and we'll offload them onto the dink, probably five at a time, take them to the boat, raise each with the jib halyard, and thereby fill the tank. A laborious and time-consuming process, but we may have a couple of days ahead with no water access, so if the watermaker isn't going to do the job, we have to.

Yesterday we took the combi (Andee always called it the collectivo), a passenger van, to Las Varas. While we waited for our ride, we met a gringo from Illinois who was having funds wired to him in LV, and a family from Virginia with nothing but US dollars, looking for an ATM. The drive took us up a short dirt road to the main highway, where we turned south and rode for about 20 minutes through jungle and farmland into a considerably bigger town than I expected.

As it turned out, no joy for the Illinois fellow, who could never find the location, Casa de Oro, where his cash was waiting for him. He had that "stuck in a foreign country with empty pockets and a wife waiting in the hotel" panic in his eyes when we parted company. Someday a Mexican ATM may rob me blind, but until then I'm going to enjoy the convenience and avoid complicated arrangements like wiring funds and money changers.

We stopped for carne asada (grilled beef) tacos at a spot where there was a butcher shop (carneceria) on every corner--"the beef should be fresh," concluded the Capt. The tortillas were made fresh for each order, and were large and delicious; I could have made a meal of them. The dining room was clean and cheery with yellow walls, and an array of photos of old-time revolutionaries and their hard-eyed women caught my eye. The waitress was a very friendly chica about the size of an eight-year-old who was delighted to have a chance to practice her English on us.

Then we wandered the streets looking for veggies (a fairly easy quest), chicken which I bought at a polleria, cheese and a bakery, which turned out to be impossible. We saw one that was closed, got directions to another four blocks away and finally decided it wasn't worth the trudge. Finally Jim crossed the highway to fill the jerry jug with gasoline for the generator while I waited for the return combi.

Back on the boat, I tried something new with the chicken, a recipe yet to be named. I had bought chicken milanesa, which is breast pounded very thin, usually used for sandwiches. I breaded a couple of pieces lightly, without going through the usual egg and milk dip, and browned them on the griddle, then rolled each around a piece of cheese, smothered the rolls with sauteed onions, carrots and bell pepper, and poured mole sauce over it all. Simmered it until the cheese melted, topped it with a dollop of crema and served it over rice. Muy rico... Sorry, no photos, we were too hungry.