Guerrero Negro, BCS, Mexico - It Would Have Been Better with Whales

After we finally found the ABC bus station in Tijuana, it was no trouble to get a ticket to Guerrero Negro. I do need to get used to the local abreviations though. It was somewhat disturbing to be handed a ticket that said "Gro Negro." Excuse me?  But the bus ride was pretty much the nicest bus ride one could ask for. A big giant bus more comfortable than Greyound. Sadly, it had seen better days, but it was still nice. Desert landscapes all day long.

Nothing much happened in Gro Negro. It´s a long, narrow, dusty town whose main attraction is the gray whales that migrate down from Canada every winter to mate.  Whale season doesn´t start til December. So we basically just walked around and ate. The first night we arrived late in the evening and our only real option was the taco stand near the bus station. Michael ordered three tacos for me and five for him. This order produced fits of giggles from the ladies behind the counter. We´re not sure why. Does "cinco" sound like something dirty if you say it wrong? Is one person not supposed to eat five tacos? Of course we laughed along, you know, "Silly us, gringos always order muchos tacos!" and it was pleasant, if mystifying.

The next night we went to the town´s fancy restaurant and were talked to death by some expat Americans from Ensenada. What is the polite way of saying "Our food has arrived. We no longer wish to hear your thoughts about why you would have been far better prepared for Katrina than those lazy gulf coast residents?" Plus that meal was super expensive - $44 US.

The last night we went to a cute little place that we had scoped out earlier - from the outside only, alas. As soon as we stepped in I wanted to leave. It just looked kind of stained and sad in there. But the proprietor, who was about 100 years old, was on us immediately, with the menus flapping, "Cafe, te, cerveza?" and so we sat down to make the best of it. Because we´re weak.

He brought us a plate of chips and salsa that looked like it was boiling. I peered closer. No, it was some kind of insect struggling for life. Michael saw it too. So we told the guy. "Señor, hay un insecto." Well of course he didn´t see it. Restaurant people will never see it when you point out the bugs in their food. The bartender in SF who used his thumb to mash the maggots I pointed out in that glass-rim-wetter-sponge thingy then said I was imagining things? The folks at the bullet-proof Chinese spot on my block in NYC who "examined"  the roach to oblivion with a chopstick and then laughed and told me it was spices? Oh, I´m hip to that. I was in no way surprised that this guy didn´t see anything either.

But he took away the bowl of salsa and then shortly after came out with a bowl of salsa. Ok, I´m not going to drag the story out, you see where it´s going. We figured it was the same bowl, but we assume he had scooped the bug out. Still, we were wary. After a few chips (what, the salsa was tasty) Michael was the lucky winner of what turned out to be a bee. Which cheered us up a lot. Bees are not that gross. We left him, sad and drowned, on the tablecloth while we ate our food.

No, the food was not good. But we did learn a Valuable Lesson.

We did do one very cool thing in Gro Negro, and that was the Salt Factory. I will give it its own entry.

HOURS ON THE BUS: 32.5