It was a four day wait and two sail trips to the village of San Evaristo before the little grocery store opened its doors again for business. I think the goats and cows out in the yard were pretty happy to see their owner too as they lined up along the fence, eyeballing his pickup truck loaded to the hilt with bales of hay, groceries and a flat tire. Three gringo yachtistas, myself included, lined up too, however I was last in line and therefore missed out on the last of the fresh chicken legs for sale.
You won't find a grocery store like this in the U.S., but it's all the more charming for that very fact. Three of us sifted through stacked boxes of produce to find what surprises were inside. And surprises there were. I asked the proprietor if he had any milk or meat to which he responded by taking me to the outside porch. There, in a large refrigerator, where more mysterious brown boxes and I scored 4 hot dogs plus a 3-inch stack of baloney, but no milk or cheese.
With the sun setting fast we scrambled to anchor, drop and attach the dink motor, and scoot over to a postage stamp sized "island" that had my name written all over it - and my foot prints. Exploring the lagoon would have to wait until the next day during high tide to allow a dingy passage.
On the way back from my island *:o) we stopped to visit with the fellas on the catamaran - retiree's from Sacramento on a week long sailing adventure. We enjoyed a glass of wine, good conversation and a sunset, then it was time to head back to the boat for dinner.
Since the boat coffers were restored, I whipped up a batch of awesome Baja Nachos served with ice cold Modelo beer and fresh lime. Salud!