Plentiful eggs, chorizo and coffee were the main course of our breakfast today in Guerrero Negro.  For entertainment, we had the wonderful “shitmom” explaining why she wasn’t going to vaccinate her kids.  We assigned her that nom de plume on account of her storming to her room last night with a kid in tow (a few feet from us) and yelling at someone – we’re not sure who – that she wasn’t going to let her husband call her a shit mom because, well, her child can ACT!  Our walls resounded with Shitmom jokes throughout the evening. Poor Shitmom.

Hit the road to San Ignacio – a very straight and boring road.  The only feature of the road that kept it interesting was a convoy of Humvees and troop carriers taking Mexican troops north to the base at Guerrero Negro.  Murphy was hard at work writing part of yesterday’s post until bitten by a savage flying insect which we were unable to identify – something between a horsefly and pterodactyl.  Pulling over he disrobed, and seeing the gaping swollen wound, I had no choice but to suck the venom out of it.  Of course I declined that choice and opted instead to watch him suffer while doing an interpretive dance of pain and sorrow.

As we reached San Ignacio the terrain turned more tropical and we hit another military checkpoint outside town, where we were waved through without any hassle.  We pulled into the beautiful San Ignacio Springs, a constellation of cabins and yurts (yes, yurts) built around the oasis of Laguna San Ignacio by a Canadian couple, Terry and Gary.  Being the off-season, we have the place virtually to ourselves, so we chose the La Canadiense – a Canadian-themed yurt.  Despite completing the 2012 Mongol Rally, we never actually stayed in a yurt on that trip.  (And despite living in Inner Mongolia for eight months and having visited yurts, I never actually stayed in a yurt there either.)

We rolled into the quaint, one block town of San Ignacio for lunch. We checked out the Cathedral and perused the square for a place to kick our feet up. Rosa Delia fit the bill and we had some tacos and tostadas in the shade with a few cervezas. We were lounging a straight up vacay day.

We hit the local market for some more beer and a shotgun of Corallejo and then went back to the springs to throw the kayaks into the lagoon. The last time I was here I took the kayak up the lagoon to a natural hot spring. The fish in the spring would come and nibble on your fingers and toes like some asian mani/pedi. I thought James would like that. James mentioned he’d only been in a kayak once, so I took a sec to show him how to get in off the dock, then I hopped in and launched into the middle of the lagoon. I looked back to shore and watched as James slipped on the lake slime and fell into the lagoon well past his camo shorts in a splash of floundering and curse words. I would have helped but was laughing too hard to paddle. He finally righted himself and ungracefully got in the kayak.

We took off down the lagoon as some cormorants took flight off the water. We were on our way. Except I still heard floundering and swearing behind me. I looked back and James was a ways back. I asked what was up and he just threw his hands up. He’d paddle for a bit and the kayak would turn on him, he’d try to straighten out and end up over correcting, this caused him to basically do figure eights in the lagoon. “What the hell is up?”. He sounded like Bubbles. He was at a loss. So was I, so I went back to rescue him. I pulled up alongside and towed him zigzag across the lagoon back to base.

So then James got in my kayak (they were tandems) and we took off. Got about halfway as far as the nowheres we had gotten before and I heard “Ahh Murphy we’re taking on water”. Sure enough James was in water well beyond his nards, “What the hell, man?”, “Abort, abort!”, and we hastened back to the launch. Good game.

So instead of a lagoon adventure we sat on a bench and romantically waited for sunset. After ten my ankles, arms, and calves were covered in giant mosquito welts. I asked James if he was being eaten alive, “Nah man, maybe a bite”. “What the hell?”. I lasted another 5 and was in itchy itchy done.

After asking our yurt proprietors for dinner advice we rolled back into town and after doing the loop we ate a delicious fistful of carne asada tacos with an amazing mixed green/red salsa and Dos Equus from an adjacent corner store.  Attempts at small talk with the owner were mostly unsuccessful – we didn’t get too far beyond “muy calor”.  Back to the yurt for a few more beers and some tequila.

We’re looking forward to what Murphy hypes as a breakfast to end all breakfasts here tomorrow, then Mulegé for lunch and a few more hours of touring to get into La Paz, where we’ve got some business to attend to.  Booking a boat ride to Mazatlán.  Sump guard.  Two new tires and a patch kit.  Malaria meds.  Some things called “tourist cards”, which apparently we need to remain out of jail.