DAY 253

Tuesday 20 March 2012

We got up at 8:30 for the restaurant opening and for Wi-Fi and cafe con leche. No good email news, pshaw. Bright sunny morning, rain over? Dian gave presents to the owners, a 20th Century Fox pin to mama Monica and a Hollywood pin to her mama Ana, who both promptly and proudly put them on. We waved goodbye and started up the road. Whoa! Where was Dian's red book? It had so much info from our whole trip it had become a vital document so we swung around and headed back, but Charles soon found it stashed in an unlikely crevice in the van. How we could ever misplace something in that small space was a mystery, but it happened occasionally.

Stopped at a beach

We programmed our GPS for the only camp we could locate in the area, only 23 km away, but after 15 we saw a sign for another camp so we decided to check it out. The road it pointed down took us to the very small fishing town of Vega. You'd never know it was there from the main road just up the hill. We drove right by the very small camp which gave us a chance to drive all the way down to the port and see what the place was like, and winding our way back through narrow streets, we found the camp. Tiny, funky-nice, but with Wi-fF in the bar till late hours, hot showers, washing machine ( -- usually it was 3-7 euros/$4-10, for one mini-load, we did two and took advantage of the warm sun for drying), and only 13 euros a night -- we were in! It didn't take long for the ladies to take advantage of those showers, Charles took his a little later. The proprietor saw we were parked at a bit of a slope and brought out a balancing wedge and some boards for the other tire and viola! We were level. Very kind gesture.

We decided to go looking for some seafood in the fishin' town, didn't succeed, but again stumbled onto a find. The one restaurant everyone recommended didn't open for dinner till 9 and it was only 7:30 plus they were higher priced than we wanted, and the other place had no seafood, just pizza and hambourgesas, not what we wanted. But on the way back we saw an open door to a very interesting-looking little building labeled Casino Teatro. Dian, as usual, urged the more hesitant Charles and Nicole to check it out, so we went up a couple flights of dark wooden stairs till reaching a door where we could hear voices, knocked three times until someone answered and let us in.

Inside of casino

Sculpting

We were surprised to see a handful of people in a cozy little bar on the third floor, and after a few curious stares they welcomed us. We explained in our best Español that we were visiting for the first time from Estados Unidos and they started turning on lights for us and the gentleman who opened the door, Jorge Luis (we think, after asking twice -- sorry dude, your accent was thick), gave us a complete tour of this art deco-ish community center/theater built in 1931 by a famous architect, with funds from town citizens forced to emigrate for work who sent back money to keep culture alive at home.








He took us backstage and under the stage and up to the balconies and into the green rooms and onto the raked stage with the trap door in front for a prompter. The seats were deep crimson velvet, and all could be stashed below the stage to open it up for dancing, which our guide was always willing to accent with one hand to his stomach, the other held high and a few steps added for emphasis. We also met the president of the theatrical society, who offered warm smiles and handhakes. All in all a very professional setup you'd never expect to find in such a small community. Not a museum-quality art deco find, but as we first entered Dian said, "I don't expect it to be the KiMo" -- referencing the stunning Native American-style art deco theater in downtown Albuquerque (the NM one).

Life in a small space

We were delighted with our discovery and the warm hospitality, charmed by the townspeople's justifiable pride and wished we could see a production there. Every Easter they've had a noteworthy model ship exhibition, but we would just miss it. We headed back into the now-cold night and back up the hill to our cozy little campervan home where Dian whipped up a warming dinner of noodles and soup. Life was good.