Yesterday, we hung out with Lupe. Lupe opened the one and only restaurant in Bahía San Evaristo two years ago. Cruisers, who come every year, encouraged this small fishing village of around a hundred souls to cater to the passing boats and profit a little in return. Lupe sustains his restaurant, the community has Wifi, electricity is supplied individually via solar, a desalination plant provides fresh water to the community and passing boats.
The owner of the only tienda in town had gone to La Paz in the morning and was about to return with fresh vegetables. Lupe made coffee and we sat and waited. Overlooking the bay and watching the boats move up and down on waves rolling in from the Sea, we made a little conversation in Spanglish. We heard about Maggie Mae and Barbara, Lupe’s American wife and his daughter, who were on vacation in La Paz at the moment. Garfield, the cat, jumped on my lap and wanted an extended massage. We painted a message on a shell and hung it among the many others in the restaurant. We watched the town kids come by to buy sweets and fishermen drank beer. When it was time to eat, Lupe made lunch. We waited for Internet pages to load like back in the nineties. ‘Life is slow here’, Lupe summed up life in Bahia San Evaristo and our afternoon.
Time passed sweetly and deliberately, like slow flowing syrup. Moments and images strung up and became hours. We passed the time doing essentially nothing and at the same time doing something that matters: hanging out.
I remember Sunday brunches back in Hamburg, which lasted as long as it took a foot-long candle to burn. We ate, talked, listened to music and ate some more. Everyone was invited, could drop by or stay and hang out. In true Sunday tradition, nothing was done on that day. When time slows, the chatter in our mind stops, we can feel ourselves and relaxation sets in.
Thanks to our host’s generosity, we sat on his terrace for hours without being hurried. Lupe therapy.