As you know, I spent last night at the Punta Vista RV Park in Santa Ana, Sonora, Mexico. It turned out to be even nicer than I’d thought it would be. The RV Park is in the backyard of Edgardo, a Mexican, and Anna, a gringa. Not sure of the exact sequence of events but Anna lived in the US (SF Bay area, mostly) for years before moving to Mexico in 1982. Not sure if she and Edgar were already together at that point or not. Both are getting on in years and have certainly been in better health but they still manage to keep the RV park running and take care of themselves, their 2 dogs and their 6 cats (I think it was 6, may have been more).
Edgar was gone when I arrived but I had a nice chat with Anna. BTW, Anna was Anne in the States but the Mexicans have a problem saying Anne, so she changes it to Anna when she’s in Mexico. Much like I switch to Esteban because “Steve” or “Stephen” is going to come out “Esteve” or Estephen” anyway so why not just make it a full-bore Spanish name that they’re comfortable pronouncing?
Later on, after the sun went down and things started to cool off, I heard a man’s voice calling “Stephen, are you there?” It was Edgar coming to introduce himself. We sat in the shade and he told me stories of his time in Santa Ana. He was born and grew up mostly on a ranch but his grandparents had a store in Santa Ana and, later on, so did his parents. He was the lead singer in a band called “The Thunderbirds” back in the mid-60s. They played all around the Santa Ana area and even up in Puerto Peñasco and Arizona. Edgar’s left side is more or less paralyzed. he can still stand on his left leg and get around a bit, but the leg is weak and his arm is pretty much useless. Really bugs him. Of course, the fact that he’s pretty much always in pain can’t help either. But, as we sat and talked about stuff, he asked if I’d been downtown. I said that I hadn’t and he asked if I’d like him to give me a tour. I said, “Now?” and he said, “Sí.” and I said, “Let’s go.”
We climbed into his old Ford pickup and off we went. He’s kind of an erratic driver which is somewhat to be expected given his physical condition. But, everybody here knows him and makes allowances when he pulls out in front of them or takes an inordinately long time to make a turn. It was really pretty sweet. Edgardo showed me the downtown, the cathedral, the store his grandparents used to own, the store his parents owned, the elementary school, the Catholic school, the junior and senior high schools. He showed me the factory that makes parts for Chrysler, the ball parks, the big gymnasium, the banks, the closed-down movie theater, the grocery stores. He’s very proud of his town and he should be. It’s one of the cleanest towns I’ve seen down here. There’s a noticeable absence of graffiti too. I asked if many gringos lived here and he said, “Maybe 10, including my wife.” Later he allowed as how there might be a few more than that. he lamented the fact that the gringos tended to keep to themselves and weren’t sociable like the Mexicans. In our (gringo) defense, I attribute this partly to not knowing the language but mostly to not knowing the culture and not wanting to impose ourselves where we’re not wanted. And, of course, the language barrier just makes it all that much harder.
The locals down here call Edgar “Güerro” due to his white hair. Edgardo “Güerro” Osuna:
If you’re in an RV and get a chance to stop in Santa Ana, do yourself a favor and stop at Edgar and Anna’s place. If the gate’s closed, just knock on the door of the building on the right. As long as the old white US road boat (Cadillac, Mercury, Pontiac, I’m not sure what it was) is parked there, Anna’s home. The coordinates are: 30.53556N 111.11642W. I’m definitely going to stop again on my way back north next month.