Inside on the bare wood walls, she pins up sayings and jokes in rough block letters. Even with loving touches, this home is beyond simple. In the evening, a tiny solar-powered bulb casts a dim light in Carmen's kitchen. She was born at the lagoon back in the days when people fetched water from a ranch two hours away by burro, Mayoral says. Water is still brought in.
Roads are still dirt.
In the front room, which is partly open to the air, Mayoral sits in darkness. Still, a lot of people need jobs. The lagoon is overfished and, he says, the whale-watching season lasts only three months. They should come in August, see us then, when we have nothing. Living in a place like Guerrero Negro doesn't appeal to Mayoral, he says.