The Countdown

This Friday afternoon, Nikki and I will board a sky ship and launch towards San Diego; after nearly a year for me, and the first return trip for her since landing in Yelapa two years ago. My internal planning mechanism has already adopted the Countdown Mode. I cannot help but call up the images associated with the Woody Allen movie as technicians are seated at a master console overseeing all brain functions. As I recall they were also planning a launch, but alas I digress.

If you are a frequent visitor to my blog, you read repeatedly about my favorite restaurant, Shambhala, operated by three of my favorite people; Ray, Violeta and Alexa Vasquez. It is no surprise to me that the finest food in all of Yelapa is produced by three of the finest people. I am fortunate to consider myself a part of their family. As an aside, they will cease operations at the Shambhala site around the end of this month and re-open at their new location in the central village under the name of Ray’s Place. My best wishes and future patronage will travel with them.

Today is Sunday, right? And what happens on Sunday, class? The children look up adoringly and respond in angelic dulcetones, “birria.” Well done, class! So marching around my countdown clock, today I consumed my last Sunday birria for perhaps the next two months. It is a thought which invites discomfort. Good byes were issued to those Yelapans I only see at birria. A twinge of sadness accompanied me down the stairs as I returned to Casa Azul.

Our village remains quiet over the next two months. Schools throughout Mexico begin Monday. The last panga full of visiting Mexican nationals will depart for Puerto Vallarta this afternoon. Tomorrow morning will re-usher the ritual of the early rising of the teacher and his wife, who live below me (they have yet to figure out how to move chairs quietly); the gaiety of conversations which float around the passing elementary students; and the parents of pre-schoolers parked down the path. New shoes and uniforms will be in evidence. All backpacks will bear immense doses of the hopes and aspirations of parents, grandparents and fellow villagers. It is an event of renewal.

Although I have yet to experience the month of September here, my Yelapa brother, Fernando, assures me that as the heavy rains arrive, so also arrive the heavy tuna. Every fishing boat, panga, boogie board or stray piece of floating lumber will have a kid in it/on top of it tossing a handline. Refrigerators and freezers will be filled. Beyond that, the excess will be shipped off and sold in Puerto Vallarta. It will present the only money making opportunity until the annual wave of tourism returns in mid-November. Life in paradise is difficult.

My countdown will plod its course through the ensuing four days. My last posole tomorrow night, my last trip to the market, my last bag of trash, my last margarita and dinner at Shambhala and Friday morning my last fresh fruit smoothie (pineapple, papaya, mango, granola, honey, yogurt). In English when someone departs we say “good bye.” It’s hard, clipped and final. In Spanish, we choose from “andale pues,” “hasta luego,” “que le vaya bien,” all of which are open-ended. These earnest phrases grant both the well-wisher and the recipient the expectation that they will meet again. As Nikki and I take our last trek through Yelapa on Friday morning, I will hear and respond to all of these, knowing full well that in a few months, indeed, we will meet again.    

Commercial Break

Should you find yourself in Yelapa during my absence and develop an insatiable urge to go kayaking contact Fernando Garcia. Don’t worry, if you don’t know who he is, just stop any local on the path and ask for Fernando. Be forewarned, he may talk you into a trip to the Murietas, a day fishing or lunch at Corrales. If that happens, go for it. You can always catch me on your next trip. Happy paddling