Birthday Party

Yelapans require no excuse to celebrate; any event will suffice. However, when a marriage merges with the birthdays of the parties involved, it becomes a Mexican cause celebre. Such was the case this past evening. The celebration site was up river at the home of the groom’s parents. As I am close with this entire family, I relished the opportunity to participate. 

 

First, I need to establish some local social basics. There is never a guest list. Neighbors, friends, visitors and casual passers-by are all welcomed, fed and libated. Beverage coolers are scattered throughout the site. Bar-b-que chicken and steak, rice, frijoles, homemade salsas and tortillas appear at some predetermined moment. The scene is punctuated with a portable stereo system replete with oversized speakers. 

The gender dynamics mirror those of a seventh grade dance; men reside on one side of the festive area while the women occupy the opposing domain. No one seems to mind. At this gathering, the groom served the gentlemen, the bride performed identical duties for her counterparts. 

As the evening progresses, two events evolve: initially, the head count grows from thirty to well in excess of fifty; and secondly, a collection of futbol (soccer) fans relocates in front of the resident large screen. This re-positioning of males is hardly noticed. As the evening progresses, the volume on the stereo increases, the volume from the now highly animated male discussions increases. An inverse reaction occurs with the women. Their conversations have traveled their course and now attention is drawn to the antics of their respective mates. They respond with muted chortles and head shaking. 

As my departure time approaches (9-ish), I express my appreciation to the bride and groom, the parents of the groom and bid “buenas noches” to the balance. It is a crystal clear evening with stars galore. I pass and greet others on the path. It was a good night to be a Yelapan.

To and Fro

When friends return to Yelapa, it is almost as exciting as when I return as well. In the past three days, both occurred. On Sunday morning, I departed San Diego headed back to our Casa Azul. By 5 p.m. local time, I passed through the door, embraced Nikki our English Shepherd and considered which sumptuous dinner to devour at Ray’s Place. 

Today, Tuesday, three of our friends are returning to Yelapa for a month. All have rental properties here so Yelapa serves as their getaway, a mental and physical haven for much needed R & R. Allow me to elaborate: two of this group, a couple who reside in Fairbanks, Alaska; departed Yelapa early this past December. Since that time, they have enjoyed snow and wind which combined frequently to drive temperatures into the -30s (F). As they both embrace their chronological autumns, such experiences, I am told, become less and less attractive. Chloe, a white scottie, who runs the risk of vanishing into a drift until the spring thaw, enjoys a daily romp on the beach and revels in the contrast her coat brings to the local environment.

The third returnee, climbed on a plane today at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, morning temperature -21 (F) and should have Yelapa sand in her toes this afternoon. The Mid-West, and Chicago in particular, has experienced brutal cold fronts which drove temperatures to nearly -40 (F). Yet another moves in as we speak. She will make her way fifteen minutes up river, to a home she has lovingly appointed and leave the door open to permit the most recent brood of chicks to pay their respects.

For the next thirty days, we will meet, greet, eat, drink and kayak. Each individual will carve out niches of time to perform required packets of work. The balance will be devoted to spontaneity. It is hoped that our foursome will expand to a fivesome with the return for a few weeks of my wife. Her full time duties as Nanny-Granny will be passed temporarily to an experienced sister. When that occurs, my life will be better. Once she arrives, the resident four will rehash the same stories already conveyed, return to the same restaurants already visited and sip our way through the same libations we know so well. We Yelapans are a contented bunch.

Commercial Break

Our little bay continues to experience rather angry seas. It is that time of the year, but this has existed since early December. My good friend, Mr. Sand, appears one day only to disappear the following day. If you are interested in going out, give me a call at 322 146 5064 (Mexican cell phone) so that we can discuss conditions. Happy paddling---Memo

Unplugged

I sense, nay hope, that many of my readers remember what life was like BPC (before personal computers). My ancient generation recalls the twelve page annual calendar as well as the Day Runner. Both granted Type A personalities an opportunity to scribe current and future endeavors in documentary fashion. Undoubtedly, these devices now occupy some wooden drawer in the bowels of the Smithsonian Institute. 

Mid-morning, this past week, I receive a phone call from my Yelapa brother. We chat politely and then he informs me that we “need to talk about business.” I’m good, second cup of coffee in hand, most, if not all cylinders, are at least close to firing. He conveys that his wife’s laptop died while she was stateside and she wishes to borrow one, (mine), for the better part of four business days (9a.m. to 5p.m.). I can have the item back at night, if I like. In the spirit of brotherly affection, plus armed with the knowledge that his wife does have real work to do, I reply “no problem.” 

Before participating in this laptop loan program, my computer habits were ritualized as follows: sweep thru email during second cup of coffee; check news, check blog stats, open Face Book. Leave FB open to hear notifications of liking or commenting or sharing something or somebody on the opposite side of the planet. Wash the morning dishes while attempting to ignore two or more FB notifications. Check FB to see what the notifications were, sweep email accounts again, check stats on my blog, and check two other blogs which I follow (Paul Krugman, Moyers and Company) to read latest postings or recommended sites. Make lunch: Pacifico-guacamole, Pacifico-Mexican seasoned peanuts, or the low-cal version, just a Pacifico. Return to laptop and repeat the morning protocols. At the arrival of 2:30 p.m. sharp; I open Skype, alter my status to “Do not disturb” and engage in my siesta. Back on the move at 4p.m. sweep accounts, check stats, and scan worldly events transpiring in the past ninety minutes. Feed Nikki, feed me, either in-house or out-house, Skype the wife, pull up Netflix and retire for the evening after making coffee for the following morning. This is my life. Now for four days, everything between my second cup of coffee and feed Nikki vanishes.

What occurs during this now vacuous eight hour block? ? ? ? ? ?  ?  I retrieve a National Geographic book on photography which I had not touched in eight weeks; I give the house a thorough cleaning. I give Nikki a bath, trim her nails and medicate her skin; I practice my guitar for the first time in five months; I put my camera in my pocket whenever I depart and photograph (or do people say “pix” these days?) scenes which complement the children’s series I am writing. I re-learn the numbers from 2 to 9; before my life was beseiged by 0s and 1s. I experience the liberation of Andy Dufresne in ShawShank Redemption. (ok, that’s a bit over the top)

Much is published recently regarding establishing home No Device Zones or No Device Times. This great French video clip poignantly and pictorially addresses this issue (http://www.youtube.com/embed/V_gOZDWQj3Q?rel=0). Give it some thought.  Who knows what you might discover? “Don’t cost nothing.” (John Belushi, Animal House) Oh yes, thank you Emma!

Commercial Break

BRING SAND!!!!! 

Bits n Bobs

It was a diverse week in Yelapa. Four spectacular sunny days, followed by a gray intruder, then another sunny fellow and lastly intermittent grey-sunny-clear-sprinkles. I was totally confused, but alas my threshold may be ever-so-slightly lower than most.

Our little bay also provided shelter to a diverse collage of visitors. Early on a young hump-back whale passed deep into Yelapa Bay and appeared to befriend a sailboat at anchor. The onboard canine became intimidated and sounded the alert. The owners, perhaps enjoying an early morning cup of java, failed to heed the call. Those of us observing the event wondered if this might not be the adolescent born two years prior just off the southern point of our bay. Following its birth, mother and charge remained in that secure site for nearly a week, all in front of the appreciative eyes of locals and visitors alike.  

        

We also provided safe harbor to seven world-class sailboats. These were not the casual day sailing vessels which inhabit the marinas al norte. These are serious sailors aboard beautiful boats equipped with solar panels, wind turbines and long range communication devices. These are forty to fifty foot vessels commanded by a man and woman who appear to be well-seasoned at their task and mature in their nature.  They treat their surrounds and their hosts with warm respect. Their departure was as skilled and silent as their arrival. Such visitors are always welcomed. 

On a darker side, two outboard motors were removed from local pangas during the night early in the week. Conversation returns regarding re-installing a high intensity light to oversee the bay at night. A year back, one was installed but following a two week engagement was removed once complaints surfaced from bayside residents who felt the light to be intrusive. I sense this activity, removing and redeploying of personal assets, is a fairly fluid one among the seaside villages of Bay of Banderas. Boats, engines, motos, scooters, jet skis, etc. are bought and sold for cash. Few questions if any are asked; ownership documentation may not be an issue. Such transactions are a fact of life. Moving on.

Many of you have sounded an alarm regarding my cessation of “Commercial Breaks” for Yelapa Kayak Rentals. Allow me to explain. A full moon occurred around the first of January. Major tidal swings resulted in a large amount of sand redeploying from the base of my platform. What would be a three foot decent from my platform to the sandy beach was re-sculpted into a near ten foot drop. This action rendered the safe removal or return of equipment impossible. There is a depictive video posted on the Yelapa Kayak Rentals FaceBook page. Once Mother Nature, and her servant, the sea, return the sand I will post an update. Until then, wherever you are-----Happy Paddling, memo      

Puerto Vallarta Bound

Yelapans harbor ambivalence toward Puerto Vallarta, our big brother in the Bay of Banderas. It is the definitive adore-abhor relationship. We adore the department stores, super markets, Pemex stations, marine supply, and even the much maligned American “big box” outlets. On the other side of the peso, we abhor the crowds, the noise, the speed of language and the traffic while knowing full-well that these are the very requisites for sustaining the opportunities we adore. Alas, even in paradise confusion abounds. Once acknowledged, most of us move on.

On Monday, I needed to make such a trip. THE plan consisted of boarding the 8:30 a.m. water taxi, arriving at Los Muertos Pier around 9:45 a.m., stopping at the ATM and catching a bus to my first errand. Well, things do not always go according to plan. This was one such day. Around 8:15 a.m. the skies darkened and a gentle rain began to fall. No problem, I re-work THE plan to the 9:30 a.m. taxi. On approaching the pier, I encounter several like-planning types who in the aggregate constitute a full taxi. Following a brief pause in Quimixto, plus the obligatory stop in Boca de Tamatlan, we arrive in Vallarta near 11 a.m. My feet kick into auto-walk mode and a few moments hence I am deposited in front of the ATMs at Banorte. There is a line of pale-faced tourists, all set to load their pockets with cash and shop, shop, shop. You gotta love ‘em (and thank you for coming). My turn arrives and I enter the booth. There is a beep-beep-beep emitted by the machine. A quick scan identifies that the preceding patron neglected to extract his bank card. Now this is heady stuff, the one and a half inch by three inch piece of plastic residing in my palm could define bliss or devastation for the remainder of this chap’s visit. The card is conveyed to a gentleman in a suit sitting at a desk, inside the bank. We exchange smiles. 

A two minute walk and I arrive at the major bus stop in the Zona Romantica. The standard fare is seven pesos. That’s a deal! A raised arm signals my wish to board. The bus stops, door opens, following a quick verification of my destination I ascend the stairs, pay my fare, receive my receipt and smiles are exchanged. After twenty minutes or so, my destination appears. I exit the transport, tell the driver “thank you” and he responds with “have a good day.” No doubt, I am one of several hundred people to whom he will extend an identical comment.

My errands complete, I hail a taxi and return to Los Muertos Pier. Inside the cab, the driver proffers the usual question, “are you going to Yelapa?” I proudly disclose that I live there. He continues with sincere inquiries regarding my final destination. His chosen route zig-zags through the cobble stone defined Old Town area. We pass the large open space on the Malecon where entertainers congregate. I spy two Tourist Police in their spotless, starched white uniforms attempting to carry on a conversation. Each maneuvers a Segway; the resulting syncopated ballet is amusing to say the least. My smile greets them as we motor past. I arrive at the pier; I pay, tip and express appreciation. My efforts are met with a sincere response. We smile.

Thirty minutes remain until the “scheduled” departure to Yelapa. The pier is laden with visitors speaking a plethora of languages, walking hand-in-hand and smiling. Children of all ages squeezing the last moments out of their Winter Break dart about. Two Tourist Police on foot sprint about the pier with uncharacteristic intensity. It appears that a band of boys is utilizing the lower pier structure as their personal diving platform. The resulting show is nothing short of side-splitting. The boys swim to one area and scream, the police run to the perceived location. The boys disappear underwater to reappear at another site. They make loud noises again, the police pursue, etc. etc. etc. The entire pier population is in stitches. All laugh and smile. The Tourist Police ultimately realize the doomed nature of their pursuit and strategically retreat. Their efforts draw applause.

Our water taxi pulls into little Yelapa Bay just prior to 3 p.m. The tide has retreated so that the warm earth tones of the beach greet the incoming traveler. It occurs to me that the main beach is shaped like a huge smile. How special is that? It is the perfect ending to a great day; one of many smiles. Thank you, Puerto Vallarta.