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Bucerias....the Hemet of Mexico
My friend
Michelle never, and I mean never, goes on a “girls' vacation”. Because her
husband travels quite a bit, she cannot seem to find the time for herself.
Personally I do not have this problem. My husband travels too; jaunting hither
and there on various heli-ski trips, and let's not forget the snow cat sprees.
He has never met a mountain that disagrees with him, and his friends know he is
packed for any upcoming adventure. Craig and I often take turns traveling, due
to the latest excesses of our three teenagers. Our long-suffering nanny will put
up with the kids if we wish to go away together. I have to say that the last
time we returned from a trip, she looked a bit harried.
At long last, Michelle is able to find some free time to take a vacation with
me, her well traveled friend. There is much shuffling and postponing of events
but she manages this all with great finesse. Her boys are going to stay with my
children and our nanny. The nanny will have her work cut out for her.
For two months each year, Michelle’s parents live in Bucerias, Mexico . It is a
pleasant little fishing village, a mere thirty minute taxi ride from the
airport. Michelle’s mom and sister meet us at the airport. I look for the taxi
which will take us to our accommodations but Ethel (Michelle’s mom) says the bus
will do just fine, and it does. Am hoping for a few live chickens on the bus to
add to the colorful ride, but no such luck. Ethel says that live chickens often
travel on the bus, but not today. Maybe they only ride on the bus on Mondays, I
don’t know. After an interesting ride we arrive at the bus stop nearest to the
condo.
Find our condo to be very comfortable with an excellent view. Thankfully,
Michelle and I do not have to share a bed, as I have issues with talking and
wrestling in my sleep. Although she is too tactful to admit this, am sure
Michelle is much relieved at not sharing a bed. After looking around the area we
amble out to dinner. Michelle’s dad, Horace, has appointed himself tour guide.
He knows of a perfect little café (taco stand). I spy a few dilapidated, crooked
looking tables on the street accompanied by some plastic chairs. This is the
“restaurant”. Am wondering where on earth the chef does his food preparation,
when Horace enlightens me. He points to a rusty looking tire rim containing a
fire with a grill over the rim. This fire rim/pot is in the middle of the
sidewalk. Remembering the last time I ate from a Mexican sidewalk café, I grow
rather anxious.....I recall some intestinal distress which left me weak for
days. Our surrounding ambiance does not bode well for a healthy cooked meal.
Horace exclaims rapturously over the delights of the menu. Order what looks to
be a fairly safe entree. Taste it, and find my mouth is on fire. Vana
(Michelle’s sister) exchanges her main course with me after seeing me drink
everyone’s water. However, I must say Horace knows his cafés, as no one suffered
any ill effects.
Despite some earlier commotion, I sleep soundly through the night. Find my
friend Michelle looking rather haggard the next morning. She reports that I have
been up to my usual night-time antics. Apparently this time I have howled like a
dog in my sleep, and woken up the entire contingent of neighborhood dogs who had
howled in sympathy with me. Tell her that she should have thrown a pillow at my
head. She says she will have no problem throwing a rock at my head tonight if I
proceed with the howl-fest. Discover at breakfast that I managed to wake up the
entire household with my nocturnal yowling. Feel rather annoyed with them for
being such light sleepers, and repair to the beach.
Meet our neighbor Lee, who has a dog named Pee. Pee is named so for the obvious
reasons. Find this highly amusing, as I always love some good toilet humor. Pee
is a fine little dog and we enjoy a game of “New person who will pet me”. Pee is
a fortunate dog as his owner takes him to breakfast every Wednesday, when they
split an omelet. Earlier I was under the impression that Lee ate with a person
on Wednesday morning, but apparently he prefers the company of Pee. They also go
to a lovely beach on Tuesdays where Pee and Lee share a plate of French fries.
It is a good life for Pee.
Notice that everyone here is in a routine....walk to the beach, sun themselves
on the beach, do the day's shopping, share the newspaper, maybe find a bargain
place to dine, and walk again after dinner. Things are not much different here
than at home, excepting of course that everyone here is pretty old. Michelle,
Vana and I are the youngest people here by twenty years.
Just for laughs, I looked up the demographics of Hemet, California. I am
curious, as Hemet seems remarkably similar to Bucerias.
www.epodunk.com was my
source of information. Nice name. I don’t have any facts for Bucerias, but
judging by the people walking on the beach the statistics look to be the same
here. Widowed women outnumber widowed men by forty-seven percent. I don’t know
if there are any widowed dogs.
Not to be outdone by the transplanted locals, I begin my own routine. I find a
quaint place to have a cup of coffee each morning. Horace finds it rather
wasteful that I buy my coffee instead of making it at home. Tell him I am on
vacation and must begin my own routine. He scoffs, and I leave for my coffee
shop. Order my coffee and wait, and wait, and wait. Roaming chickens and begging
dogs keep me company. The one day that I have to be somewhere, and no coffee.
Graciously tell owner that I will come back tomorrow. He apologizes profusely
and says his espresso machine is slow. Mańana is Mexico's theme.
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