We are so outta here…

CHAPTER 11

Our trips to Mexico are mostly non-adventure vacations, unlike travelling to destinations where you’re constantly stimulated by museums, galleries, and historical sites. Over the years we’ve seen many of the prominent siites within a hundred kilometres or so of where were staying so now we have smaller goals when we rouse each day.

 

If like this time we are here for 3 weeks we will plan on about 6-7 treks beyond our walking boundaries. From Bucerias we might go to Vallarta a couple of times, the La Cruz Sunday market at least once, and to some of the beach towns within a half hour ride by bus. But the other days will find us pool lounging, sleeping on a chaise under a palapa near the ocean (Carol will almost always have a book in her hand, me with a beverage or cigar), and of course cruisin’ the beach looking for dead things to take pictures of.

Another feature of staying at a budget-friendly hotel is the revolving door of new guests to schmooze with. While you have the mainstays that return year after year and for lengthy terms some of the more interesting folks are the one-weekers who don’t have the resources for the Cadillac lifestyle that they long for and have to settle for the Yugo version with us.

This year we had surfer dude, Jay. A Californian/Hawaiian who at about 40 years old was enjoying beach life and was filled with tidbits of info regarding the ocean and related atmosphere. Although he was solo for most of his stay he did manage to conjoin with a lovely woman from another continent for his last few days. Where he was wearing a forlorn expression at first he left us positively beaming and we felt like proud parents waving a parting goodbye to him after his awakening.

Then we had Dewey. A 60ish, newly single, guy from Saltspring Island where we had just visited in 2016. Dewey, surprisingly, was not his given name. In fact it was Huey but his toddler nephew (who probably had a lisp) hadn’t been able to wrap his lips around an ‘H’ yet and the family thought it too cute to let it go so he was branded with the moniker for his entire life. Good thing he hadn’t called him Buttbreath. While not many people I know would warm to being defined by a 4-tooth, diaper-wearing blob of fat Dewey was cut from a deeper mold than most and used his name as an ice-breaker when meeting fellow vacationers.

Dewey and I had a few misadventures together, one being the previously mentioned closing down of Yo Yo Mo’s and having to scale a wall and railing to return home. But another time we bumped into each other at the Drunken Duck, a thoroughly invigorating establishment with a daily dose of evening rock and roll entertainment, waiters who would sit and share beers with feminine customers at the cost of the male counterparts. This required either extreme shouting above the band noise to get their attention or buying multiples of your preferred libation.

The previous afternoon I had sat with Dewey under a palapa and he was telling me of his previous night’s escapade. He had met a lovely woman of the skanky persuasion and wore an ear to ear grin as he spoke of her tenderness and compassion of meeting their mutual needs. Surprisingly they had met at the Drunken Duck while she was doing the Sexy Chicken on the bartop with 3 other revelers. It was a scene that I witnessed several times. On my one attempt to mount the bar I had been elbowed out of the way by a feisty 55 year old named Darlene who felt there was only room for one of us. For me it was 7 years of boogaloo dance lessons wasted. While I stood close to the action wondering (hoping) that the slippery landscape might be her undoing she shimmied and twerked her way through most of one set to raucous applause (from herself ) until I found my hand empty and looked for a waiter to shout at.

One last time Dewey and I were discussing the benefits of Rolaids and Imodium, under the same palapa when we were joined by one of the few Americans who frequented our humble hotel. His name was Michael and I joined him in conversation several times previously, focusing wholly on his job, family, and interests and not a word of my predicament.

In true US fashion he knew nothing about Canada and smugly commented that we ‘foreigners’ (not realizing what an insult that he so casually sent our way) shouldn’t worry about the current president as he has everything running on the proper course.  I consider myself well-versed in most things American as I hoover up as much info about our southern neighbors from many different ‘fake news’ outlets as I can until my brain is ready to explode. Dewey and I played a five minute game of Enlighten the Yank until Michael, in a huff, tried to remove himself from our company but being of US contour couldn’t get his fat ass out of his lawn chair and I had to boost him up from his posterior area to unwedge him and speed him along to friendlier confines where he might find a like-waisted compatriot to complain to. Confrontation was the last thing that we wanted but we felt we had to stand up for the ‘free world’ verses the lobbyist version which rules the great US of A.

There were many more interesting encounters which will no doubt become fodder for future stories but I’ll quit while I’m ahead.

Of course the deepest bonds forged were with D & D while we shared our suite with them. This was only the second time that Carol and I had shared accommodations with anyone (the other being Ted, who is a brother from a different mother, and the lovely, graceful, multilingual Veronica).

It’s painfully obvious  to everyone that Donna and Carol share the same parentage as they have similar traits (wine, the love of a good book/blog, thriftiness, and of course wine). Dale is just what he appears to be.  A hulking figure with a no-nonsense attitude for fools (present company excepted), accomplished vintage bike restorer, who’s developing a palate for scotch, and shares my passion for all things (almost all things) agave. He also has a host of bike friends who would not hesitate to eat a chicken raw or stuff some a-holes head into a toilet and flush. Needless to say he is my guardian when we venture out to liquid-pouring establishments where my bravado is matched only by the quantity of margaritas consumed.

We had a great time together and look forward to the next installment. Speaking of which, this is the final chapter in the ‘Dennis and Carol”s Excellent Adventure’, Bucerias version.

For the 6 people that followed along, ‘muchas gracias’. For the other 32 people who I sent the link to and didnt respond than you should check out the updated Glossary page under the masthead.