Monday, Wednesday, Tuesday- Surf, Paddle, Snorkle, Surf, Eat

One quick housekeeping issue: I started writing this blog a day behind and after a couple of days in the Mexican time space continuum I can no longer attest that anything I write is in chronological order. I’ve also started wearing bronzing cream in the hopes that I will fit in better in my adopted country. I also apologize in advance for the annoying habit I’ll have of using my now expanded vocabulary of 8 Spanish words whenever I can.

I also want to let everyone who’s been worried about our personal safety here in Mexico that it finally happened. We were assaulted but everything is ok.

Now, we weren’t assaulted in the traditional sense and it didn’t happen at the hands of my Mexican brothers although it’s not like it couldn’t have happened.

Half the fun, ok maybe most of the fun, has been taking the opportunity to live as much as we can in the town and not in our hotel. We were driving by this monstrosity of a half built development when I asked Jesse what the Mexicans think of this stuff. He said it was a complicated issue. On the one hand development brings jobs and economic benefits but on the other had it often shuts out Mexicans from being able to enjoy their own country. The town of Punta Mita used to be in what is now the Four Seasons development. They moved the whole town to the other, less desirable part of the peninsula and effectively closed the best beaches to the locals. We’ve stayed at the Four Seasons. It’s really nice but it ain’t Mexico. There are no dogs there and the clocks work.

Hermosa Chica Surfista is training for a marathon so I picked a place to stay that had a treadmill so she could keep running during the week. Of course we get here and the treadmill doesn’t work. Which was irritating. We went through the options. We could order one from Dick’s and have it shipped here. Not going to happen. We could find another one in Mexico that doesn’t work. Highly likely but still a problem. Or, she could run through and outside of town.

I wasn’t going to run with Hermosa Chica Surfista but I did want to keep her company. She was going to do her four mile run while I followed behind walking in sandals.

Whenever you go somewhere there’s an internal scale that ranges from completely comfortable, like when you go to a friend’s house, to a little uncomfortable, like at a dinner where there’s awkward silences, to “holy shit what am I doing here and when am I getting out of here?” Or, at least that’s where I thought the scale stopped. It actually goes further to “Holy shit, there’s a rooster in everyone’s yard!”

But, it turned out to be really cool because, you know, it’s Mexico. Everything right turns out a little wrong and everything wrong is actually a little right. I’m sure it was just as weird for the school kids on their way to school and people waiting on the highway for the bus to see some white dude in a visor and flip flops go strolling by. You got a stone face stare but if you said “Hola” or Buenas dias” first it was like you met a new best friend. I’m sure it was my awesome spanish. Well, that and my bronzing.

FYI, on her run the Chica got to see her favorite canines doing their thing. Hmmm. Let’s see. Dogs can’t see color and these two can’t stop having sex. I’m betting large that there’s a Spanish version of “Fifty Shades of Grey” somewhere in Punta Mita.

We went back to Litibu which was the beginner’s beach and this time were were actually prepared. We knew what the drill was and we knew what to expect. Plus, we had water because I might have been dehydrated. We spent a solid two hours in the water catching wave after wave. What’s crazy about surfing is that the hardest part is not actually surfing. The Chica Surfista and I probably had a little head start. We snowboard and paddleboard and I wakesurf so the whole balance and moving the board thing came pretty quickly. What’s hard as hell is paddling and picking the right wave.

It’s so much different than snowboarding that way. When you learn how to snowboard you’re basically learning how to slow and control the energy that results when gravity meets snow. And although there are steeper parts of a hill and parts where the snow may be a little more icy, those two things are constant and usually consistent.

Not so with surfing. You have to propel yourself with enough force and at the right time to then tap into the energy of the wave and each wave is different. Once you get the wave the hard part is done.

Which is why it’s is so damn fun when you do catch a wave.

Except it made me nauseous. It turns out I wasn’t dehydrated.

Have you ever really, really wanted to go out with someone and, once you did, had a great time but there was just something that wasn’t right? Have you ever gone out with them a second time and in the middle of talking with them thought to yourself “Wow, I wish I didn’t know that about her” or “I hope she doesn’t laugh because it hurts my ears.”

My hot new mistress was making me seasick. Aarggghhhh. She’s giving me the Mexican head fake!

Our man Jesse must have sensed something was up or, more accurately, figured I was some lame ass middle aged softie because he suggested that we paddle board and snorkle the next day. I actually thought that was a pretty cool idea. And, how was I going to defend myself against him thinking I was soft? That it wasn’t that I was soft but that I got seasick when I surf? That’s like fighting the accusation of being a clown by arguing that you’re in fact not a clown but actually a mime.

Paddle boarding was cool. And so was snorkeling for that matter. We didn’t have a lot of sun so the colors weren’t as vibrant but it was fun to hang out in the coral and swim with the fish. I had never snorkeled before but I figured it was just a matter of relaxing and floating around in someone else’s neighborhood. Some of the fish check you out while most others just go about the business of being a fish. I thought it was the perfect metaphor for our trip to Mexico. I was lost in that thought when I got water in my tube and choked on some seawater. And I was reminded that the word perfect has a different meaning in Mexico.