Posted by Linda on October 07, 2001 at 13:27:29:
9/28 - DAY 7: We spend a good part of the morning looking for the condo where our new best friends, the honeymooners, were staying. They offered us the use of their boogie boards today while they go on a fishing trip. Unfortunately, last night's margaritas turned my brain to Teflon and I can't remember the directions, only the name of the place. It's on Playa Madera, a small enough area - no one we ask has heard of it. How do you hide a condo? Hubby has a "curses, foiled again" look; he really wanted a boogie board. The odds are improving that he will return home to Oakland in one piece.
We sort of swam for the rest of the day. That meant ducking under a wave, coming up for a gasp of breath before ducking under the next one. Hubby likes playing hide-and-seek with the waves ... he can hold his breath a whole lot longer than I can. I return to shore to read, looking up intermittently to make sure his bobbing head is still there. It is: ... head... no head; head... no head ... head ... okay, he's fine. I go back to my book.
We went into town early evening. It's drizzling now and there is a fiesta in the plaza. We've missed some of the festivities, but see a lot of blue teenagers milling about. Not blue as in sad -- I mean literally blue, painted head to toe; some of it is washing off in the rain, making little azure puddles on the cement. Now there are Tahitian dancers in the plaza doing the hula, and I forgot my camera again, dammit. I wonder how the giraffes & camels fit into this. I'm still wondering.
We went to eat at La Sirena Gorda, a place I almost snobbily dismissed as too touristy. Hubby saw fish tacos al pastor on the menu and swept me into the restaurant. He ordered it, I ordered fish brochettes oregano, and when we took the first bites, we almost swooned. We had another order of each. The brochettes are made with ahi tuna, perfectly grilled. I am in such heaven, finishing the last savory bite of it, that I commit the most supremely clumsy, uncoordinated act I have ever executed: I bite my tongue -- hard. And not on the side, mind you, not a tiny nip on the tip -- no, I've somehow managed to make a deep triangular incision IN THE MIDDLE OF MY TONGUE!! (Thank god I finished eating.)
I'm afraid to open my mouth and my husband is asking me what's wrong. "I mmit my nnung."
"What?" he says, "I can't understand you."
"I mmit my nnung." I try again.
"Huh?" So I open my mouth and show him. He faints.
Okay, I'm exaggerating, but it was bad. Hubby is gesturing wildly at our waiter, who may not understand his rapid-fire English, but he does understand panic, and the word "ice." I, unfortunately, am rendered mute. I sucked on pieces of ice until we got to the hotel and I could examine it in the mirror. It looks like I caught my tongue on a barbed wire fence! Do I need a stitch in it? Maybe I should just finish the job and pierce it -- after all, I live in the Bay Area, I could hang. At any rate, this put a serious damper on our lovey-dovey last night in Zihua plans. It finally stopped bleeding and the only thing to do was sleep.
9/29 - DAY 8: It's raining again. A good hard storm with lots of thunder and lightning. I get up before dawn to watch it, and to stretch our last day out as long as possible. I go the mirror to check out my wound. My tongue is black as a Chow dog's. I show Hubby -- big mistake. Since then, I have endured several new nicknames, such as "Linda Blair," "Rosemary's Baby's cousin," "Hecuba," ad nauseum.
By 9 a.m. we are having breakfast at Restaurant Elvira. It's still pouring. We like swimming in the rain, but no gentle surf came with the storm; the sea is still rough. The tide is coming in, so high now that water is splashing over the restaurant's sandbag borders, flooding the first few tables. We sit near the back and look out at La Ropa. My god, it's beautiful.
We go back for a dip in the hotel pool and the sad task of packing up to leave. Goodbye to Ema, we had a wonderful stay, thank you so much, we'll be back soon!
One last stop in downtown Zihua. I try to shop at the mercado, but I can't, and feel like a bad visitor. I know the vendors are hurting in low season, but imagine this: park your car in the sun for an hour, then sit in it...there is no air conditioning, only vents that blow hot air back at you. Imagine your car is the market. That's what shopping feels like in summer. At least we make the food/beverage community happy. My husband never met a Mexican waiter he didn't like, and 20% is too small a tip. He is a wonderful man.
Time to check in. The airport waiting lounge is like a reunion. Most of us recognize each other and ask the same question, "How was your trip?" One couple is from a town near us, on their honeymoon. Hubby knows one of his co-workers. They stayed in Ixtapa at an all-inclusive and had a great time. Another couple had a great time but the woman had to be medically treated for huge red welts that appeared all over her body. She was fine now; tanned & no complaints. A couple from Seattle wanted the name and address of Villas Ema & I gave them its business card.
As we ascended, we pasted our faces to the window, trying to locate Barra de Potosi. We did so, easily, and from the air saw what must be the turtle beach, stretching for miles to the south. One last simultaneous sigh from the both us as we soared out of viewing range. I turned away from the window, coming nose to nose with my husband. We kissed. "Next time, honey," he said, "we'll go there next time."