WHERE IN THE WORLD ARE BOB AND REUEL? ... AND WHO ARE THIS BOB AND REUEL ANYWAY

2014. JUNE 6-27. PUERTO VALLARTA



FRIDAY, JUNE 6.  Same old, same old. My joke of the morning, "Just read last year's Puerto Vallarta blog, or of the year before or . . ." if you want to know what R&B did on their newest summer vacation. That's the point really. Other trips are new adventures, forays by us into the previously unknown, like Thailand or Bali or Slovenia or Russia or Africa or China or new discoveries in schedule-filled trips to oft-visited locales like New York or London. But PV is a comfortable old friend, designed for relaxation, sun, sand, and all that jazz. Of course there may be some new nuances and surprises and I'll relate them here but as we sit here at Gate 17 awaiting our 10 am flight (even a more civilized hour to suit the mood) I vow to read the earlier blogs on the flight so that we may do favorite things in favorite places once again. The baggage lady says "make sure you find a swim up bar". "Swum up many times" is the reply.
I swear I hear "passenger Colton Ford" and we remember the porn star with that name we hired to entertain at our Villa Resort (though he sang his one disco dance song and refused to even take off his shirt for the assembled old guys who didn't come to hear him sing). Friend and veteran gay entertainer Danny told us that's the typical trajectory for porn stars who think they can transition to stardom as singers or actors but then flame out into careers in drugs and alcoholism. Anyway I'm keeping my eye open for the fabulous Colton, probably still a knockout at 50.
No sign of that aging porn guy but we are rewarded for our virtue and allowed to board first because we have no overhead luggage. (New policy Alaska Air. Bravo.) There are very few of us light travelers including a lovely couple also in Row 9 with whom I share laughs as they share their Sani-wipes with us (“We're very Howard Hughes”, he declares). "Wipe your button" I say to Bob. Laughs abound.
My companions are Larry and Mickey, first timers to PV. They evince some interest in the old PV blog photos I show them and ask questions about their marina all-inclusive location until I have to confess we pretty much are happy staying in a condo in the Romantic Zone, where our routine is not all-inclusive.
We zip through (there's the literal Mexican green light for our "family" luggage) and ignore the time share vendor types. The "authorized" Taxi is $26. That seems more expensive than before. Are there more ultra modern condo projects in the Marina? Or so it seems.But, always a “but”. I don't know the internet password and Gary G’s, the owner's, notes are missing. Desk and then Gary reveals that it's dorado1234 for future reference. R e l a x.Though the jam box is not fully charged we locate some furious jazz on The martinis seem to be having an effect. Bob blames it on the heat. Despite that we decide we're brave and will go to Bohemio's, around the corner, for dinner, a first night ritual.
2 for 1 mojitos at Bohemio's. Same maître'd, no other customers. R of course the Fajitas Fabulosas chicken beef and shrimp 139pesos = $10.39 most expensive dish on the menu. Me likee. Our 2 for ones mojitos are actually delicious. Then vegetable soup. Pretty good actually. Saul, the owner, knows his clientele--the salsa is not challenging. Bobs chicken satay. I like it. B thinks the peanut flavoring is not strong enough however but finally admits the red sauce helps a lot. Agree.
Let them buy bread and ice cream at the XOXO mini-mart on the corner.
Getting into the real PV for us on our balcony with the ice cream, the sky and sea pyrotechnics and jambox jazz and classic broadway music as accompaniment and remembering why we love this place.
SATURDAY, JUNE 7. Sleeping forever. Well not forever (let's not rush things). We did remember that the bed is firm but comfortable enough to accommodate this kind of sloth. Up at 8:30, though it's really 6:30, "in time for Jill," Bob reminds, of our San Diego Saturday morning aerobics instructor.
Breakfast of toast buttered and peanut buttered is fine for Al fresco dining, accompanied by the insistent music of the surf. Bob, coffee vanquished, reads from last year's Puerto Vallarta notes as I sip my infused tea of anonymous herbal ingredients, a dab of white, a pinch of jasmine, a who-knows-which plant pod, grain or spice.
At this point a reviewer would say, "prolix, can't help being 'long-winded' " (the phrase one tired reader of the blog applied with frank justification). But there is no reviewer really, except Bob who edits out those sentiments he deems potentially offensive to friends and family. So prolix away Reuel.
It's 11 am and we are finally ready to venture forth to the Saturday market, Bob's reusable bag from Java Indonesia in hand. We say hello to Marcia the jewelry lady and buy a loaf of multigrain from the bread guy but the market is diminished, fewer vendors. What's going on? Back with our bread and to get a larger bag for Mikey's. Lost in the street maze a bit. I just follow I assure Bob.
We're greedy at upscale Mikey's. Salmon, chicken breasts, wild rice and carrot salads, country pâté, eggs, galettes, brownies, mini tarte. 643 pesos. $49.75 and then at our favorite wine store, $25 for 3 bottles of white wine of unquestioned pedigree.
We pass the flower shop owned by the gay chorus founder who our San Diego Gary (as opposed to Gary Gist, the condo owner) informed us no longer conducts. Perhaps we should go this year if they've found someone who can at least lead two part harmony though likely less than "singing in the twain". (However the signs advertising a concert are nowhere to be seen.) We pass the massage guys who regard us with leaden eyes but don't solicit us today probably as Bob opines because we, laden with our recyclable shopping bags, look "less" like tourists.
We're hell bent on lunching at Daiquiri Dick's today so I review with Bob, from the invaluable diaries, choices we've had there in the past.
We note our responsibility for tomorrow. The Tony's are on at 7 Mexican (Central) time, red carpet at 6. We've got to manage the schedule. Can do. Must do.
Bob: "Yes a small salad is plenty. Good too. Lots of chicken." and after my estimate of the mahi mahi he says "Not your tuna salad wrap?" “Nup." And I get a "doggie" out of it too. Heaven is paradise enough.
I take a photo of a group of young men explaining that the setting is spectacular if I crop. "Too bad there's no volcano erupting" says B. Bob asks for la quenta "badly," he says remorsefully. R,. "No. Apparently it was understood by the English speaking server."
Home 2:15 what now? Bob's for no beach today and won't have me swim after 2 martinis. WelI I never. Well I have.
Lola knocks at the door ready to clean. She. "Come esta?"" Muy bien. " "Muy caliente." "Si." But she lives in PV and should know better.
Indolence defined. I sit on our balcony, vacation sounds in the background while my iPhone, tuned to the semi-engrossing Debbie Reynolds bio ("it's perfect vacation reading," I justify to Bob) rests on my now rather softer belly. Bob meanwhile has found a napping perch in the living room.
We decide that today cocktail hour will be at 6. Brave abstainers.
As to din din, our h'ors deuvres on our incredible patio seem sufficient.
You're a Boswell to your own life he says when I ask about a clever line re. our supper. But where's that line? Where's that line? I'm outraged. He says that's genuinely pathetic. No. It was funny. It was witty. Wish I could remember. We do think the El Dorado restaurant below us is a center if you will for musical events--hey do we ever know that from our Palm Springs producer forays in theatre and cabaret--but not sure if it will engage now that the restaurant seems closed. TBD.
As the sun sets, how right that we decide to walk along the malecon, with it's great but not annoying hordes, consisting of no gringos enjoying the blandishments except those few wealthy white people dining at La Palapa and Si Signor. That's it. Around 9 and just past the river Bob determines that there's "a weather system" and we turn back to a light and not unpleasant drizzle.
So here we are innocently watching TV and suddenly there's an explosion. It's a fabulous fireworks display right in front of us. Ringside. Wow. Why? We can't figure it out. But that's what we get.
Not to be severely outdone, there's a show next door. I call Bob's attention to these three entertainer guys dancing together.
SUNDAY JUNE 8.  It's raining this morning here in da jungle and the mist over the ocean is languidly atmospheric (more aptly, liquidly atmospheric). We've had at least 9 hours of sleep so are ready for another day of relaxation though Fareed Zachariah in his Sunday rant insists the world is fraught with danger. We're destined to perish in any number of diplomatically vetted ways. And then his guest, the president of a country consisting of 32 atolls near Fiji declares that his nation will be engulfed and "annihilated” because of climate change. Should we be worried? More to the matter, on our mission to travel the world, should we plan to visit Fiji before it's too late?
These programs in the morning, including Reliable Sources and State of the Union make me feel informed, sharper for an old guy though when I shout at images of John McCain denouncing administration international policy "Shut up you f##% f@##!", "very articulate," is Bob's understandable response as he calmly continues to communicate with his hand-held. I go on disparaging O'Reilly and Hannity on their response to Sgt. Bergdahl's parents. "Are you finished talking to the television?" "Talking to both of you. You and the television. And neither is listening." So there.
From inside the bowels of stores as we wend our way to the river we hear shouts of "Hey guys". (So nice to be wanted). "They have eyes like microchips," says Bob.
River Cafe. Both of us have views. Good to ask for what you want "by the cuale". A flying turtle is our neighbor (sculpture). Place full of natives. It's their time to visit PV (and also for good reasons is it R&B's). The first Margueritas arrive but will not be
I feel something crawling up my shirt. Is it an iguana?? It's a little child from the adjacent big Mexican family table celebrating tearing grand grandmama’s birthday, I'm guessing. There are not many gringos here. ("Would that be us?" asks B.) I think we are especially catered to. They know where their taco is buttered.
Of the buffet, everything is really really good. The green thing, the off white thing, and the mushrooms covered in something orange.
A crow poaches a sugar packet on an adjoining table and flies away immediately. Once you got something, protect it! The crows know. (Better than we did.)
Bob (Not moi it should be noted) orders another round. I tell him the attribution (blame) will be recorded. He says it's ok, we'll take a nap. We do agree this is a great place to spend time, its atmosphere, it' location, the vibe.
We get to Louise Lasser of Mary Mary and Woody Allen fame (we're older than you) because I pretend that I'm diving into this third Marguerita and a character in that wonderful show drowned in a bowl of chicken soup; the question is do we spend the day here or stagger home in the midday sun.
I take a picture of Bob and say he looks cute. He asks "Who is that old man?" I say he looks cute to me and that's all that matters. I say that sometimes I look like an old man to myself and sometimes, for example when I look in the mirror while dancing at the gym, I look young to myself. What to make of that? Best to avoid thinking about it and use better face creams. (Joke?)
I appreciate that my wallet doesn't pry easily from my pocket but at $3 the Marguerita it feels not so much lighter. Verdict to cute maître’d (he'd vowed to close tomorrow if we didn't like our food). "Stay open."
Malecon guy selling tatoo transfers. "No." "Maybe blow?" Did he say that, asks an incredulous Bob. Si. It's a city of entrepreneurs.
On the way back we buy a couple of Guadalupe wines at $9 each. And at the various emporia catering to "our" Romantic zone, we select intellectual reading matter consisting of lists of the gay bars, not any of whose doors we will darken - again. I should not disparage. We paid dearly for such stateside adverts when we as purveyors had those kinds of venues on offer.
Home by 2:45 I ask Bob how shall we spend our day. "Rest. In here out there." And he promptly finds his place on the balcony. True, we need to preserve our strength for our personal national holiday, the Tony's.
I think that if we died here, people would say "at least they expired in their favorite place." Listen you. First of all We don't plan to die. And should some date be determined to be "our time", I don't think we get a choice of location. But, yeah, if a weighty palm frond should happen to fall on us here we could have a worse end. I guess these thoughts are encouraged by our living on Los Muertos Beach and passing by shops featuring ghastly smiling figures of death. Or getting old, you just think about making hay while there's plenty of sunshine.
The beach drummers interrupt my nap so I'm constrained to rise and dance. Shake the shoulders, kick the legs, shimmy what's left of my "bony ass" (our inimitable trainer Rocco's term for it). I encourage Bob to join in and he shakes a shoulder and an ass, but the drumming stops. "Saved, " I say. But that's truly unfair. I think the man was ready.
As we get ready for the big tv event, Bob finds a music video featuring a group of cute mariachis humping a fake cow, the video introduced by, in Bob's appraisal, a "slut". The Mexican men like their women ostentatiously sexy and their women it seems are happy to comply. Sounds right. Am I being sexist or uniquely qualified to say live and let live. Switching channels we're appropriately annoyed that most of the programs are in Spanish. We even have to guess what's going on in Sex In the City (much less a problem in the English version). On that other hand we do get CNN CBS NBC HEADLINE NEWS KRLA 5 LA so we're not bereft of "down home".
Time to forage for our pizza at our favorite specializing joint, La Pizza Nostra, down the block so we can get back in time for "the event." Only to find it's 60 minutes instead of a red carpet. If only I'd read last year's notes I would have known that. But those notes also reveal that last year's pizza was $8.90 not today’s $18.57 (240 pesos) for a large deluxe. What's going on? La Palapa's 3 course is 350 pesos up from last year's 250. It's not as if there's a crowd, only one melancholy couple at the pizzeria and high-spirited us waiting for our take-out.
Tip. Next year pack fewer clothes but more premium vodka. We've gone through one of our two rum runner containers even though Bob is having white wine for his cocktail tonight.
Talk about bad news. 60 Minutes reveals that we are a cosmic roulette wheel and can be hit by an asteroid that would wipe us all out (ref. Dinosaurs). Ok, in one Sunday we get Farrid prophesying geopolitical destruction and 60 Minutes foretelling geophysical chaos.
Hugh Jackman. What an amazing man! "I'm right behind Neal Patrick Harris and that's illegal in13 states."
"Give me a doggy bag. Take Me home." Aladdin.
"Gentlemen's Guide To Murder" number we agree won't sell tickets. Bob cautions me not to fall asleep but I'm ready for the denouements.
MON JUNE 9.  Eating my perfect almost frittata and toasted slice of that wonderful bread loaf at 9:15.yes that's late but that's life in the slow lane that is PV. It's a good thing the maid doesn't arrive until the afternoon because we seem to have a hard time meeting the day (as in getting on with it). So It's 11:30 before we set forth. Actually the phone rang and a voice asked if the maid had arrived. Huh? I tell Bob I'm not going to worry about it. "I have enough not to worry about." Cute but I know when we get back to San Diego we'll have 3 vacancies to rent. Next. Also just before we left I noticed that I managed to delete in Word my almost completed script for a musical for gay choruses I've called “Stonewall Chorus” (self explanatory). Next. Ah here's Lola ready to polish and scrub.
On the way to Fit Club the travel vendors shout at us. “Been on the gay cruise?” “No.” “Why not?” Staircase wit would have me reply that it’s because we're straight. But keep walking. Shouts. “Come back. I have important information.” Walk. “In two days there's a hurricane from Lima.” Walk? “Stop on the way back?” “Yes.” We decide we'll return along the beach to avoid whatever scam he wants to embroil us in. But one is curious as to how an impending hurricane in Peru would lure us into signing up for a sea trip.
Got the year-valid 30 day pass for 2500 p ($193) which we can share. Beats 2 15-day passes but Fit is expensive. This June there's only one Zumba class a week and that's during cocktail hour. No way. Maybe we'll try the step or TRX in the morning. Right now there are 2 students in a pump class with beefy Salvador and they seem to be doing a hundred overhead prone reps. Don't know.
Feeling almost neglected on the way back when the vendors ignore us. And even after our stop for a few necessities like martini olives in the neighborhood grocery Lola is still at it (she works hard) and we are forced to sit on the condo community terrace which overlooks the bay. Such privation.
Searching all over for my goggles. Didn't I pack them? (I also neglected to pack my razor. This is getting serious.) aaaaaa. A neighborhood farmacia yields a pair at 100p, better than my usual luck when I need to find goggles here.



Everything's as remembered over the years. The only novelty is a guy being propelled in a jet stream-a la futurism--from which he dives. Quite the athletic spectacle. Bob is sure he's a shill to entice us, though at that he won't succeed. Perhaps if we were 40 years younger, even though I'll bet we're probably in better shape now (although it could be the Marguerita that's wagering).
Bob asks me how the water is after my second outing. "Gorgeous." It is.
Beyond us an attractive young troubadour is balefully serenading a group of men while one of them is having his feet massaged. That's too much attention for the likes of us. And after my final swim, we're back home by 4:30.
"In True bachelorette fashion ." I’m trying to decipher the semiotics of that phrase. But you watch popular tv, you gotta go with the tainted flow.
Ok feed our obsession with Hilary info and speculation. She's promoting her book and we're being fed. And to bed.
TUES JUNE 10. PV As we sip our hot liquids on our balcony, Bob tells me that "you missed quite a light show last night." Not a man-made one this time but lightning filling up the distant sky with its pyrotechnics. "Better than fireworks," he confides. I of course was slumbering peacefully in our rather frosty (as in over air conditioned) bedroom, rising in the middle of the night to finish Debbie Reynold's engrossing autobiography, Unsinkable, on my iPhone. What a life she had and I certainly empathized when she recounts needing to auction off the old hotel she invested so much of her savings and hopes in where she produced successful performances in a desert theatre she built but learned that among other adversities her employees were systematically stealing from her. Um. Sounds familiar? I regret not telling her when we saw her as performer, raconteur and fellow guest in the buffet lines on an RSVP cruise about our similar circumstances as proprietors of The Villa Resort in Palm Springs.
Ah it's 9:15 and the last of the yoga practitioners on the catwalk below have rolled up their mats and are leaving. It's an overcast morning but as it does in San Diego we expect the sun to start peeking through later.
The big news today is the launch of H. Clinton's campaign, I mean for her book sales.
As we walk to Fit, we pass the food tour guide from last year lecturing his group (better than the group of two we were last year). The cast of characters never seems to change in PV. We recognize all the service people, all the vendors. There's that certainty here. And maybe job security is more prized south of the border than in rich America.
Relearning the routine at Fit when we arrive at 11:30. Trade your license for a key to a locker. Bring towels next time.
While on the elliptical I note that the yoga class doesn't look too outré, no spine tingling contortions. Maybe next time.
On the beach Omar serves us with silverware and crockery plates "for my friends". Bob’s chicken nuggets are a bit too lightly battered for his taste though there's nice peanut sauce for dipping. I like my seafood salad, wish there was a bit more seafood, but the octopus bits are better prepared than San Diego gourmet restaurant Juniper and Ivy, nice cilantro saucing, all accompanied by a couple of Tecate lights in an ice bucket. We're presented with the perfect beach picnic.
Post swim I realize the Robert Gates account of his Obama years, the one where he calls Biden a fool, that I thought I'd downloaded doesn't appear to have been. Oh well I guess I'll stare at the sea.
Next to us are 2 Mexican guys and what we decide is a sex change gal. It's the thin hips, and large hands that offer the clue. And then the voice. And "tatoos left over from when she was the All Mexican boy," opines Bob.
"No gracias." Of the vendors Bob says, "All they do is walk back and forth hitting up the same people hoping you would have changed your mind, that a great bird will have swooped down and snatched your sunglasses." That being from the point of view of the sunglasses purveyor. Or, I think, a mind altering drug purchased from the pipe purveyor boy could have persuaded us to buy a blanket with Freda Kalo’s unibrow countenance on it. At least the trio next door purchase bags of taco chips on which the vendor pours salt, hot sauce and squeezes lime. No gracias, no Freda, no chochkes, but maybe we'll submit to this local treat one day.
Home at 4 entering by the beach entrance. That lady in the bottom beach unit who works at her laptop all day is there, the one I like to think is a novelist. Same cast. Discover that Iraq is in chaos, that a terrorist group is taking over the country. So much wasted. Thanks George, Dick and Donald.
We hear about the latest Donald Sterling owner turnabout. I say that I admire in a way this bigot because he's a bloodthirsty businessman taking no prisoners which I never could. Bob says you're pretty good. But I say that's been our problem. And Bob has always taken the moral, humanistic option. He says, you think I'm a failure. Answer. No I've given you the greatest compliment: you're a moral man.

9:45 I'm in bed.
WED JUNE 12.
In a reversal from our San Diego habit in the morning, PV Bob is up and at 'em before I am, sitting today on the balcony drinking his coffee and waiting for me before he cuts the bread and makes the toast. I am able to create a terrific breakfast for myself with those ingredients from Mikey's, salsa and salads for the egg mix.

INGREDIENTS FOR R'S EGG FRITATA

Lola is cleaning when we return so we decide to go out for lunch. At Coco's, around the corner, we ask to see the wine list. He says Si which he heard for See. It was clear they had to find an English speaker. But since there were at least five servers standing around, no problemo. A $23 Chardonnay is drinkable. Bob notes that this season not a single mango is falling on the roof as they did last year--we thought it was rainless thunder at first. Also this season there seems to be much more rain. Bob says that I again missed a storm last night.
Bob's Visa card is being rejected everywhere today and we get back to a report from Don that the bank's fraud division has questions about a Sunday charge. Bob spends forever on the phone clearing it up. Apparently usbank didn't recall that Bob notified them that we'd be in Mexico. Hmm.

SQUEEZE THAT TOE

With all the mishigas including lunch-igas we're not at the beach until 2:30. Fine. The sea again is pretty pacific. (It is the Pacific ha ha). Many vendors have padded by and endured our rejection with equanimity. I say I'll go for one last swim--it's 4 o'clock. Bob agrees. I say and then what. We'll go home. We'll have drinks and you'll pass out. Sounds like a plan I say. In bed on HomeAway discovering that we have the best deal in PV. Then the lights go out. On soon but I run out to the balcony. Where Bob lives. It's raining as it has been at night since we've been here and it's beautiful.
Today at Fit Club after some elyptical and treadmill I try Paul'sThe debate about whether there's enough for lunch at home or we'll have it on the beach is settled when Bob prepares a plate of Waldorf salad, a rice salad and chicken breast courtesy Mikey's. Click click glass of wine. Then the topper of multigrain and cream cheese. He wins the debate hands down.

HERE'S TO THE LADIES WHO SELL.

We decide on the way to the beach--quite late because Dr. Phil has fraudulently inveigled me in with a publicity seeking mother and slut daughter she-said she-said episode--that everyone in PV knows your name. I'm "Hey" and Bob is "Guys" since that's how every vendor along the way refers to us. Another perfect beach day, perfect water.

SCENIC

THEY SERVE AND PROTECT AND RIDE AROUND HEAVEN ALL DAY.

SUBTLE.

I complete my last swim and scamper up the beach to awaiting Bob who has surrendered his nook book for the event. He asks how was the water. "Terrible", I reply. "How could you let me go in?" "Like swimming in oil? " "Worse. And have you had a good quiet time?" "I've had a quiet time." "And what would make it a good time?" "I don't know." "Ah there's the rub."

A HANDY PHRASE.

Later as I sip a martini on our wonderful balcony from the new Stoli bottle we buy rather much too expensively at the neighborhood liquor store when we return from the beach I think about what I regard as Bob's admission of discontent. I did say then that I wish I could make it "good". He thanked me. But it's just not good for me if it's not good for him. And although I understand there must be compromises since we're not really rich any more, I try to make it as possible in my lights as is possible. I'm Sorry. It's my fault since I am let's face it the entrepreneur in our family. I'm trying. There are limited options which I rehearse almost every minute of every day. Are we having different quality experiences? This isn't bad is it? This is "good" isn't it? Does paradise weigh heavily on one’s hands and elsewhere? Finish your martini.

FROM OUR BALCONY TO THE SOUTH---DAYTIME

To complete the gloomy mood (reading an excessively ruminative Richard Ford novel doesn't help), Bob announces that JFK gets assassinated in an hour--referring to the upcoming tv documentary.Then as I retreat to put ice (purified) in my remaining martini, I say This is wonderful isn't it! He replies "Yes it is!" Oh well. Can you really understand what another person believes in their heart of hearts?? Can you?
Then later he does this passive aggressive thing by switching channels when I'm watching a documentary about a dying child whose mother is challenged in getting her child marijuana therapy. Angry moment. Dynamics? What don't I understand? I'm thinking we need a couple of hits of weed. (Just don't drive.)
Bob announces a good sunset. It's truly perfect. But frankly the heart aches. Next door a woman invades the silence--disturbed only by the rolling waves--by calling her cat repeatedly. Where is it? Reluctant creature taking its upper hand finally approaches- I think, ruefully, that she might as well be married to it.
FRIDAY JUNE 13.  Friday the 13th (oooh) and there's a special full moon (won't be seen again until 2049). Bob up a tad earlier sees it and shouts get your camera (he's not always as enthusiastic about my recording appendage), I first hear 2029 and think hope we'll be around. But Bob hearing the news announcement correctly says "Glad we got to see it." It's very prominent, luminous, though the camera doesn't capture that. Gotta rely on the memory. Say what?
The "hup" man is following us with his "hup" at every storefront. He carries a folding tripod and hoists a basket over his shoulder. But what he's purveying is a mystery to us.
The robot man on the malecon is not yet in place with his phonetic "Hey-guys-wel-come-break-fast" spiel. These people are amazingly resilient--a lesson in acceptance of rejection. Talk about negative reinforcement and popping back like one of those inflatable punching dolls. On the other hand, for us PV offers a master class in how to say no.
Alberto, yoga master on Monday, Wednesday and Friday is as cute and gently incomprehensible as ever.

ALBERTO PAUSES AND POSES.

MEXICO LOVES COLOR

LA VACHE. 

To Bob's phrased and rephrased questioning, our waiter lets us know that Mexico's winning, (it won) which explains all the squeals and cheers punctuating our meal.
At one point the iguanas come down and look up at the tables (one other couple has been seated) with what I imagine are supplicating expressions. Have they too learned to accept "no gracias"? I'm not sure taco chips are a good diet addition though.
Our torpor looks to threaten to keep us in bed permanently prone. But some little dollop of energy gets us suited up and to the beach. Dos Margueritas blended por favor. Keeps us consistent and sweet (as in sugar high). Only one almost world class bod on the beach (which is one more than usual) to keep synapses (is that what they are?) alert. More importantly he radiates happy personality not unlike Alberto of the yoga mornings--but when it comes down to it, it's all decor--interior and exterior--of a parcel I don't have the capital (or inclination dear husband) to buy.

GORGEOUS CREATURES

GORGEOUS FOOD

My 2nd and last swim in the warm water--only is it momentarily cool when I dive down to the surface. I always survey the bay's coastline, beautiful and familiar, as if it will be my last act on earth; water I've always acknowledged is an alien and potentially fatal medium. But if that's my last vision, it's a worthy one. And Bob occasionally looks up from his reading to warily watch me from the shore (I parenthetically note in my morbid fantasy that he does not rescue me from my sinking or snagging or deluging because he--land-lubber--can't swim.
Home for a wash-off and a CNN earful on the destruction and "terrorist" rebel takeover of Iraq. Ollie this is a fine mess we're in.

POP! GOES THE WEASEL.

OH MY.

Revelation! Because of the cable limitations, (that is, No MSNBC), we can watch Jeopardy and revive an old satisfying habit which reveals certain old people aren't fast on the buzzer any more--though unlike the players I correctly answered the final jeopardy question. Then Wheel of Fortune which is a dumb down event with a conservative bland host introducing only acceptable nuclear family representatives as contestants ( although I love that number-turner Vanna White is 57, still looks good, and makes millions for doing god knows what). However the next show, Shark Tank, in which billionaires decide whether to invest in entrepreneurial ideas is fascinating and we feel we can play along.
Sleepy time.
SATURDAY JUNE 14. Only 2 of us, a Mexican lady and me, in Paul's class. It's really good, not taxing and I'm thinking that I might add Yoga to my physical routine portfolio when I get back to San Diego. After class I let Paul know that we'd been watching him for years on our rental behind the El Dorado catwalk. He says he's not doing it any more because he and a friend now have a studio down the block.

SUPERSIZED

It's almost lunchtime so we let our stomachs do the buying at Mikey's, a medium chile por favor and everything else you've got on display. 500p.

A QUARTER KILO PLEASE.

Here we are in Mexico discovering that San Diego will be opening a water destination plant in Carlsbad to add to the water supply. Why didn't we know this? Cost 1 billion. Who's paying?At the beach, though it's Saturday, we get a bay front location and order immediately, since it's 2 0’clock. Tecate lights and cheese quesadillas accompanied by a semi hot sauce and guacamole. The water is definitely rougher today so it's good to get a fast swim in before the food arrives though Bob is happily chowing down by the time I arise like Venus from the sea or like an old guy scrambling to keep his bathing suit up as he attempts to avoid the pull of the waves crashing ashore. Not quite enough cheese in the quesidillas to my taste but Bob finds it all unwanting.


Would there be a long cue in front of my beach chair as I hand out fresh bills and add to a growing pile, obscuring the ocean, of wrestling masks, blankets, wooden monkeys (to name just those passing items at this instant), my frail body becoming bruised from constant massages, and bloated from imbibing plates of oysters and countless mangos on sticks. . . . No gracias. I read this overwrought (surprise!) passage to Bob who says "you forgot the faux silver trinkets".
Bob guesses, I think rightly, that it's the wind that's making the waves rough.
Again cheers erupt. The El Dorado (restaurant as opposed to condominios) is closed off with white curtains blowing in the wind so a family group can watch this next installment of the World Cup. Martini hour and CNN's bio of its own Ted Turner being over, the question is posed, What do we do next?I'm trying to remember a note I wrote here that was erased by battery loss. It isn't the exchange when we got back to the condo to see Lola cleaning another condo at this late hour and greeting us with her effusive smile. "She's always upbeat. That's so good." Bob immediately, "remember that". We laugh because he's outsmarted me anticipating that was a sampler I was knitting for him. But I can't remember the great exchange and rumination that occurred during cocktails. Surely a world shattering idear tinged with thigh slappingly humorous overtones is lost to the ages.
A walk along the malecon (hint, try later) where the joy is we are few gringos (Bob thinks the term is probably approbrious) to the swarms of Mexicans, which is one reason I prefer being here in this season. But after purchasing our booze ("a party" says the proprietor. "Every night" say I and the family in residence laughingly takes it the right way. We decide at 7:30 it is still hot (88 degrees) and humid (76%) and an outdoor restaurant like Bohemio, where we note there are zero patrons, must give way to cooled dining at mi Casa.

JUST SITTING ON TOP OF THE WORLD.

But it's 9:30 and bed, if not sleep, beckons.
SUNDAY JUNE 15.  We watch from our balcony the crashing waves, the highest yet--there's a kid surfing and crashing under them, and we theorize whether the clouds will burn off as usual. Bob asks if I'd slept well. I reply that as usual it was spotty--although here in Mexico I get plenty of hours. But I force myself to wake up to record dreams on which I am endlessly revisiting, working things out. In one as my present old self, I go back to school to get an MBA in advertising and need to explain myself to the young whippersnapper, smug professor who wonders if an old guy with a PhD is serious. He knows of my life and I say that there are check marks on the plus column and also plenty on the minus if you live long enough. And so the troubled subconscious crashes like an overheated wave.

TROPICANA HOTEL PEEKABOO VIEW AROUND THE CORNER

COME HITHER

Of course Sunday morning is opinion Sunday on TV and it's an especially riveting one in that regard today (in marked contrast to our experience of lightness and voluptuarianism here in PV) with looming clouds of war and decision blowing toward us from Iraq. Lindsey Graham bloviates wilily and insultingly against all Obama moves and he fear-mongers in favor of glorious profligate American militarism. As the screen flickers and flickers on, the talking heads' differences of opinion make the eyes cross in my spinning head. We hear allusions to Jordan (our December trip with Israel) potentially being sucked into the muck. I google Travel Guard, our trip insurer, and its cancelation policy for political unrest. Ai yai. Go out and find a Marguerita x 2 while the going's good and the local police here still guard the tourists as though all their lives depend on it.
Where for lunch. We've been very aware of the Alamar condominiums looming over the beach adjacent to Green Chairs; it has been burned out and gaping and promising "model open" for years. However Mantamar is its new beach cafe and facility, very smart, adjacent to our preferred beach. We'll try. But the inevitable time share spiel falls on deaf ears. So that's what they hope to sell. My Belvedere martini is half a glass--that turns moi off. For my second I ask for more of a pour but the same emerges.

THE RICH PEOPLE NEXT DOOR

B. Burger. R. Seafood burrito. Octopus etc. Both beautifully served, my wraps in a silver bowl floating on a banana leaf and both very good. I note it's the first good hamburger we've had in PV. We ask our waiter about the red and green hot sauces. He says they are the same just different colors. Yup. Hot. Habanera Rojas and verde. Our bill is 638p 748 total. 57 bucks American. which means we could have had a beach pass as well. Day pass is 350p, 300 credit for F & B pp. They've got an infinity pool within which I see guys standing with their drinks staring out at the bay. We'll stick with our own pedestrian Ritmos Beach green chairs though. Call us old fashioned. Home again. Jigity jig.

A POOL NOONE DARST SWIM IN

OUR GREEN CHAIRS BEACH PICNIC HAS A NAME

Torpor finally is extinguished and we're out of the house late in the afternoon ready to share a bottle of water on the beach.

I SAID NO PAPARAZZI!

INDOMITABLE PEOPLE. BEAUTIFUL FACES.

Back by 5 and Bob announces that the humidity is 89.
We're in for the night. And that's Muy ok. Mucho atypical Tv. We never saw "The Good Wife" for example. I'm about to escape to the chamber of Morpheus, that is, its Mexican equivalent, when Bob asks what the British literary award is. I say, before he asks the question, Don't know. Don't remember (protective coloration). I surreptitiously look it up on google. "Mann Booker" I announce. Can a person be simultaneously ashamed and exultant? Moi.
MONDAY JUNE 16.  Having breakfast, listening to the surf and watching the end of the yoga class on the catwalk. We note that the tables are gone from the restaurant below and suspect that they've suspended that operation. For the summer? Forever?
"Is really important to be hydrous." A note of caution at the Fit Club. I've decided not to take Alberto's yoga class--the language thing is a little daunting, even though he is beautiful and spiritual. Instead a half hour of elliptical and those troublesome weights achieves what I need to do.
At Daiquiri Dick's our rolly poly has a name, Oscar. Lately I'm grateful a tenant doesn't beg to be let out of his/her year lease, moral and financial worries ensuing (we've got 2 of those facing us when we return). It's a fluid society these days in America, as we landlord's with tenants moving hither and yon are well aware.. So we're filled with info and soon to be filled with B. Tortilla soup and a spinach salad. "Can recommend. I liked it a lot." R. The lemongrass gazpacho and, Oscar and I agree, the world's best club sandwich. Oscar punctuates every interaction with a jolly "hoo hoo". Discover he has 2 daughters 3 and ten. The three year old is rambunctious. Hoo hoo. I tell him he'll get skinny (never happen). Hoo. Hoo. All accompanied by a neat $21 bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. The breezes from the ocean make sitting outside today very pleasant. Our soups are both excellent, brilliant. We remember the first time we were here with Danny and Brian. The food belies it's chain-restaurant-sounding name. Total 635p. Tip in cash 120p. $58.

OSCAR

CAUGHT IN THE ACT.

A CONNOISSEUR  SELECTS.

Bob wonders if Gary Gist has rented his condo for the balance of the summer. I say I'll check later. But it was fully rented up until now. Our friend Rick couldn't get on the schedule. Did Gary use the place for his daughter or did he have a long term renter or has he over the many years developed loyal clientele (folks like us) who know that it's a great buy for a bayfront rental, the community is well kept, and as Bob says "maid service daily whether we want it or not" (but that Lola is always smiling and pleasant is a plus). Bob says also check the rental schedule of the New York condo that we last stayed in. Did the management company force them out of short term rentals with their strong arm tactics? We'll see. Hard to have hard thoughts in this perfect setting but I'll try.
At the beach by 3 pm. (We don't move quickly these days.) But we're fluent and capable of hunting and gathering. "Tecate Light. Dos. Si."

AND THOU BENEATH THE WILDERNESS.

Bob notes when I return from swim #1 that I practically had it to myself. As it should be. As I said yesterday the swim experience is different, riding and swimming through the oncoming waves more than lapping alongside them. Either way, pretty grand and I'm a lucky cuss. Perhaps Bob feels lucky because he's not in there with the waves. Donno.
Richard Ford's Independence Day is of course brilliant but the compulsive introspection of its narrator protagonist provokes in me--who am easily influenced--(if I'm in the South I'm all "y'all" in minutes) dark rumination, an existential probing into my being, heavier reminiscence even than usual. And rousing that dust I'm not sure is a good thing.
Sea rough on second and last swim. Probably ok that lifeguards are watching, one from a boat signaling to the other onshore. I may survive after all. Back I notice that the lesbians to our left are topless. That's how I know for sure they are lesbians. I draw Bob's attention to it. "Ugh" he summarizes.
Watching tv since this is to be an at-home night, I notice that everyone is younger than we and think that I should shift my creative impetus when I sit down every day (when in San Diego) to write to the plight or the situation of older people--frank view-why not. Think about it. Grandma Moses is my hero.
"What would you like for dinner?" "I don't need dinner. I m having a 2nd martini." "We can have your sandwich from today." "Perfect."
And my doggy bag dinner it is x 2 plus the Waldorf salad. It's a triumph. Yea.
As we fall into bed I announce that it's our pre-anniversary. Not all of us are in synch with this concept as I rather exuberantly characterize it. But who the hell cares. Tomorrow is another day.

TUESDAY JUNE 17.  HAPPY 6TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY! The insurgents are 35-40 miles outside of Bagdad. Are we f####d?? What's a Prexy to do?
Some fracas between taxi drivers on the way. At least that's what it seems. Cops on sedge ways listening to agitated guy.

FRACAS IN PEACE TOWN

Paul, yoga teacher, says yoga at beginning is toughest; stay with it a month and then it's easier (and you're hooked). I'll try.
We decide since Hilary Clinton's CNN town hall is on at 4 that we go to beach and get back for it. Then go out to La Palapa for anniversary dinner. It's a plan.

"LOOK GUYS, OUR FOOD AND BEER'S HERE."

Bob signals me as I swim in the lovely warm water that our club sandwiches have arrived. Perfect with the Tecate beer in a bucket of ice. A crowd of pigeons develops around us. "Hey Charlie, we got some live ones here. Pretend not to be looking but they'll be sloppy as usual and at the very least leave us some fries." Sorry guys. In such matters we're fastidious.
We never speak to any of our fellow beach denizens. Heaven forfend but rationalize that it is more interesting to speculate or piece together whole stories from scraps overheard. So it is with our next door neighbor whose been so before. A trim 50ish man who is chatting with two young men, teenage Mexicans. They (or one of them) has apparently offered sex. I hear our neighbor saying. But I'm a top (by which I intuit the kind of sex the young man had offered). They answer, irrelevantly, Two for one. A fat vendor comes along. "Three for one." It's almost as if they enjoy the banter more than the opportunity. And with someone else he reveals this is his last beach day. Tomorrow flies back to San Francisco.

US IN A FEW YEARS

I guess not much speculation there. On the other side of us it looks like a family, heterosexual Bob guesses. But is the older man the father? His son with a girlfriend? Who are the two other girls in the party? Is the father gay? Otherwise, why are they on "Our Beach"? Then again when we were on our beach with nieces Beth and Nancy did people think we were all straight? . . . Nah.
Home to watch Hilary gracefully field and dance around questions on CNN. Fox must be mightily Pissed.

JUNE 17, 2014

HERMAN COUNTING HIS MONEY

THE TERRACE NEXT DOOR

HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER VACATION

ANNIVERSARY DANCE

Bob says "a perfect anniversary evening." It is.
WED JUNE 18.  Watching the yoga group contort as I eat my eggs on the patio; Bob with his toast is watching the news within. Cheney, father and daughter, have the nerve to blame Obama for the current fracas in Iraq. And some commentators would no doubt have it that Hilary Clinton got her daughter pregnant to advance her own nasty ambitions. Distasty stuff.
We stop off at a house furnishing store on the way to our gym to see if we can find a replacement glass shade. They have something acceptable but with discount it's $100. Oy.
After our workout, treadmill (Bob does an hour of up and down hills, his program in San Diego) to my half and weight machines. Bob says that what we do is drink, eat, exercise. I add excrete but Bob disapproves and will probably edit that locution out of the blog. (He has final say on my musings incidentally.) I buy a Fit t-shirt. Bob finally rejects his choice because mine says something about Fit body but his says "body under construction" and after so many years of exercising he likes to believe he's "constructed". Amen.

COLORFUL VIEW ACROSS THE CUALE (RIVER) FROM OUR TABLE

We try our Margueritas on the rocks today for a little variety at the River Cafe, a favorite place (3 times so far this visit). The maître d greets us like old friends and tells his assistant "Give them our best table!" And it is the one we like with the best view of the river (though the iguanas are hiding out today so far). I do try to take a photo of a beautiful bird but not sure if it's too camouflaged. We order the tampequeno dish and wonder if that means mixed plate. It includes a thin slab of steak which I, as I tell Bob as "a Hunter gatherer", like to carve-- he less so. We both agree it is flavorful but R "good exercise for the gums".
Bob announces that this is the post anniversary lunch in lieu of an anniversary dinner. I say "we had something nice last night not sure what it was". Bob "We lived off the land." (Read: "Oxxo pizza and veggies from Mikey's and you went sleepy".) Oops another Marguerita.  I say that Mexicans are good at Mexican food. Bob says this is old country mex (unlike La Palapa's constructed Mexican). I say the old suits. Later Bob disputes this exchange for reasons unknown. "What a nice way to spend an afternoon", says Bob. Yeah.
Wow. The manager sends us glasses of old baileys. Bob says "They think you're a food critic." After all I'm taking photos and writing on my handheld. I think 3 times is the charm. As we leave he asks us and we say we're here another week. He says "How much more will that cost? I'll see what I can do." Wags.

UPSTAIRS/DOWNSTAIRS

I TAKE THIS PIC EVERY YEAR

Pleasure continues at the bathing suit store.

SUITS ME

WHERE WE ARE

Cocktails in hand, listening to Texas Gov. Rick Perry (registered idiot) say that homosexuality (which he compared to alcoholism) and marriage equality are insignificant issues and up to the states. Blech.
As we watch the bay from our balcony perch, I say that I love this even though I'm bored. You bored? He says. Yes but this is a necessary antidote to our other trips which require intensity, whether tours or visits to cities like New York or London. Bored is good. Can be.
THURS JUNE 19.  Iraq dominates the morning news. I decide to photograph my new bathing suits as a counterbalance. There are no commercials on international (or at least Mexican) CNN so a maddening melody plays instead under a crawl of weather in Celsius and impenetrable currency exchange rates (the peso seems to be getting stronger against the dollar).
Last night’s revelation, which I tell Bob who accepts it gracefully having no choice, that my female cousins on my mother's side were all named after my maternal grandmother Craine: Clara, Caroline, Carrie, Claire. Imagine never putting that one together before. Of course there was cousin Shirley.
Bob draws my attention to a yoga practitioner's contortions on the catwalk in our sight. I say you work yourself into it. He wonders what if you can't get out of it like a pretzel. I say I like the last five or ten minutes when you just lie there though I have trouble making my mind blank. You have so much garbage in it he helpfully advises. I agree.
We agree that there are advantages to the El Dorado restaurant below this morning's yoga practitioners being closed. No smoke from the stacks on the adjacent patio and no occasionally disruptive sounds. Though on occasion I enjoyed the free movies and light shows and would dance to the music and we got a discount as residents. German of Garbo's seemed to think that there was a dispute with the (our) El Dorado condominiums which holds the lease.

MEN IN WHITE SELLING

PAUL DOING YOGA

ABOVE MY PAY GRADE

We find the glass store--it's huge and actually wonderful, all sorts of glass creations; our reason for being there is to find a glass candle holder vase to replace the one we broke. Cost with cash about $27 which is a lot better than the designer glass shade we found for $100 yesterday in the ritzy pitzy house furnishings shop. I take loads of photos with the intention of sending the owner, Gary, proof of the replacement.

IT'S A WRAP

COLOR AND ART ABOUND

HOME WITH OUR NEW GLASSY PRIZE

LOOKS GOOD

REHEARSAL ROOM FOR MARIACHIS

BIRD MAN OF LOS MUERTES

MY FAVORITE CONTRAPTION

A skinny brown Mexican boy stands staring at the waves a cigarette between his fingers. I'm reading about rich people. Their things. And I have a thought, the Only thought, that I really liked being really rich, the things, the confidence, the secure feeling of worthiness and how I really really hate not being really rich anymore. Bummer. Inhalo, exhalo. Poco. Poco.

STANDIN' ON THE CORNER WATCHIN' . . . 

Two crows run across the sand, one grabbing food, the other complaining, reproaching. Are they mocking me?
Back home we watch Jeopardy with our cocktails. Bob says we had a few answers. I say in yoga we aren't competitive. Bob. What use is that? Me. None whatsoever. Hey, we are what we are. Next its Wheel of Fortune. I say the contestants are all unthreatening. I like threatening people.

CONTEMPLATING ART AND NATURE

Cards are we're not going out tonight after hefty martinis-- some would say a miscalculation ocurred--so chicken and veggies suffices nicely topped off by a brownie. And then there's a lovely rainstorm which we get to watch on the porch. Another benefit of booking "low season".
We're rapt. The grayness engulfs us. It's wonderful. It's raining and we on the patio have chocolate popsicles and are invincible. The rain is insistent. Thunder and lighting follows. We're a grateful audience at the show.
Gary Gist, the owner, emails his appreciation of our replacement glass thing, so it would seem, acknowledging that he's learned what one of us looks like. I email him a photo of us both and our blog address.
How fabulous sitting on the patio, hearing the heavy rain and watching the lightning over the sea. Wowza.
FRIDAY JUNE 20. Egg morning. Bob tells me that after I went to bed the storm got really wild and there were electrical outages throughout the night. That accounts for the buzzing of my other bedside companion, the charging iPhone, when it repeatedly lost its power and then regained it.
Will wonders never. I'm on the elliptical and I see Salvatore's class doing what looks like Zumba. I'm off in a flash and in heaven with dancing. Salvatore looks like a linebacker but he's awfully light on his toes, lots of girlish kicks, wiggles and jazz hands. To the mats and abs work then more Zumba. Afterwards I ask at the desk clerk if he'll be teaching any more Zumba. "Not Zumba", she is very clear. "It's circuit." So I ask Salvatore who says it's not Zumba but "movement to Latin rhythms". Aha. I get it. He's not licensed to teach Zumba but he can do whatever the hell he pleases as long as he and the gym call it something else. As it is, the "Latin rhythms" provoked unrestrained jumping in me and I will feel it in my joints--a signal that I  do need to be careful when I exercise and that is the root of the feeling that this is the year "I got old". The process just doesn't need any extra help from me.
Of Bob's gym experience, he says his treadmill was stuck in Italian today.
Drenched. So back to our quarters for a drying off and change of clothes. We are terribly torn. Will it be DD's or La Palapa? At LaP, the winner, our wine is an Argentinian

GREAT FACES

There's a fly in my wine glass. I try to remove it carefully. Bob says I've maimed it. "Too bad. That could be the server's grandfather," I say remembering the quip from our Buddhist Thailand tour guide. Oops wrong country. I've got to admit that Bob removes the fly that next settles in his wine glass with practiced aplomb. Of the dessert which takes a while to arrive--I don't mind-- I hear the server pointing out profiteroles, cheese cake, pana cota, (sublime) a peanut butter walnut torte (ooh). Bob says everything's he's tasted is "wonderful. Beautifully presented look how the strawberries stand up." I say it must have taken months to train them to do that. "An insanely delightful treat," he says.
Back at 3:45, kinda late to go to the beach we agree. Bob, "why don't you lie down and take a little nap until it's time to go out for cocktails." Oh the torpor, the lethargy of it all. I retire to the bedroom but to make continuing vacation plans with my iPhone. I think I'm almost through 2016 now.
And then the deluge despite Bob’s google saying only 20% chance of rain. (My eyes must be deceiving me then.) What a lovely show. "How nice you're up to enjoy it" says Bob. "Finally catching a matinee." I'm above the sarcasm.The rain having subsided, we walk the 75 steps to Garbo's. When we arrive at 7:30 the 12-chair bar is crowded with regulars including one plump diva with a voice that shatters granite. We are seated in the adjacent lounge area. Most of the bar clears out shortly after 8. Enjoy your play, says one to another. Play? It would be in Spanish. They'd need to know Spanish says Bob. I say if we lived here as expats we'd take an immersion course, "Enjoy your dinner." All those vacancies allow us to take our place at the bar where German can converse with us. He marvels at how fast time moves, thinking he last saw us 6 months ago. I say it moves faster when you get old.
Bob is hungry so I say do you want to go to Bohemio? Answer; I want to go homo (as if there's a choice there). Little pepperoni pizzas courtesy of Ozzo, some wine and we're fine,
This evening we emerge again to walk the cooling neighboring streets and the malecon along with the other denizens until those fickle drops again start to fall.
SATURDAY JUNE 21.  Ah the days are dwindling down to a precious few.
Overcast morning. Dow hits a new record.
I submerge my tea submerger into a glass this morning--tip: do that. Bob says the glass will be hot, but it's Russian. I say I'm part Russian. Which part? I show him. In fact I'm always Rushin'. Will this be enough schoolboy humor to get us through the day? Doubtful. In one’s favor, childliness and silliness needn't be the special province of the young.
Yup it's MSNBC-less Saturday here in this 2nd or 3rd world place but I'm getting to really like Michael Smerconish on CNN. He's smart and brash.
Change is in the air. Bob suggests Coco's for breakfast. I readily agree remembering that her breakfasts are good, less so the lunches.

At Coco's we see the vendors pulling up in front of the Paradise Community Center across the street. It's expat (my appellation) market day getting off to a slow start.
I order the Griego omelette (spinach, mushroom, onion and cheese of the day I guess). Plus potato pancakes as a treat and a big papaya juice --also as a treat. Bob the Mexicana, (chorizo, tomato, onion and cilantro) with hash browns. I think I remember reading in one of the diaries that her lox and eggs wasn't properly Jewish but these breakfasts are properly PV. Comes with star fruit since we're exemplary schoolboys.
The clientele. 2 single table older guys and an elderly female couple with their dog, retirees all. Then a decidedly middle class Mexican mother and adult son come in to break the hegemony. Another Anglo codger ambles off the street to talk at a sitting codger. "Working today?" "No I don't sell anything this time of year." So not all retirees. Guess this one is an occasional vendor at the Paradise (a misnomer for the ragtag setting for vendor tables, today scandalously absent of Marsha the handicraft jewelry lady) where we spurn all but the bread man for a whole wheat loaf and some pastries. 250p with tip is pretty good.
The other gringo yoga guy is next to me on the elyptical and says "don't look" when I swivel around to see Alberto's yoga class. The gyrations are a little beyond either of us we confess.
My masseur at the Blue Massage is Noah, Bob's Louis. We agree that their masseurs are quite good though the ne plus ultra, Martin the owner, is on vacation. Mine is going to rid me of my not inconsiderable back neck area knots if it is the last thing he does or it kills me, whichever comes first. Close call but I need that almost painful exertion and I wish the massage would go on and on. He was especially good on the chest area. Cost 550p or $42.11 per hour massage plus a 100p tip. As I remind Bob, that's 1/2 the typical cost for a full hour massage in the states and 1/3 what it would be on the ship.

HE WHO IS ABOUT TO BE MASSAGED

We are in need of a "snack" so Bob heats up my La Palapa sizzling leftovers over multigrain and we're happily snacking on the porch and watch the beach dwellers and swimmers seemingly oblivious to the rain which is persisting. Bob says it's like that Hawaii luau 25 years ago. We got the pig and then it rained. I don't recall the pig but I do recall we didn't get a full refund thanks to the pig.
I contemplate going swimming off our condo beach. I say others are despite the rain. Bob says you aren't. You've had too much to drink. "But you could stand here watching me intently." I say I should teach you life saving I mean junior life saving (that's what I got my badge in) techniques. He says "They're obsolete now. There are new techniques of artificial respiration. Kissing and such." I reply that we didn't get that far in junior life saving. Can't win.
He's adamant about the swimming thing so I have no recourse but to dance to the insistent disco beat from god knows where below. Two little girls who have been playing at what, tea? in the now empty El Dorado space, notice me dancing and are filled with hilarity but watch raptly. I know that I must avoid relating to them and finally leave them to their childhood games. Too many--not moi not him and, as I tell Bob, that is this years theme of our blog entry--forget their capacity for childlike joy and invention that they had for too short a time. Besides as to the silly dancing, I need the exercise.7 pm and Bob suggests (he's full of suggestions today) a walk along the malecon which turns out to be delightful-- we stray into the off streets too looking for a well regarded restaurant we haven’t yet tried, Trio-- unfound. There's the kind of exuberance found in the daily promenade in Italy, only here there are very few non- Mexicans. We are conspicuously not.


We decide to have our martinis at Garbo's rather than home and notice as we enter everyone is leaving including German. We learn there's a campy play at The Palm, a travesty of Walt Disney's princess characters (they're alcoholics and malcontents in this version, what else). That explains yesterdays’s exodus. We won't be able to see it because it only plays Friday and Saturday. But there's some consolation that it's in Spanish.

ROMANTIC ZONE

There's still residual hunger so Bob concocts a Mikey's melange of chili atop a veggie fritata. Great. But when questioned he reveals it's just like his mothers chili (we're talking a Campbell's soup additive). “Bland”.
G'night.
SUNDAY JUNE 22.  It's Cinnamon Bun Sunday (a not widely known event but celebrated frequently we know on good evidence in Bankers Hill, San Diego) so that's what we have for breakfast.
For a reason I'm not sure of I remember my 18th century lit professor at Rutgers, the eminent cultural historian and recently deceased Paul Fussel and how he was ga ga over one of the students whose name I suddenly remembered while watching Fareed Zachariah pontificate (brilliantly) on Iraq (to wit, US don't show favoritism to the Shiites in Iraq--my this is a long sentence). It's Jonathan Quick, blonde goyisha type who I was simultaneously attracted to, envious of and annoyed with. Professor Google reveals Quick just died after years as a distinguished Amhurst professor (got his PhD from Yale). And what do I extrapolate from this? . . . At least I'm still alive. Should I have know then in my liquid post-adolescence that scholarship was not really my truly heartfelt métier to be? Hindsight 20-20 and PhD notwithstanding.
Woodward and Bernstein on Candy Crowley (Bernstein looking more and more like Dustin Hoffman but not Jack Nicholson) justifiably defending old style journalism. That approach dug deeply into important stories/issues unlike today's shout your opinion and publish fast on the web.
Moving slowly today and we are not on the beach until 1 pm. Dos Margueritas por favor. Are there visiting Skates? I see potential bathers staring and pointing warily toward the water at the edge of the beach. I join in their apprehension and venture in shortly after a tiny skate sails by--it's beautiful but I'd rather not step on it and get stung. Today the water is warm and delightful to swim in. When I emerge Bob notes that my new bathing suit looks good. Photo op.
A vendor offering a pipe and Cuban cigar actually says the "weed" word. Sorry, we don't have enough bribe money with us today.
It's fun. The disco music pounding away seems more infectious today so I dance and dance. We don't know these people I'm ready to tell Bob if he objects. But he's a good sport.

LOOKING DEJECTED

YES IT'S HOT.

We note an older guy next to us on the beach who seems quite content by himself and engaging the vendors. Bob says he must be an expat. I say that if I had terminal something I'd recommend PV for Bob. "The good life in London for me," is his considered answer. What? Without a proper period of mourning?
And then our quesadillas with steak arrive for the sharing. Good! With the sauces, including guacamole, for dipping. Tip. Order the steak quesadilla for sharing. Bob says "It's the new Club Sandwich."
It's a half hour later and Bob, apparently thoughtful, says "maybe it'll be Rome and I'll have a Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone. I'm so Spanish steps." Glad you thought it out. It'd be a palace near a Serbo Croatian men's gym for me.
Bob does not accept a massage from a not unreasonable looking guy who offers his services at the Hotel Mercurio, which Bob says is a gay hotel down the block from us. Way to go.

COLORFUL EDIBLE HEAD GEAR.

STATION OF THE CROSS

450p total with 2 Margueritas each (375) and tip. And home by 4:45.
Not much booze in the larder so Bob on a mission of mercy goes out to the local. And once home announces from his hand held weather channel report that the humidity is 100%. But the temperature is 70 degrees. Yahoo weather says 88 degrees. Huh? Actually yahoo is more accurate but less comprehensive says B. Point. It's hot. Though actually on the balcony it's pleasant.
Raining now (what else is new) and Bob noticing that I'm dancing to the CNN commercial music we've heard a hundred times, says go out on the porch and dance to the music of the spheres, which bar music I do and notice how many are in the water and on the beach despite any intermittent (it stops when I write this) rain there may be. Tip. Next year go out to our El Dorado beach and swim with the Mexicans when it rains.
I come back with a second martini and explain that it's small, just that I added lots of ice. Bob says he'd be the last to judge. We are both filled with ultimate hilarity at that.
Bob cooks up some Ozzo pizza (such a deal) and Greek salad which we have on our balcony--the alternative was to bet who would win the ninja warrior segment on TV-not as easy a wager as one might think.

LOOKING FAMILIAR?

Bob is "surprised" I'm still awake at 8:45 but it's like the 2nd longest day of the year and still bright out and I step out onto the balcony where all is beautiful, the mountains falling into the sea still luxuriant--this is one of those great views.
In bed I wonder if these pages have accumulated enough local color detail for me to write something less fastidiously factual, say a short story about a vendor boy striving for something else perhaps through the gringo he meets on holiday or a play about an expat trying unsuccessfully to leave a life behind. . . . Probably not.
MONDAY JUNE 23. Mexico's PRI politicians are passing privatization and repressive legislation that benefits them and their cronies while Mexicans are distracted by the World Cup. This gives a somber context, it would seem, to those whoops and cheers from the enclaves of rapt viewers we pass daily on our way to the gym, the beach, or in our strolls along the malecon.

A GOOD SPOT TO STRETCH

My home egg concoction tastes so much better this morning. Don't know why. With sides of yoghurt, cottage cheese, salmon and toast -- perfect. Maybe we should open a restaurant serving one dish, Reuel's Egg Concoction with Toast By Bob.
Salvatore seems to have a good upper body combo class but I don't take it, elyptical and leg machines for me and treadmill and upper body machines for Bob.
We are welcomed warmly of course by our guy at the River Cafe. I'll have the Mexican Plate being that this is Mexico, cheese stuffed ponlano pepper, crispy.
Any changes? (We don't necessarily celebrate change when we're here.) The river is moving fast today. The animals are at first in hiding. But we're at "our corner table" by the river.
Bob says that after 2 weeks he's really into PV. The transition isn't easy. But he's a transitore (new word ). He will miss getting up and looking at the ocean.
Funny, our SD local up the block Mexican restaurant Jimmy Carter's for gods sake refuses to translate the specials. Here that is a requirement, an expectation.

HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU KID.

Fabulous. Shall we "shlep" over to the glass place? Bob looked it up. Shlep means train of the dress in German. Makes sense I guess.
Steven, the maitre d’, thanks us and says at 3 pm Mexico is playing. We say we'll be in later. Wonder if he'll be here next year.

SLOW DAY AT THE MARKETPLACE.

COLORS EVERYWHERE.

Sign: Mexico vs Croatians. Who do we root for? We liked Croatia. Bob says we're in Mexico. And I thought Croatians were a little standoffish. Here they know where their tacos are buttered.
Glass place. We're here to buy something for Don and maybe a whole bunch of swivel sticks for the ladies of our dining club and, if we must, a blue glass for Bob and magnets for me (us) for our cruise cabin walls to hang announcements in style. For $33.78 we'll make many people happy says Bob. It's the thought that counts and we did select carefully. So there was thought.

OUR PURCHASES

QUITE A PLACE

HUH?

There's a bulb that needed replacing. When we return we see the lamp has been sort of rewired with black tape. This place is so jerry rigged says Bob. Makes it all the more loveable. Maybe we'll stay a full month next year (Bob didn't believe that this is the third year in a row that we've stayed 3 weeks.)

HARD AT WORK

WHO'S WINNING?

OLD AND HAPPY

YOUNG AND NAPPY

We see a tall blond boy no doubt American or German walking with that sense of entitlement and joy. The joy I remember on my first outside of the US visit and the loneliness wishing for some sex, somehow sometime. Then I say there was this boy in Rome but . . . Bob says "I've heard that one". We laugh and laugh. It was a half century ago and all has been said and heard.
There's a great roar as we cross the cuale bridge. A gringo lady says to us I suspect Mexico has scored. As we pass by, we are the few in old town not raptly watching tv's. Then a deafening giant roar. What's going on? (Doubtless the party in power is surreptitiously passing another bad law while the nation roars) and we've still got the malecon to ourselves.
A gringo woman approaches me and says "3 to 4 Mexico". ""Great" I say. "Which one's Mexico?" she asks. "I dunno."
Home by 5:30 trying to figure out who won. A report on the US vs Portugal game. Of the tie, one fan says, "It's the most terrible thing that ever happened to me." "What a lucky young man" is my comment.
Bob. "Here we are watching trashy tv."(Entertainment Tonight. Gag me with a spoon.) "How do you feel about that?" "Trashy good."

SANDS OF TIME

MALECON

Big deal about Hillary Clinton saying they were dirt poor, they had mortgages and major debt. And this somehow disqualifies her from empathy. This makes me angry because I remember when I was appointed to the Human Relations Commission as a new Commissioner, the ED met with me in our penthouse and said you are rich. How can you be empathetic to others less fortunate? I should have said at that point FU. Begone. What do you know of my life, of my empathy. Didn't. Instead I remained on this toothless Commission and was sorry I did,

 WATCHING OUT FOR AND WATCHING THE TOURISTS

TUESDAY JUNE 24.  Now to recreate a "lost" day. Not metaphorically but literal. Notes are lost. So I'll do my best.
A buns (ours were lovely) breakfast morning works just fine.
On the way, a raggedy homeless type guy accosts and then passes us saying "How are you guys? Benvenidos a Puerto Vallarta!" If that's the best these people can sum up in the way of menace, Here Here!
The vendors are at their quirky best. To me, " You look so happy." Yesterday a travel vendor said "You guys are from Palm Springs. Why are you so serious?" They seem concerned with our moods. And then "delicious breakfast! It's in a bottle." That's better says Bob.
Only 3 of us (started with 2) in Paul's class but it's a good intro to yoga and I plan to pursue in San Diego. I tell Paul that I have trouble with balance, a lot if which I attribute to aging, and also to this freeing my mind in the final meditation phase. He confesses that these are not his strong suits either. When we're back Lola's still cleaning so we sit in the plaza area while I try to contact the tour company about our trip. We won't learn that the iPhone photo will suffice for entrance or of our pickup location until the evening.
Some delicious roast beef sandwiches before we're off to the beach which Bob notes is gayer today than it was on Sunday.
Next door are two guys and their jolly Rubenesque fag hag (very not PC I know) all later to be seen happily cavorting in the sea.
There's a family that tries all the beach blandishments, the parasails and the noisome speed scooters (or whatever they are), and why not. I discover schools (maybe just different class periods) of little green what? minnows as I swim and one lovely translucent fish on my 2nd swim.
At Bohemio (where we unsurprisingly are the only patrons-nothing like having your own personal catering co. Duh. We did. At our resort anyway. I remember our accountant at the time suggesting when we thought of buying a restaurant down the hill from our Palm Springs estate, why don’t you just hire a chef at home. Should have and called it a day.) WTF. Ok I somehow erased today's notes. What's a vacation without that happening.
We remember the first time we were here in the winter with Danny and Brian when the proprietor Saul was doing his charm bit. Danny may have had some issues with Saul who had been a kind of competitor on the San Francisco gay entertainment circuit. And Bob remembers that we were made to chug a lug something lethal, maybe vodka shots. The sunset is amazing, the clouds writing Farsi across the orange sky. And then to the south there are fireworks. Why? Just because.
WED JUNE 25.  Today's San Sebastián (of the West) so this gets to be my month "new thing". (Niece Beth and I have a monthly new thing challenge). We are ready for the challenge though we wonder why travel instructions include jacket or sweater (t-shirt will have to do).
Not getting wi-fi in the condo today so if the tour company emailed anything--oops.
Bob notices that the yoga-ites (8-9 am) are doing their thing inside what was the restaurant below. Maybe the catwalk is too slick from the insistant night rain. Talk about PV's good weather timing.
Of course we're way early to meet our bus. Will we be the only ones, not our favorite tour posture? Likely the bulk of the pickup will be in the hotel zone I opine which I suspect is why they've scheduled our 9:15 pickup for a 10 am departure.
Our van shows up and Andreas, our guide, greets us. When I show him our email confirmation, he evinces (as it turns out) mock surprise. "What???" This one has a sense of humor.
We wait. We're the only ones. Bob says "I'm exhausted. I want to go home." Pepe is the driver and we're picking up others.
We take the more scenic route past gringo gulch, charming byways, to the main drag and the hotel zone. Big gates luxury hotel. I see the headline, "Family of Five Found Missing" as we wait for them. No show. Bye bye.
Gigantic buildings. "Did we pass these on the way from the airport or did they just build them?" I ask Bob. He votes for the former.
Strange row of gigantic gold heads at entrance to Hilton.

MR. POTATOHEAD

 After two other stops We are herded into a van with two other couples but
Mexicans were against government taking land for taxes. Do migrate to
big cities to fight for the land. San Sebastian is a beautiful town. Used to be 20,000 population and rich. Only 800 now; care more about family than money.

WHERE'S THE WAR?

Good tequilas are made in Mexico. Also bad (Patron is made in Las Vegas!). We'll see a dungeon and the church of San Sebastián.
PV woke up in 1964 with Night of the Iiguana. People live outside and commute. 60 % is tourism. 20% agriculture.
I remark to Bob that we think we're entrepreneurs in USA. But in these 3rd world countries that we visit everyone is entrepreneurial.
We pass by a river. There are 12 little rivers coming down to the bay. Bay is 70 miles. We're now in Nayarit, one of 2 states with PV in Jalisco.
After Las Palmas we'll drive up the mountains. Husbands work in hotels, wives in their own restaurants.
Mexico is 32 states. Guadalajara 5 hours from PV (8 million pop). Mexico 30 million. Total Mexico is 120 million.
No prices on gas station sign. Gov owns gas. Fixed price--$4 a gallon. Average min wage is paid by the day 8 hours. 80 pesos. $7 a day. (Making it very clear tips are important.) So gasoline is very expensive for Mexicans. Gov supplies schools. Sierra Madres are an extension of the Rockies. Snakes--rattlers--deer, pumas. Crocodiles. Parakeets. November to March whales have migrated from Canada.
4 months rainy--city--60 inches of rainfall to keep the mountains green.
Guide shouts declaims. "Good thing we're not the only ones on the tour" I say. There are 8 of us.

NEAR

FAR

Our Tequila stop. Tequila takes 10 years--8 for plants to grow. Resclla.
Very pretty place. Rustic, charming. Lali addresses us. His is a small family business. Blue agave plant. Make rescilla from the pineapple part.

Use the plant once. Bake bottom in adobe-style oven for 7-9 hours. 600 degrees. After 3 days it tastes like molasses. Grind mix with spring water. 7 days in the barrels, it bubbles and the sugar turns to alcohol.

Use the plant once. Bake bottom in adobe-style oven for 7-9 hours. 600 degrees. After 3 days it tastes like molasses. Grind mix with spring water. 7 days in the barrels, it bubbles and the sugar turns to alcohol.

HOTTER ON A HOT DAY

We pass the local restaurantes in front of their houses. These are places for the processioners to buy food and have lunch.

Spaniards came to Mexico and taught the catholic religion. Juan Diego 1521 discovered Lady Guadalope. Took message that she wants to build a church. Her image on his blanket.

AFTER THE 21ST.

5 acres. But not coffee season. 2 kinds of beans, espresso (cooks 45 minutes) and regular (30 minutes). I buy cinnamon cookies.

NOT BOBOLINKS HERE

Of San Sebastián, time stood still since 1910, the end of the silver mining, time of revolution.
A 152 year old bridge is the only entrance to San Sebastian.
A kind of village square. We have lunch on the balcony of The hotel with the German folks who say they are from Colorado. Ok.. . .  Later we will decide they're in some international witness protection program.
The "Germans" and our guide recommend the night with Vallarta Adventures. (Later Bob says he looked it up last year and it's not for us.)
They still use their dungeon. Andreas takes a photo of us imprisoned.

WE WERE FRAMED!

LAZY AFTERNOON IN A LAZY TOWN.

300 year old Cobblestones for water drainage during the rainy season and for keeping Cool. San Sebastian church. The city's patron is SS himself. He was Roman. Mexico is 80% catholic. Always image of lady of Guadalupe, Mexico's queen.

MEXICOBAROCOCO

Bob is a little disappointed, expected a baroque church. I say it's a Mexican version of baroque. B. Once you've seen Venice . . .

DON'T SHOOT THE SENIORS SIGNORS!

SILVER IF YOU MUST.

A MEXICAN PRISON. FUN.

Home for leftovers and what Bob insists is the most gorgeous sunset of all. Since the camera can't capture it, I know it doesn't exist. Besides Bob says that of all the sunsets. (Actually when the eye leaves the lens finder, it's pretty wonderful.)
THURS JUNE 26
On the way to the gym. Bob. "Mexican men start out skinny (after a particularly anerexic one passes by).  R. "Then they get fat. Our experience here is that the food isn't dietetic."
We still have 6 visits to FIT gym left (3 each) expiring JUNE 9 2015. Probably we'll buy a month membership next year anyway since Gary G writes back this morning that we can have the condo for a month (June 6-July 4) at $800. You know us with a bargain. Besides we want to stay a month.
I let Paul my yoga guru know that we'll be back next year. He says he'll be at the gym since there are more people in his class than at his own studio around the corner. More people (2 to 6 as I've counted)? Gee whiz.
Time enough for a little picnic of some bread, cheese and a glass of wine on the balcony before shower and our massages.
As I sit here the aroma of marihuana wafts up, a not infrequent occurrence. My guess it's the novelist lady (for such I've dubbed her, always at her laptop) in the beachfront studio. Art needs its inspirations (and inhalations).
After yoga plus a massage at Blue Massage, my body feels mellow as hell. My handsome masseur Leon also works my neck area knots, not as vigorously as his predecessor Noah, but Noah got rid of the worst of them--not all. Bob gets Noah this time and is satisfied.
 It is cloudy at the beach where we have seats at the edge of the Ritmos section. Margueritas. Then the sweet quiet is disturbed by a group of rollicking teenagers. These must be first shifters at school now dismissed for the day. The boys knocking one another over then dragging the girls into the sea. They think they're hilarious. Bob thinks it's cute. I who want to go swimming am less enchanted. Some of the boys are decidedly pre-gay. Thanks for the show. They move on.



Then it's my turn to frolic, to take in the great bay vista and swim. Good to see male lovers holding on for the dearness of life. North I do need to be wary of a speedboat leading a banana boat into shore. Will it continue its course toward me? "Poor guy, run over by a banana. The ignomy!" Ashore it feels good to be ignored by vendors who have grown accustomed to our nada nadas.
heavily floating barge.
Why are the pigeons jumping on our table today, Bob waving them off? Do they know it's our last day and their last chance at annoying proppinquity?
Bob looks concerned as I take my "last swim" so I say "I survived until next year" as I scamper out. He says there's always tomorrow morning in front of our condo. The ocean actually extends to the El Dorado." Well yes.
After our newest addiction, jeopardy--see how PV broadens our horizons--we're ready for our oldest addictions, drinking and eating.
We say our goodbyes to Herman at Garbo's.
OMG. Herman recommended Mama Rosa's. And it's wonderful. I write this before we've had our meal. That's how sure I am. Amuse Bouche of empanadas. Oops. My battery runs out on my faithful (faithless?) companion and I can't photograph the gorgeous presentations or the menu so I can detail it later in the diary. Tip. Always carry your extra charged battery case.
We choose the 3 course specials and the ambiance--open, high ceilinged, charming. Point is we'll return next year and this is our new PV restaurant for 2014. This chef is very adventurous and though not everything fulfills his vision shall we say, the place is a cut way above.

THE BOUCHE IS AMUSED

At Mama Rosa's I have a gorgeously presented papaya filled with shrimp and accompanied by a piccata and lettuce. Bob has a bean soup which he loves. Bob’s entree is chicken breast with sausage and spinach covered in mango sauce swimming in a dark chilli sauce. My filet and pork. (One atop the other and ingenious) swims in the same sauce. Accompanied by a white potato/sweet potato.
And we really liked our $20 bottle of Chilean cab. Thanks Herman. It's a find and a fitting valedictory to PV this year. Plus the rain while we dined has subsided and our walk back through the Zone is indeed Romantic. Yea.
FRIDAY JUNE 27  Up and at 'em at 7 am, this time with early riser Bob who has begun collecting our stuff.
To find I'd gained 2 1/2 pounds since yesterday. (155). Never fails, always at the end of holidays.
I think what a perfect opportunity to swim in the solitary early morning but it's raining today and this actually creates a lovely compensating ambience. I understand why Bob loves to watch the bay first thing after boiling water for coffee (and my tea) when he awakens. It's then that he must listen to just its steady systolic sound and not their music and shouts when the bar people decide to ready their imporia later. He enjoys the rain, just doesn't ever want to be in it. I'm also hearing the plashing of the rain which is more intense now and the occasional call of a tropical bird. That must be what he hears too on some early mornings.
Usually I'm aware of this and stay abed so he can enjoy that solo experience. Giving "space" is necessary in relationships especially in ours where we would be only a few feet apart every second on any given day if we allowed it. And though we in our seventies are fully formed personalities and know who we are, the experience of a more pristine "selfness" is, on occasion, welcome.
The rain has stopped as is its wont at this time of the morning so I'm going swimming. Only a pair of young women are in this part of the bay and they soon leave me to my own resources; I swim toward the pier and the boats floating near it; the bay is almost as smooth as a lake now. After more strenuous swimming, freestyle and breast stroke, I realize I can get more parting view of the shore, the distant verdant islands and out to sea if I backstroke; go solitary swimmer--and it feels good to get some exercise before a journey.
At Coco's, papaya juice for me, coffee for Bob. Our Benedict's are with ham, mine salmon and they're lovely, the thing to have here.
We look out at the wet cobblestone street and Bob says it must have rained a lot last night. I opine that when it persists into the morning as it had today it has a lot of fury to express before it's spent. Anthropomorphising can be fun.
Then a woman with her dog gets a take-out package.
Business couldn't be much worse I say. And we've noticed that Coco's is closed for dinner these days, joining the ranks of Kaiser Maximilian, Archie's Wok, Gaby's, thus limiting our choices from the old list. This year only Daquiri Dicks (twice, once without Oscar), La Palapa (once), Coco's (thrice ), Bohemio Cafe (twice), Ritmos Beach (many), Pizza Nostra (takeout) once, and the newbie Mama Rosa's (once), plus Garbo's (four) for drinks, received our custom. We passed over Vista Grill (too much trouble),Fusion (too hot) and Des Artistes (too expensive). Next year we vow to expand our outreach.
A young gringo couple wanders in now.
Little annoyances dept. Can't print out boarding passes downstairs without an administrator code. Did I pay the luggage fee or not?
1000p to Lola. We work on translating "many thanks. until next time--next June. Reuel and Bob" "Muchas Gracias! Hasta Junio que vienes." On the envelope.
20 minutes and it's 160p. Bob rounds up to 200--big spender. Alaska is to the left and at 12:55 is not yet open. (This detailed here so as to do it easier next year.) Opens at 1:15 and by then the line is long. Next year leave at 12:45.
I purchased bags in advance so the boarding pass machine is easy peasy. Don't need to print out in advance. We are informed that our flight is delayed almost an hour. 1:37 we're at the window.
Shoes can stay on, belt off. I do a yoga stretch. Bob asks why I'm kicking him.
Yea for the VIP Lounge. I order at the bar for us and they deliver at our seats. We start with Chardonnay, sandwiches, buns and chips. And we've got wi-fi.
There's a little glass enclosed booth with the worlds most comfortable lounge chair so I lie in it. Happy. Nappy until Bob discovers I'm there. Guard our bags then back to the decompression booth.
We see people boarding with crutches and in wheelchairs and wonder if they incurred injuries windsurfing or falling on the cobblestones during their holiday.
Not a full plane--again must not be the season. I'm sitting next to the Colonel (Bob dubbed him that in the airport lounge when he pointed him out as silver haired central casting) and his wife. They have, fulfilling the script, real drinks, though he's not happy with the limited scotch selection. Bob and I have Chardonnays, which I somehow feel are less real than the Colonel’s scotch.. In Bob's Row window seat sits a little boy with glasses. And will I ever finish reading this novel of angst or is it my Prometheus rock?
Touch down at 7. 5 SD TIME. Fastest customs we've ever been through. Too bad there are not more direct int'l flights like this one.
And home at 5:30.

I discover that they too lost most of their money in the Great Recession (what's so great about it?) though they are paying $300 a day for the all inclusive--and are duly astounded at our "deal" of $250 a week and before that would buy expensive cases of wine, which conversational tidbit permits me to talk of our adventures in the wine trade (advantage of being old and having had an adventurous life is that there are usually biographical toppings to choose from for the pizza of conversation). They ask of our relationship and are very positive about same-sex marriage.

Stats. 10 Mexican pesos are 77 cents. I weigh 153 going in. Not the ideal. Next.
Lupita's there to greet us with our keys. Smiling today. Home, for such it is, at 3:30. Unchanged I note as Bob, who for this circumstance refers to himself as "mommy", unpacks. And that's all to the good.

As it turns out it's now cocktail hour in Mexico. So what if it's only 2ish in San Diego: we take to the balcony to reestablish our pattern and from there espy the El Dorado Restaurant owner's enormous greyhound being assailed by a barking chihuahua; the big dog keeps it's dignity trying to avoid stepping on its assailant. A funny scene.

YouTube to complement the discreet sound of waves rolling into shore.

We pass by the beach restaurants we have and will frequent, by the now-closed restaurant run by our former friend Jim North who debauched himself into exile. No doubt his depraved tale would be less sinister than that related to us by his whining landlord when we, responding to Jim's invitation to meet, found he'd fled just days earlier, sans Mexican druggie hustler in tow, 4 years ago.

We know this menu says Bob. Of the servers, "they're attendants at a mental institution". A riff on his hospital attendants comparison last year. Our rolly poly server isn't here. And I was after all these years going to ask his name. Tomat is our waiter --or busboy--today. Thinking of the club sandwich I say it's too early not to have Mexican. Bob reminds me that there are really no truly Mexican dishes on the menu.

Martini and chard. B. Gespacho soup and small Asian chicken salad. R. Mahi mahi wrap. Bob gets me a spoon and I agree that his gaspacio is Muy Muy good. "This is a perfect setting," says B. "Just gotta change the name," says R. To the server I point authoritatively to my emptying drink. International traveler I explain to Bob. "Ceil bring me another!" That’s Bob mimicking our favorite trope, that Ed Sullivan comedienne and her imaginary telephone conversations with her unseen and unheard argumentative friend Ceil (Jewish lady short for Cecelia we guess).

Stoli $6.58. Chard $5.75. And I get to tote home the silver wrapped "doggie".

OMG. Well we are in the Romantic Zone after all. And then the band plays with finesse the rhythmic numbers the patrons dance to, including a gay couple. Well this'd affords me 45 minutes to dance, Isadora Duncan, or jazz dance or Zumba style on the balcony. I'm so delighted, in ecstasy. A biography of one of my favorite people, Ted Turner, is arresting Bob on the TV but I still must dance to the music and it's a joy. Thank you. It's well after 11 that we subside to bed.

Bob is out there on the balcony. He loves to look out at the bay and ocean, to take in this beautiful, vast vista in all of its magical atmospheres.


the last by a long shot.

Dessert. Better than last year Bob remembers. The little chocolate filled pastry is delicious as is the sort of cream thing with blueberries in it (Bob's description). I top it with some cream and nuts. World class.

Drink up and enjoy the sunset. A repeated theme.

Aren't we happy I say (not ask). This is happiness as Bob presents another slice of fab pizza (2 slices does it) along with a bottle of red. There's the brownie from Mikey's. Good, very good, with cab. Oh my God.


And Audra wins. We saw three of the women nominees. She richly deserves for her Lady Day. Cranston gets his. Also deserved. Incredible impersonation as Lyndon Johnson.

Enjoyed. G'night.

Ah the beach. Ritmos (green chairs). Remembering another reason to love PV. Our Margueritas having been served by Antonio, I essay the lovely water--perfect temperature, no initial cold shocks, as there are "in season"-- and as this is low tide, no need to be seduced into jumping through the waves, just some porpoise laps until I see our club sandwiches being placed on our front row orange tables. I'm there.

Cocktails and h'ors deuvres and the discovery that the Dow is almost 17,000. I tell Bob we're going to be day traders . . . Or drug traders. Whatever the hell works.

I say (perhaps a little sarcastically) I like expensive food. It's the best food! as Bob leads us to Mikey's. 512 pesos later we have . . . More food from the whole foods of PV. A stop for wine and a visit to Lola who is watching her soap operas while she cleans the condo.

How sublime it is out here. Next door at Almapas, the never finished languishing condo complex, the beachfront area is now complete and charging 350 pesos a day per person. For half of that we get a front row seat under an umbrella, tables, beach chairs, food, drink, beach, bay, sun and perhaps some change back.

Fabulous supper of this and that, mostly Mikey's deliciosos, and in Bobs estimation the best sunset we've seen in a long while. Then to find that the majority leader in the house, Eric Cantor, is defeated. What's up with that? We think it's mostly about so few voting. But this is weirdly interesting to us partisan wonks,





Gorgeous Alfredo is the yoga teacher. I figure that if I can't follow I can at least look at him. Which is pretty much what happens. At the end of the session he rubs his hands in some sort of potion and kind of blesses each of us. Nice. He asks in Spanish if I speak Spanish. I answer "not a word". Though he says that I could then not have enjoyed the session; I demur and say I'll return.

The tortilla soup is delicious in our soup, sandwich, salad combos. The chicken breast sandwich is acceptable, and though I'm leery of lettuce in salads south of de border, what I have tastes ok. Any consequences and I'll know from whence.

Trying to adhere to the plan. It includes a Nice supper on our balcony.

THURS. JUNE 12  Breakfast for me, since I'm the one who has the interesting, by my admittedly biased lights, breakfasts, treading out beyond the circumscribed world of  t o a s t, today is my other half of Daquiri Dick's mahi mahi sandwich.

11:30 yoga class and find that it's doable. At least most of his instructions are in English. Actually we've been watching him lead yoga for all the years we've had the condo as it overlooked a catwalk where people would meet for morning and pre sunset yoga. He's "old" - his word when we chat afterward so he warms up prior to class - promised that I being old too would. (Later I will google him and find that he at 63 is ten years younger than I). Paul has a hippy pony tail and wears lots of jewelry including a, I presume, straight wedding band. Would love to know his story. Why is he here? Though it would seem that beautiful, relaxing PV is a natural for yoga types.

We walk along the malecon, no one hastling us--all eyes are glued to tv's in the shops. It's the World Cup! Occasional great shouts in unison.


Our search for a replacement to the hurricane lamp that "we" broke (cannot tell a lie--it was Bob) leads us into souvenir and specialty shops and even Woolworth's but finally leads us nowhere. We've walked far enough to deserve to rest our wearies at the River Cafe, hearing the world cup narrative in the distance (there's a gaggle of people huddled around a tv at the entrance and the river rumbles up close where those gorgeous iguanas climb up the trees and meditate. Yips and cheers. Someone made a goal or whatever. (It's fun.) We are the only patrons and the only ones not glued to a tv. Wonder if we'll ever get lunch in this environment. No matter. We're in no rush and it's very pleasant sipping 2 for 1 Margueritas . I take photos of a turtle (later we decide it's a stone sculpture--no wonder it's immobile) and the iguanas and try to figure out how to crop and send it to Claire, Bob's dear animal loving Minneapolis friend.


I tell Bob I'm very happy here, meaning PV. He knows how to answer now and says he's happy too but would like to sit back and put his feet in a bucket of ice. (It can be arranged). But first the Mexican Plate which is lovely. A kind of sampler. "This is so good," pronounces Bob. I'm sure we have had it each of the last 6 years we've been in PV. The chile has the kind of kick that makes me thank god for Ms. Marguerita. A crow flies by with a packet of sugar in its beak. Bob sees it opening it up and devouring. Apparently it's learned restaurant etiquette on the banks of this river.









Decision. We're in for the evening. Original plan was Garbo's for drinks and Bohemio for dinner. But drinks at home and cheese and crackers seem so much easier salved by our agreement to undertake more aggressive outings in our PV 2014 future.

As I watch the parade of vendors, ramped up for weekend possibilities, I think of an idea if, say, I knew I had a terminal illness. Take my savings and buy without exception everything they are selling.

Which will be accompanied by a movie sci fi story which keeps us enthralled only because it is a rarity, in English with Mexican translation, and we feel we're thus painlessly learning the language. We should be speaking it fluently by bedtime. Or if not we'll just give up trying. (The current mode.)

Bob comes up with good this and that. (Salad and a mini pizza topped off by a brownie, such a brownie).

The waves are exceedingly high so I hold back for a while and the experience is a challenging one when I do test the water. And that's not necessarily bad. Ever watchful Bob sees a guy who finds a set of keys on the beach and moves from beach goer to beach goer asking if it's there's. I say no gracias thinking he's selling something but later decide that he's hoping for a finder's reward. This is a kind of microcosm of the hardscrabble life of the citizenry in which opportunity is meager but grasped patently, hopefully, when it's found.

I ask him because I say we've been coming here for years. He says he's been here 20 years--wi fi is 8 0's and number 10. Fulfilling my theory that once you got a job here you stay where is as is. That's so unlike mobile


Waves are actively rolling in, creating that lovely soft thunder sound as they crash. I've a feeling those first days of placid ocean were an anomaly.

CNN wow a double tornado in Nebraska. One of a kind. There's no climate change. Idiots. So glad our vista here is gorgeous and pacific. Hadn't planned to visit Nebraska any time soon anyway.

I'm trying to figure out how one joins the 8 am yoga class on the catwalk (my term) 20 yards away. If I get into yoga, might be the thing to do next year in PV.

Dressed in our finery we’re on to Garbo's where German the ever present owner greets us effusively. He is the philosopher king in PV and we talk of people dying and being grateful for our lives. He and we are in agreement.
He is 53 and I say he could be our son and we'd be proud which elicits his laugh. The characters are there and we are glad to be here. John who lives above the shop and is clearly ailing. The grand dame who invites him as her "date" to the art opening of her friend, the Mexican woman sitting with her, and then the other Americans at the bar, effusive gay characters all. Campy big laughs. We have two, me martinis, Bob wines and we decide to have our have supper at home--so much for La Palapa.


We are much anniversary loving and all we need is - pizza and some more booze and it's a celebration of longevity and devotion and moderate alcoholism that is basically non debilitating so what the hell. It's a delightful time and the sun is setting--not being metaphoric here--it's so beautiful we are tearful.

Too bad the yoga lady instructs in Spanish as does Alberto at Fit and I must abstain, but hey when in Rome they are said to speak Italian.

The Anglo manager has me try on skimpier and skimpier custom made designer suits ("Are you familiar with Alfonse Swimwear?") When he says that a thick band helps hide a little tummy (which I seem to have developed for the occasion) but I can carry it off because I have "a very muscular abdomen" I tell him I'll buy ten. Actually I buy three medium bikinis (!) at $20 apiece with cash which his charming young Mexican catamite (just guessing) places in a red cloth bag "for your handcuffs" and other camp sayings. (Tip. Next year have Alphonse who apparently works at his sewing machine right here in the Romantic Zone custom make suits for me.)
Later when I delightedly show Bob my suits, he says that the lifeguards at the Y will be excited to see them referring to the attractive lifeguard there who asked me where I get my suits. I say yes they will "query" me. We get some rolled eyes at that locution.
 Getting a bit late to head to the beach so we lie around (a favorite activity in PV).

A half hour later. Bob from his resting place on the sofa. "What a day you had. Exercise, lunch and shopping." Me. Valley Boy. "It's like perfect."

Paul's yoga class is getting a bit more challenging but that's to the good. He's always saying don't harm yourself. Doing my best not to. Young couple tried Alberto, not satisfied. Paul clearly disapproves of Alberto, says he's too young, no compromise on poses, etc. When I talk with the couple guy in the locker room he says he understood inhalo and exhalo but that was all; I said I had a similar experience but only understood exhalo so I was in deep trouble. Not sure if he got the joke.

Next stop, Blue massage to make a couples appointment for Saturday.
On the way to the beach a vendor points to a hash pipe and says try the green one pointing to a green marijuana leaf design on the pipe. I notice they don't come right out and say what they're really peddling. One guy on the beach has a tatoo transfer book but it's always open to, you guessed it, a marihuana leaf design. They're either obsessed with the national plant or dealing.

We're Late at the beach--it's almost 3. Order 2 Tecate lights and a cheese quesadilla to share (this time it has more cheese).The waves are not shy but since I'm wearing one of my super duper new teeny weeny bikinis I must go in. This little piece of fabric will protect me.





The gay guys are romping in the water, their friends on the shore taking photos. I say "see how all the boys are wearing bikinis except they're forty and I'm almost 73. I don't know how I feel about that." Bob says "you're almost 73." "That's what I said." "I thought you said 72." It's clear there will be no enlightenment out of this exchange. I think I could use some.

Viognier, nice. Of course there's the famous amuse bouche often chronicled in my diaries. Note. The dipping sauces for the plantains and sweet potato chips are hot in varying degrees. Beware the one that looks like a benevolent Russian dressing. B. Manzanilo salad R. The shrimp, chicken and steak sizzling fajitas (at twice the cost of Bobs dish but I promise to let him taste).

This year we don't have a "personality" server as we have had in the past. B. "Frankly I don't want to bond with my waiter". Bob notes the "purse holders" (I say, "to think I just plopped mine on the table"); a single woman is sat and sure enough she gets to hang her capacious purse on a holder.
I say this is really our anniversary lunch/dinner which gives us the out to order the chef's dessert sampler.

There's a big table of prosperous looking older Mexican couples. One woman deserts the table to take cell calls, pacing the length of the restaurant. A real estate agent closing a deal? A cosmetics CEO solving a crisis?

Obligatory tv includes Jeopardy, enduring Wheel of Fortune with smarmy what's his Republican face, and the dessert, that show in which billionaire "sharks" invest or not in entrepreneurs who, desperate, pitch to them.

Back there's a little drizzle and Bob seems reluctant to go to the beach. So as we clink glasses Bob says "the nice thing about Lola is that she's not judgmental. She just smiles and takes out the garbage." Unsaid is the image of all those discarded bottles.

Bob takes advantage of a Lola-less Sunday to wash underpants and socks and hang them to dry all over the dining room, adding je ne sais qua to the condo's innate charm.

At last there's an air skier (whatever they call this new contraption that elevates you pneumatically on the water) who is probably paying for it and keeps belly flopping into the drink. Will he ever try again? Very entertaining.
I say I'm having a good time. Bob " Good. We finally got you off the sofa."




Bob tells me I must be exhausted (actually I am) and that I probably was in there swimming a half a hour. It was worth the exhaust. Swimming north and watching the air swimmers and parachuters. I tell him that next year I'll try the parachute. He says, "wear your pampers". If need be.
I miss good photo ops, this time of a skate swimming by lickety split and 2 hunks passing by at the same time as the skate. Focus.





But once we complete our meal and take in the gorgeous view we retreat for the last of the ninja competition. Don't judge.



In the middle of the night I read an op ed in the Times about how

Bob says I have all the food groups including carbohydrates; he later rethinks that. And notes that only here do we have refried beans. I think that at least the young people are thin. Maybe that's true most everywhere except where food is scarce. Actually in Peru and Ecuador the people living off the land that we saw were all thin.

It's "mid-day of the Iguana" (we don't do night) since suddenly there are several of these, as friend Claire dubs them when I send her photos , "pre-history" beauties. Great excitement from the tree adjacent tables especially from the family with kids. I enjoy seeing their sense of discovery.

Thru the marketplace. "With me you'll win money". "Hey big spenders. You with the blue watch."







Around 4ish we arouse from our torpor and Bob suggests a malecon walk. Why not?


We have the strong feeling Mexico is being trounced judging by the countenances of the various viewing assembles as we walk along the beach. One bar offers Mex Croatia 2x1. Surely that's not the score but it’s the same offer there is everyday, every place.

Chicken and red wine. Even at 8:30 the water is calm, lovely. Bob won't let me go for a swim. Maybe, I'll grant him, there's too much alcohol between me and the first threatening wave. He oughta know.

We are enthralled by the movie on TV (channel 85 does English with a Spanish crawl so one can be educated and entertained simultaneously), Quiz Show. I tell Bob we've got to wait for the scene where Charles Van Doren ( Ralph Fiennes) confesses to his distinguished prof father Paul Scofield that he's cheated on the TV quiz show -- a master class in acting that I remembered (and little else of the film) from years ago when we saw it. Turturro as the angry Jew (the film emphasizes the golden boy vs semitic tension in society at that time) is brilliant. Anyway waiting for the ending almost makes us late for gym (my yoga class that is).

My mango Marguerita is fab. Of Bob's lime on the rocks. "What could be bad?"
Reuel. Shrimp de mango coconut "a house favorite". Wowza. Bob. Chicken burritos. With salad and guacamole.


We try the spicy dips. Is it that we're older we enjoy spicey asks Bob. I say old people eat bland.
Our lentil soup--comes with your main--is good. Bob "really" likes it.

Can I borrow your arm sir? Alejandro pretends to twist it. Can I get you another Marguerita? Yes. We know this guy Saul's summer manager for many years past. When he brings my second he says in his charming accent, “I'm sorry I have to go these extremes.” “Please do.”
Total 389.
On the way back home, the young boys from the beach who peddle weed and what else call to us, Massage? They are the ultimate sexual opportunists, or just opportunists. But not our thing.


Finally (I've been emailing and chatting furiously) we get our instructions for tomorrow's tour: meet at Los Arcos, at 9:15 where all the Mexicans stay, down the block.










the supervisor manager insists I send him my reservation. Of course we fuss with the iPhone and the reservation doesn't open. Oy. I give him my name and insist we're reserved. I’m afraid I'm holding up the tour but we still wait for another couple.

The couple arrives. And the guides have to push the big bus they arrived in. "Mexican style," says Andreas. "Things happen. Like the bus misses the reverse." Ok.

We'll stop on the way at Estancia and the Progressive Bridge. We'll learn about Ricea, like tequila. Carlos is our new driver.



We stop at the progressive bridge. 3000 ft high we cross it, I experience only minimal vertigo, and the bus picks us up.
People walk maybe days in processions to the church for a blessing.
"If you don't mind we can try a little." Our group has different accents, Texan, German, British (or Australian)

We get to taste. Tequila. Then Ricscilla. Different tastes. Then Almeda. Tastes like dessert wine. “Better over ice cream.then mandarina.” From orange skin. Great for Marguerita drink. Good for cooking marinating. Then a coffee tequila liquor.
They serve food on weekends. We buy some peanut brittle and guava candy but not the liquor, wonderful though it was.

We're at the family of Donia Mary. She had 69 grandchildren, had 21 kids. The group wag points to a photo of the wizened old woman. “She was actually 38 years old. This is what she looked like after 21 kids.”

Woman wants to see coffee trees. I say to Bob we've seen them. He says we even saw it in Bali. I say, "We've seen it all. Bring on the girls."

They are not happy with their chicken enchiladas so we made a better choice with the Mexican plate ("Bohemio quality"--faint praise).

Gorgeous big green bug I'm about to photograph and a tourist steps on it. A local laughs at my gasp of dismay.

Talks of Mexican personality, sense of humor, easygoing. Of the holiday Day of the Dead. On that day they laugh and they cry. To B. "'They laughed. They cried.' It made millions."

Of the silver shop, I say "You're not buying?" He says "Too feminine for me." "Not so" I say "But it'd look cheap on me.” (Our mutual joke.)


We go back to the square to walk around. Bob guesses they can't get us back too early or we'll feel cheated. Weather pleasant, breezes here in the mountains.
At Garbo's. Herman tells us that the "how many how many" vendor lady (apparently famous) has had fights with her massage competitors on the beach and that she called us "sexy guys" when she called us “papacitas” (not grouchy old men as we suspected.). We agree she's great at self-promotion. 2nd martini toast. "To your health." "Long may it last." "Maybe we need to cut down on the booze. . . . Cheers."

Bob. "What does Lupita at reception do all day?" R. "As far as I know she sits there and says Hola. There may be other duties I'm not privy to."

Wrong, one who apparently doesn't know me offers his trinkits, "So you're waiting for me here?" Then a succession of ill-initiated supplicants follows. If we lived here year round would we still be besieged?

I tell Bob that when I write the word "I" I feel guilty (that's twice in one sentence). It's your blog he says. I say it's about Our travels. This after trying to get a full bodied rumination from my husband. I know. I'm hard to live with.

We see what must be the Thursdays-only Diana Gay tours boat, can't miss the big gay flag--approaching our beach--sorry approaching Blue Chairs for the after party--nope disgorging someplace else. It's a sort of

I say this looks like fun. Maybe next year? Bob says no way with 20 year olds. I say I think I see some middle aged, bald pates. But I'll guess it's not in our cards. We would definitely be the gray beards.

For dessert Bob has a caramel ice cream sitting on chocolate sauce "loved it". R. Vanilla ice cream atop guava and flamed with tequila. How bad is that?

When we leave I say what I love about PV is that we are wanted.  Everyone dances attendance on us. Bob says it's about the money. I say I don't care. And we both agree that we'd be far less special in high season.

Our condo is not doing wi fi as of this afternoon so it appears we'll take our chances and confirm the flight at the airport. At least our intention is to arrive early and take advantage of the Priority Lounge so confirming our selected aisle-across seats may not be a problem.

Well we (I) will have a longer than usual stretch to be a disciplined watcher of weight before the next major foray, the international food and drink marathon aka the Northern European transatlantic cruise, that will occur in September. Of course there are the pop concerts by the bay where we "go to town" when we are in town And the ladies club dine out nights and the Palm Springs epicurean fests, all these will intervene. Whine, whine. Yes and wine too.

A gringo comes in and is hugged by the help who clearly know him well. R. A friendly people, B. They work for tips.





Lupita gets her 100p.

The taxi driver whose car's name is Kimberly, when I ask how much it will cost to the airport says "How much do you want it to be?" I signal downward. He says "Free? It will be almost free." He's fat but lugs one of our 50 lb. bags on the overhead rack with ease.

_

Little boy so intent on his gameboy.