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

JULY 7 TO PUERTO VALLARTA FOR THREE WEEKS. (DRAFT. 245 PICS COMING SOON.)

8:45 we uber out for our 10:20 flight on Alaska Terminal 1, where they have no lounge. But the wait isn’t long so not that much time spent with the riff raff.

And then trying to avert the envious (or opprobrious) glances of the ordinary passengers as they file past us in our comfortable capacious seats at the front of the plane. Oh well.

Pretty views as we fly along the Mexican mainland coast. Impossible to use the Alaska auto access entertainment. Ah the internet age. No stop down screens but do it yourself even if you can’t. Megan our flight attendant confesses that she’s been given no training on how to do this—get online and watch—- and it’s not working. A little 1st class boy is engrossed in his cartoons, why oh why can’t I? Nevertheless a very pleasant salad with roast beef slices to accompany our third (!) glass of wine (Bob wisely abstains us from a fourth) and a chocolate to top it off.

Kid behind me asks if we’re going to an airport. His mother says we came from an airport so we’re going to one. The kid logically says so we’re going back to an airport. “So  we’re going in a circle?” Could that be?

cute kid

I’ve been enjoying the views from my window seat.

our old fashioned condo 950'--but love it

$18 for the cab ride. Compare that to European airport to town taxi fares—$50 euros thank you. Beginning of bargains—$10.59 for margarita pizza at Pizza Nova around the corner and $9 for a bottle of merlot (well alcohol tends to be pricey here).

not an applique--a gheko

SUNDAY JULY 8.

Ah the joy of a good long comfortable sleep. I bestir myself at 6:30 am.

Pleasant sitting here in the living room where it is not yet sunrise and only the sound of the ceiling fan and there’s the distant sound of waves against the shore to invade the silence.

Swim. Delightful even if I need to hide keys in the alley since Sunday’s locked-exit day.

River cafe for Sunday brunch. There’s the woman having brunch by herself we met last year. Does nothing change? When I approach her she’s not the woman, a "local" but pleasant nonetheless. A charming people. Trumps an asshole.  “Food here always good,” says Bob. $68.74 with tip. Next time try the 2 for 1 margaritas with the $12 (great) brunch including custom omelette.

OUR MAID MUST HAVE WORKED ON CRUISE SHIPS--ARTFUL TOILET PAPER

Alas most of the afternoon Reuel spends unsuccessfully trying to get his play-thus-far transferred for editing to an acceptable format. Hours later no luck.

We go out for cheap Oxxo pizza and delicious ice cream chocolate-cikle. And somewhat after, the rains fall (unsparingly) and thunders thunder outside our patio—a perverse delight of July Vallarta as far as we’re concerned. Bob tells me the deluge usually comes later when I’m in bed. Through the thunderous sound of the rain we still can hear the flamenco guitar from the restaurant below.

Then the thunder, then the rains, a deluge actually which we watch from our terrace—early says Bob. I can enjoy too, this (apparently somewhat less violent) spectacle from our balcony vantage. A half hour later the storm subsides leaving PV soaked and the restauranteurs miserable.

As the deluge begins again there are actually people standing out on the pier soaking. Bob says that in all the years we’ve been here he’s never seen so much rain. It usually begins when the sun sets and it’s dark. Is it climate change? Former secretary what’s-his-face? I’m prepared to blame Mr. T for all ills.

Then a gigantic thunder clap and I quit the balcony. Good night Bob.

MONDAY JULY 9

In time at FIT Gym  to register for 30 visits at 3200 pesos ($167) a little elyptical work and there’s Alika from last year with quips about Fernando who she says absconded to Sweden; class small with Fabiola now that Fernando’s fan girls have decamped (did they go to Sweden with him?—and no doubt with his newest male lover—a wealthy elderly Swede?—enough.) Stanley’s not in evidence. Where is he?? Bob and I are exhausted by Fabiola’s routines. And the studio seems to get hotter. As it is outside on our short walk to Mikey’s for all manner of costly gourmet delights. Then to Blu to make a 4 pm appointment for tomorrow.

I tell our maid that we’ll be out by noon which doesn’t leave us much time to collect our gear for our trek to Ritmos green chairs (I forget my goggles which does limit my activity in the lovely warm water but I do good work on my play.) We’re out before 3 after paying for our shared steak quesadilla and 4 Tecate lights.

This means a bit of wait until cocktail hour and sampling some of Mikey’s vittles.

TUESDAY JULY 10.

It’s going to be a gloomy day—read desultory. Rain great energy at any moment—grey clouds. Atmospheric. 

our favorite table

We sit around until we must leave (the maid rules) but Daqueri Dick is closed on Tuesday and Gaby’s is far--an Unpredictable day. So aha River Cafe where we are treated like Kings, our own table in The gazebo—but where are the iguanas? Daniel our waiter over the years pretends to remember us. A couple of two for one margaritas, Mexican plate for me and Chile reyenos for Bob. Life is good.

It’s 4 and time for our massages. Two white clad masseurs at our service. They get 100p tips each and still the whole adventure—I find it luxurious—cost under $70 for both of us. Still Bob is reluctant to make another appointment. Wonder why?

 
blue massage--cheap 

WEDNESDAY JULY 11.

Zumba day and we get a little treadmill/elyptical action in as well. Fabiola’s routines are even more strenuous today (9 in class—a record) but Bob keeps up.

Shower and we walk to Mantomar Club past closed Ritmos. Our friendly waiter Francisco, who spent 16 years in Omaha—why?—pours the house wine $22 and serves us 2 club sandwiches (around $6 each). However the day pass on the beach is $25 per person ($15 because there’s a $10 credit for food). I get a couple of swims in and we feel like pashas though I’m not convinced Bob is having a fab time. Francisco is confused that we leave at 2:45 when we’ve rented beach time but I think his big tip (20% of the total day/food charge) compensates. We’re in for the night with the exception of a run for wine at the nasty grocery and for chocolate pops at Oxxo.

THURSDAY JULY 12.

what's going on next door?

Wake up after a full night’s sleep (woo hoo) and write a scene of my play. That’s a good thing.

Late start. Gym to do mostly nautilis’s. Then picking up drugs um replacements for my diminishing supply of prescription drugs. Not clear what I’m getting. But hey they’re drugs for a few bucks.

Back after buying drugs discover our maid is still there. We told her 12 is a good starting point so not her fault. Quick change of shirt and it’s Daiquiri Dick’s.

 

We try the pitcher of Dacquiris—$16, quite nice. Bob enjoys his pulled pork sandwich and me my shrimp —. We always enjoy the place.

Any thoughts of going to the beach overwhelmed by the tumultuous hearings of the Judiciary and Oversight committee’s questioning of Peter Strzok, the FBI agent who wrote the unfortunate text messages with his girlfriend that revealed bias which he said did not impact his investigation. Mesmerizing as Republicans try to pillory him and the FBI and Dems call them out for attempting to shift attention away from the Mueller investigation at the sacrifice of real issues. Strzok holds his own—a firebrand. Theatre.

Martinis and wine with crackers and Pate serves for supper.

FRIDAY JULY 13.

Zumba seems even more frenetic this morning. Beach: We share a club sandwich. Reuel margaritas, Bob Tecate Lights.

Nappy post beach and our visit to Garbo’s and our host Herman “as if it were yesterday” he last saw us rather than last year. Catching up.

Then: Bohemio we discover quite by accident is open at last. We’re the only patrons until a couple who I think are just having dessert.

A bottle of red for us. Bob enjoys his lentil soup and my chicken soup has all kinds of ingredients chopped into it. Who can complain? As to Bob’s chicken cordon bleh, “it’s a down home version.@ I don’t see the creamy part.” My sizzling fajitas has hardened ingredients. Not successful.

Bob of the meal. “We won’t be coming here again. A grave disappointment.” 

At least it got us out of the house.

SATURDAY JULY 14

All getting up early to be ready for the Zumba class announced by the ever energetic and entrepreneurial Fabiola yesterday in her Fit Zumba session. Even waking poor Bob in the process, he who nurtures his Saturday morning extended sleep. And god knows he’s not about to join an 8 am open air Mexican Zumba class. Neither am I as it eventuates. There early but no Zumba types in sight. I Google plaza Zumba to find that it’s imperiled by complaining plaza neighbors, that it is typically M-F. I look at the plaques underneath the statues of various worthies to see if this is indeed the right plaza. Suddenly unsure. I sit near a women who increasingly looks homeless. She offers me a bite of her candy bar. No gracias. No Zumba expectant she. Finally at 8:20 Alika shows up equally confused that there’s no class. We chat and banter about it. Did she misunderstand Fabiola yesterday? Looks like. Bye and back to a surprised Bob (I enjoy the walk to and fro among the early morning Mexicans—that’s a plus.)

After the exertions of the non-exertion of the non-Zumba class there is Coco’s for breakfast in their lovely patio space in the rear midst the jungle trees creating a holey canopy above. We actually do not have drinks like margaritas or mimosas but get to the business of Bob’s eggs Benedict and Reuel’s salmon and cream cheese omelette. Both yummy. We spend the time building stories about the other patrons. Lovely occupation that. The waiters here have always had dry humors. “Do you accept credit cards?” “If they’re good. I’ll cross my fingers.” Of the bill, Waiter: “What a deal.” It is. 20 bucks with tip and we’re outta there.

Gotta leave before the maid arrives at noon. Bob seems resigned that our only choice is the beach. I wish he had a book to read as he did last year. I’ve got my iPad with its growing draft of a political play plus the  prospect of swimming. Not equal opportunity there.

Bob does have a book borrowed from the condo's library--thanks legions of former residents--so I with impunity can swim 3 times and we share a steak quesadilla and a couple of Tecates and Mary’s’. The beach is full of energy. And when we’re ready to leave at 3:30 there’s Alika and her hubby wanting our front row chairs, then another couple. So we are auctioning off one another’s locations. I say jokingly we require 500 pesos a chair and I think the third place guys are interested but I’m not about to abandon my Zumba pal Alika—turns out the music—this is a dj day—is too loud for those seated back a bit.

Home we find the remarkably cheap Polish vodka is um pertinent but acceptable. And later Reuel who manages to break one of the charming wine glasses as he nods, put to bed and almost asleep he hears the strains of music from She Loves Me and, great treat, there’s the production with Laura Benetti and Jane Krakowski etc we saw two years ago in NYC. Delightful and with Spanish subtitles and the condo's artificial caged bird ;though we’re not sure that it’s artificial, chirping away adding to the overwhelming charm. Would that we had repros of the great musicals in the USA.

Scratch Bob’s back (he constantly itches) and try to sleep!

SUNDAY I JULY 15

Morn Swim at our condo beach. Lose keys. The staff of El Dorado Beach Club try to help but don't really.Dummy. Scratching in the sand. Shouting “Bob!” in the courtyard behind the restaurant. Finally he comes down and lets me in.

River Cafe. Cream cheese filled pastry nice to break fast. Mimosas. Everybody’s going nuts over the World Cup. I don't think Mexico’s even involved. A couple of glasses of chards. We’ve yet to see an iguana. I tell our waiter and he tries his best to no avail. He reaches for excuses—they like sun; they like rain. Nevertheless they treat us well at River Cafe.

Why so tired? Spend the rest of the day napping. Waking for a half hour telephone conversation with newly arrived Stanley—catching up. His birthday river tour, Ruben’s cancer cured—but touch and go for a while—Ruben trading his condo for a ranch—Stanley “attacked” by goats and chickens.(We agree to meet tomorrow for Zumba) Then need stamina for cocktails and balcony watching. Zzz.

MONDAY JULY 16.

No air conditioning in the studio this morning so zumba is a challenge. Muy caldo (?) We’re dropping like flies. My spirit isn’t even willing and Bob wisely decamps for the treadmill halfway through.

A $70 visit to Mikey’s a block away then essentiall showers prior to lunch. But there’s Stanley and Ruben in the lobby—so some chattering away, then we get a set of keys made and since it’s on the way to Dacquiri Dicks—creatures of habit.

This year’s innovation for us is the pitcher of Dacquiris and a lovely concept it is. Best club sandwich on the coast (which coast not clear or how much coast—but their boast is no doubt well supported) and we are the only customers.

Is it the humidity, the dacquiris, my ailing feet that makes me crawl like snail back home or creeping in, let’s face it, old age? In that vein, napping in our air conditioned bedroom is an easy matter.

Then Bob tries to dissuade me from a late afternoon swim, fearing I suppose that I’ll sink under the weight of Dacquiris. He wins, the astounding news and commentary about Trumps disgraceful behavior in his meeting with Putin in Helsinki, making Russia not America great again, the better riveting argument against swimming away from CNN.

After martinis and more exacerbating CNN commentary Bob asks. “ Shall I make a little dinner?” “ How little?” Is the inevitable reply. We do a riff on Soooo little. ((After all these years we have a Little fun.)

Paneta: This is the most tragic day in the history of the presidency.

TUESDAY JULY 17.

So I arise and have breakfast really early in order to get the much promised weekday (as opposed to the immediately defunct weekend) zumba in the Park. Deja vu. I stroll through the semi crowds of morning workers. I arrive at the plaza.  No evidence of Zumba. I leave. Has Fabiola been shut out by noise averse condo neighbors?

Bob and I forget that gym is an option and after making a set of replacement keys (at the suggestion of Sam, condo mgr.—we find the glass store we enjoy and manage not to buy anything (yea) including a replacement for the wine glass I broke—can’t find a match. Make a reservation for a massage at Blu’s later today.

And time for the beach. Bob finds a novel to read. I’ve got my iPad for some adjustments to my play draft and my goggles for a couple of lovely swims in the warm water among the mostly gay Mexicans and their dogs, creatures ambivalent about ocean swims.

Back for our 4 pm massage appointments, this time in separate rooms. Bob’s ecstatic about Edgar’s massage, I less so about Rene’s work—but pampering is always welcome. Turns out with cash both of our hour-long massages are $45 total. Plus tips of 200p ($10) each (don’t have smaller bills). Such a deal. Try finding that in the US.

Stop off for wine and cheap but acceptable Polish vodka (our home imported Ketal One long gone).

Dinner consists of club sandwiches “doggy bags” from D Dicks plus some Greek salad. Watching news of Trump tripping over himself on his cozying up to Putin vs. US intelligence agencies and our NATO alliance. Sad. Alarming.

WEDNESDAY JULY 18.

Our waiter Arturo at Mantamar is cute. We know the routine now, select our beach chairs and settle down in the capacious open air restaurant with a bottle of chilled (thank you) house red. Bob ham and cheese (it’s huge). Me shrimp burrito and both those lovely fries.

Guys keep coming by offering us “blow”. Bob and I speculate as to what that might be.

It’s too idyllic on the beach so there needs to be badness. And there is. I go swimming and attempting to ge tout I fall down several times in the strong current. A younger man of say 45 calls out to me, “Sir May I help you up?” Humiliation. “No thank you. I’ll make it” and finally I stand. Back at my beach chair I see Bob has been sitting there upright, concerned. It is then that I discover my wedding band is gone, lost in the undertow as it was those years ago in some West Indian island under similar circumstances.

    After staring at the waves which have doubtless lapped up my beautiful band of gold,  I finish my martini feeling old and vanquished. “Sir May I help you up?” On the way back (this Mantamar outing cost $100 bucks by the way) I walk haltingly, like a frail old man. Could it be? Yes.

THURSDAY JULY 19.

If at 1st ya don’t succeed. So back to the plaza where patiently waiting until 8:15 (so that’s what 8: 0 clock is in Mexico, Fabiola arrives (Alika is waiting with me). Fab has assistants with whom she laughs and chats while dancing. All very upbeat, though we are dancing on concrete (kneesplease) and as the hour progresses so does the temperature—rising. Fab disappears every once in a while her assistants try to figure out what the next steps are until she reappears with some food or drink (found where?) and as is her habit adjusting her clothes. There’s always a wardrobe malfunction in her repertoire.

Say goodbye to Alika who says we’re dancing with the people and I’m her BFF. She’s a very positive person.

Before heading to Ritmos Beach Club, we need more cash from one of the cash cages in the other direction.

Again a front seat—it’s later in the afternoon that the beach becomes crowded. Margaritas and a shared steak quesadilla. Without my ring I can swim confidently if a little dejectedly.

Evening at home, martinis and cheese/crackers hors deuvres will do for dinner since I tell Bob I’m not hungry for more—the quiches he planned. We’re riveted at CNN commentary as we watch democracy slip out of our grasp.

FRIDAY JULY 20.

The mariachi style Mexican music wears poorly on the ears as we breakfast (for Bob it’s just toast and for Reuel eggs, toast, salmon and once again coffee in the absence of tea [having left my tea infusion equipment home]).

Zumba morning with Fabiola. At least the studio is air conditioned today.

After showering away our sins or rather the sin of excessive sweat from dance and heat, We are on our way to Gaby’s but the intense debilitating heat as we approach the cuale persuades us to desist and stop for lunch at River Cafe instead. On the way a vender offers his jewelry wares. When he notices how stiffly I walk and move my head, ever opportunistic I’d guess, he says, "copper is good for arthritis—just saying.” All evidence points to my clear oldness.

“You come to Mexico to have a hamburger?” (When will I learn not to have hamburgers in Mexico?.) He asks. Yes. But It’s as the waiter suggests simply “acceptable”. Bob’s chicken relleno with tomatillo sauce is delish. Bob agrees my fries are potatoey—not American but good.

 The pitcher of margaritas helps.

Drag ourselves back home to the cool air conditioning. Long nap but I don’t feel well. A bit of Montezuma’s revenge? Nevertheless, except for bidding the sun to gloriously set at Bob’s request that I bestir myself from bed to watch it, I’m pretty much bed bound sans cocktail, wine or food. Something’s amiss. At least I find in Bob’s cabinet anti-diarrhea pills.

Keeping me up, in addition to nasty stomach problems are an Interesting special on CNN about the effect of Trump on TV programming. Followed by “Putin the most powerful man in the world”, fascinating on the rise of Putin, his fear of popular uprisings, hatred of Hilary Clinton and determination to defeat her (which he may have done) as well as any competitor in Russia (being found dead is their fate).

SATURDAY JULY 21

Though it’s 10:30 in the morning El Dorado (which is Vista Grill at night) downstairs from our condo will serve lunch, whereas La Palapa across the street will not. So El Dorado it is (though we miss the old Vista Grill on a hill with its spectacular views). I’m not sure if I love the special margarita so they replace it (though I’ve had 2/3’s—greed always gets the best of me)—with a conventional delicious margarita. Somehow we’ve ordered a plate of guacamole—it’s delicious. Bob follows up his Bloody Mary with a local beer—Los Vientiane which he thinks is spectacular.

Bob’s pulled ribs sandwich is “very good”—my seafood melange is the stuff of gourmet dreams. Wow. All these fishy things in a cream sauce.

SUNDAY JULY 22.

Gaby's at last. The cadillac margarita Muriel serves us is his trademark ricea. Not god forbid toquilla. Note: one sizzling fajita to share is enough. Always a great lunch at Gaby’s says Bob as the nearby church bells insistingly ring. Despite Muriel’s fervent advert that ricea will keep us alive up to 100 (he ignores that I say we’re getting close and that’s not good enough) he doesn’t try to sell us anything. Was that a condition of his employment with Daughter Gaby/mother Christina?

     Much too hot to walk back so grab a cab. To my shock when cabbie says 75 pesos, he quickly revises with 65 pesos. (The ride over was 60 pesos.)

       Nap for several hours! Probably a good thing.

MONDAY JILY 23 BIRTHDAY!

So it’s my birthday. Big deal but I’ll make the most of it.!77! Hey up and feeling grateful and  feel better that I should feel grateful. Etc.(we’re talking being overaged Jewish introspective.) early enough to swim at our beach virtually solitary. Peacefulness that will be absent later.

We’re early but not too early for Zumba. Is it a mistake that I mention my birthday to lovely Australian couple Alma and Terry since I later see Alma whispering to Fabiola our instructor and sure enough just before cool down Fab is playing happy birthday to which I dance—with Fabiola—  exuberantly. And then with each of the participants-it’s a long song—it’s a lovely moment.

The plan was to go to Iguana-the Burton Taylor place--for birthday dinner, but I'm having stomach problems. Not a good idea to spend beaucoup bucks for an imperiled evening.

I

TUESDAY JULY 24

No need to be on time (8 am?) for Zumba In the Park because I’m sitting here at 20 minutes after-at least others have lethargically assembled. No sign of Fabiola. Early morning is when you want to be up and about because at least PV is not a cauldron then. Ah her hench ladies have arrived to take us through the usual paces That’s 8:20. And it’s not until 8:40 that her nibs makes her entrance with her boom box.

It’s awfully hot/humid and when I wearily return to the condo I’m drenched. Bob needs to have breakfast at Coco’s. So a shower later we are there in that charming patio. Alas it takes forever for my eggs Benedict and his potato pancakes to arrive but they are both good.

Did we go to the beach? Probably. A couple of margaritas The best seats reserved by our waiter—master waiter; he’s been there always—and stay-at-home thereafter.

Bob heroically forages for Oxxo’s pizzas and their popsicles which he knows I love.

WEDNESDAY JULY 25.

Feeling sufficiently energetic once the sun is sufficiently up to swim. Bob doesn’t find my saying that if I’m not back soon , . .  well? . . Funny at all. But it doesn’t take long to get a swim in and the blood moving before a pre Zumba shower. Fabiola, late as always, tries new songs and combinations—she must have a repertoire of hundreds. Enjoy conversations with the Australian couple, Amalia and Terry, Alika whose children are visiting and reports difficulty of getting up after night’s of debauchery in which the whole family apparently is implicated and then Danny, who owns the Act 3 Theatre here. Apparently He can get away without paying royalties because it’s Mexico, but he does. Bing We talk of Nunsense a men which we both produced successfully, etc.

At Mantamar Beach Club(which is a Wednesday regular now) server today is Omar. The usual house cold cab bottle Altamar William Cole—400 pesos—and the ever-ok club sandwiches.

In the water I listen to a guy talking of his former abusive relationship with an actor, Peter, who left his wife for him—how he bonded with the wife—how Peter became the boyfriend of director William Ball who built a ten million dollar mansion for him. Gotta fact check. 

This time I decide to leave a 200 peso tip (ok a little skimpy—though I think they appreciate cash tips) since we got no service while on the beach. And Mantamar accepts AMEX (necessary since my visa has been suspended since I reported a possibly fraudulent charge.

THURSDAY JULY 26

Up rather early in anticipation of morning Zumba in the Park. Hopes are dashed however when a great thunderstorm ensues around 6 am. And though the rain subsides at 8, the prospect of sloshing around to Zumba beats is not sufficiently enticing to get me going.

We are in La Palapa for breakfast. Always love it just down our block on the beach. Bob on his second mimosa says he wants to tie one on before lunch. I say get going you’ve got 50 minutes to 11. As usual trying to figure out relationships of the wealthy family dining on the beach just below us. My shrimp omelette and Bobs Nuevo rancheros look lovely.

Really pretty, the mountains falling into the sea muted in the distance and it’s not just the 3rd mimosa talking.

Tequila sunrise is the WiFi code for Ritmos this year.  Shoulda known. Couple of margaritas. Thanks.

It turns out my birthday dinner is at Kaiser Maximillian--just opened for the season. Stanley arranged the cake etc. As always the food is superb and the company fun.

FRIDAY JULY 27

Tomorrow we leave. Prepare a packet of 500 pesos for Fabiola, Zumba instructor. Give Amalia and Terry delightful Australian couple our card. Much goodbying. Alika is not there but Stanley is and we walk back together and invite him and Ruben for drinks at 5:30.

What’s nicer than a shared steak quesadilla with guacamole and salsa (if that’s what chopped tomato is) and chilled margaritas—we’ll have another. Getting my last pleasurable swims in though the ocean’s a bit rough today.

Next to us Mexican gay men singing along with the chanteuse on their iPod—competing with the The dj’s selections on the loudspeaker. But there’s something charming about it. Universal gay.

Then after my last swim there’s rain and even the sound of thunder. From my point of view it’s exciting, the environment is beautiful. “The storm s coming”, says our server. And “we’re going” say I. 480 pesos plus to 550. This last day is lovely.

But . . . These rains are serious. We find some cover outside a building and watch as the lighting and thunder and increasing rain persists. Finally Bob attempting to adjust his position a few steps down the rise of a block slips and falls—heavily—on his hip he later claims. A nice young man and I help him up. He says he’s fine but for his flesh wounds. I wonder. Back through the unceasing  rain to home and showers and tending to his flesh wounds. The rain has suddenly stopped but I feel there will be consequences for us.

Out for chips, soda (Bob) and Olives (Reuel). For the impending visit of Stanley and Ruben. And there they are precisely at 5:30. Stanley’s vodka is not my prepared martini but must be a vodka tonic. Ruben has Fresca. I’ve got my iPhone app translator operating tonight (as it wasn’t last night with the guys at dinner) so Ruben and I communicate as long as the novelty lasts. Such questions as why, Ruben, did you buy a ranch house and one so far from here? There’s more than Stanley’s explanations herein.  Ruben facing imminent death, sought peace. Well now he has it and Stanley’s not happy about the hour and a half ride in a shock absorber-less bus. Ah accommodation of true love.

SATURDAY JULY 28

LAST DAY

Bob wakes up in pain. It’s his hip and perhaps worse, his balance—he’s dizzy. It is clear that his terrible fall yesterday (I saw him lose his footing down the slippery slope and fall heavily and heard myself shouting Oh no. Oh no. (Lotta good that did.) the fall was indeed terrible.  He lay still and I wondered if he was conscious. My fall in gym of a few years ago that resulted in a replacement rotator cuff and continuing neck pain flashed in my brain.

I being a splendid fellow leave him in his bed of pain for a last morning swim. Solitary at this pursuit pretty much—the ritual of hiding my keys behind a pot in the rear courtyard—swimming with the bobbing pelicans, watching two beautiful giant dogs frolicking, a beautiful sight as they jump toward one another in a perfect arch and at the edge of the water watch this swimmer warily. This time all the way to Blu Chairs beach and back to El Dorado beach.

We’re the first customers at the El Dorado Beach Club Restaurant downstairs. Alejandro welcomes us again—he’s kinda sweet, like a big, eager puppy. This time we are seated on the beach which is pretty neat—it’s beautiful. We’re having exotic drinks, Bob the margarita of the day, Reuel some vodka concoction served D in a ma Trinity gla As Bob the club sandwich “it’s safe” and Reuel the seared salmon sandwich.  The Negative, the flies. Nothings ever perfect.

Lupita is happy with her 200p tip. Cab is 150p. Frustrated by traffic he turns on the radio and loudly sings along. Then it’s a capela.

We’re first class so no problemo. Buy some chocolates for Don packaged with photos of PV scenes. Why not get one for ourselves?

The lounge—which gets us in with our Priority pass; 1st class tickets not necessary. This year it’s not annoyingly crowded nor lacking air conditioning. Chardonnay’s please and corbussier seating.

Wine onboard at 5:05. With “hot nuts”. However stewardess explains I can’t get entertainment on my devices because I don’t have the gogo app which can only get on the ground. Bummer. They don’t tell you.

5:35 The Korean chicken is excellent but spicey and my wine needs refilling.

Home again. Jigitty jig.