Wednesday, April 30, 2008


In the Mexico City airport.  We are approaching 6:00 a.m.  Emma and I are about to sit down to our first meal outside of the States.  I wish I had brushed up on my Spanish.  I can already tell I am going to be relying on Emma for a lot on this trip.  Oh, and by the way, it's warm.  Hot even.  I can't tell you how happy that makes me.

We've arrived in Yelapa.  Getting here from the airport was almost too easy.  We took a half hour cab ride through down town PV.  It reminded me all too much of Fiji with its white washed walls and tropical plants growing in the oddest of places.  There was about a twenty minute wait at Los Muertos Pier for the next water taxi.  Emma and I waited in silence, watching the strange faces pass by.  The best face goes to a man, who was either very Japanese or very Mexican.  He was either very happy or very drunk.  His face was beet red, grinning from ear to ear and his come over was beginning to shine with sweat.  He wore a beautiful black suit and a nicely pressed shirt.  His feet though, were bare.  He walked along the pier, chatting with the boatmen and fishermen until I lost sight of him and began looking around at the shuffling crowd again.  More and more tourists surrounded us.  Now there were only a few tanned faces among all the white and red ones.  
About 30 of us hobbled onto the bouncing boat and were soon flying across the bay.  Along the way we dropped some people at different docks, boats, and beaches.  Each getting off as though they had done it a hundred times, not like the rest of us.  We drove for about an hour in that boat, through crowds of snorkelers, through islands and through heavy wake.   
When we arrived in Yelapa's bay we pulled up to the pier at Hotel Lagunita and dropped everyone off except Emma, myself, and three silent Mexicans sitting in the back.  We helped everyone get off the boat safely and then heading to where the Mexican trio had specified.  It was just a spot along the beach.  We surfed a wave up to dry land and then they hobbled to the front carrying their boxes and climbed down to the sand.  It wasn't until then that I realized that they were carrying boxes of beer, probably for their restaurant. 
It was now just Emma and I.  We told them to take us to Isabel's beach on the far side of the village.  We hopped onto the sand and looked at what lay ahead of us.  We smiled.  
A short description of our place:
Casa De Isabel is tucked into the hillside and covered in jungle foliage.  There is a tiny stone trail leading up the hillside with palapa's along the side of it.  Our palapa, Casa Yolocalli, was about half way up the hill, maybe 30 or so meters above sea level.  Our palapa was absolutely amazing.  I was afraid it might be too rough for Emma but she said it was just what she was hoping for.  There is one wall that is, at most, six feet long and eight feet height.  It stands alone and, in this environment even seems excessive.  It sits on a stone slab, painted yellow, that protrudes from the hillside.  For shelter there are 40' long bamboo stalks that are covered in palm leaves.  In the back corner sits a tiny little kitchen.  There is a swinging couch with its back facing a beautiful creek canyon.  A spare bed.  A hammock swings over looking the ocean.  And just below this is a porch that has been built into the tree with a table and chairs and a fire pit.  Behind the kitchen there is a doorway made of bamboo.  A serong acts as a door.  Behind it you will find a toilet built into the rocks.  To call it a bathROOM would be a mistake.  It is more...I don't know, just a nice place to do you business, over looking a canyon.  It seemed right to me.  Just to the right of this is the shower, also open air, and a staircase made of bent branches.  In the 'loft' area is our bed which hangs from the bamboo.  It was like being rocked to sleep in your mothers bosom again.  In front of the bed is a swinging chair and another little porch built into the trees.  All of this, by the way, looks over the ocean.  The only sounds to be heard are the oceans sweet lapping, the breeze through the leaves, the birds singing their wonderful songs and the occasion child shouting for their mother in Spanish.  Perfect.

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