Time to come home

     Tired as we were, we had to admit it had been a great get-away. Holidays are necessary where we live. They remind us that winter doesn't last forever (although as I write this, a blizzard rages outside and highways are closed yet again- see the video at the end of the post. *sigh). Holidays also remind me how much I love my husband. Something I sometimes forget in day-to-day life (especially when he's being a jerk because he's working too hard).
     I cherish all the time we got to spend together. Calixa, mom, dad and bump, our nuclear family unit. No matter how gay the resort, how steep the roads or how infested the beds, we were always together and that felt really good. Now that we're home it's time to prepare for the next chapter of our lives, the arrival of baby number two....Who knows where we'll go from there...but I'll be sure to keep you posted. 

A sweet message in the sand for my two babies.

Our luggage stayed out in quarantine for nearly a week once we got home...just in case we'd brought home more than we'd intended.

Our first North American meal to celebrate our return. Roasted chicken, stuffing, gravy, green beans, potatoes and of course, apple pie!

  

Top five best and worst

As our holiday drew to a close I began to reflect on the parts of our trip we enjoyed the most and the least. Here is our list:
1. Best food: This is a toss up between my father-in-law's spectacular suppers and an amazing restaurant on the malecon called 'La Dolce Vita'. I have eaten at LDV three times and have always been impressed. Despite the fact that it is in Mexico, so far it's the best Italian food I've ever eaten. Everything is fresh and homemade. You can taste every little innuendo, from the perfect amount of salt to the type of tomato used in the tortellini soup broth. A little pricey, especially if you order drinks, but always worth it! Cally loved the spaghetti.
http://www.dolcevita.com.mx/
  Worst food: The salsa fresca that we bought at the corner store tasted fantastic...but with dire consequences later on.

2. Best day trip: I think Trevor's vote is for the golf course. I'd have to agree. It was beautiful, groomed and I got to get off the cart and do a little yoga here and there (the marshal wasn't too strict). The crocodiles present a splash of excitement if you were to get bored.
http://www.marinavallartagolf.com/
    Worst day trip: There isn't one. We never had a bad day.

3. Best Scenery: The beach south of us was almost completely deserted. The recent economic downturn has resulted in a lot of business closures, and right on the beach a big restaurant sat vacant. This meant we could use the palapas for shade without having to buy something. Because it was south of the gay resorts, a lot of people just didn't venture that far. The guys were like an oily, hairless barrier. There were too many rocks to make swimming safe, which suited us just fine as Cally wasn't willing to even touch the water, let alone swim about.  It was nice to have all that beautiful space to ourselves. Heaven!
    Worst Scenery: The beach directly in front of our hotel...Lots of tight bathing suits, lover-boys trying to sing opera to each other and giggling groups of men making sand angels.

4. Best Nightlife: With a two year old we didn't go out that much at night but a friend invited Cally and I to western night at her hotel just a street away. Cally had a great time dancing with Irene.
     Worst Nightlife: The creepy crawlies living in our mattress.

5. Overall best experience: Spending time with family. After all, that's why we went down there. Nothing can match the look of Cally's face when she saw her Grandpa waiting for us at the airport. She was in heaven whenever she was around here special Gigi and Grandmere. A wonderful experience for all of us.
     Overall Worst Experience: Insomnia.

Night terrors

     Anyone who's been pregnant knows the irony it creates with regards to sleep. You are tired- more tired than you've ever been in your life, and yet as your sixth month waxes, sleep begins to elude you. Your hips hurt, your back hurts and in my case at least, your mind start to run amok about anything and everything. Hormones are so annoying.

There I am at 28 weeks, the estrogen just keeps going up, up, up!

     After the first few night I spent awake in our resort I was convinced that my state of sleeplessness was entirely due to my mental/physical state. I therefore began to pour over the yoga texts I'd brought along for help in the meditation department. I figured that if I could reign in my monkey-mind, then I could talk myself into sleeping...but after about the third day I started to wonder whether it wasn't just me.
     To my pregnant hips, the bed felt as soft as the cobblestone street outside and about as lumpy too. But Trevor was starting to complain about the same thing. You could gain a bit of comfort if you shifted ever so slightly to the left or right, just off of the offending spring. But it was temporary.

     Then Trevor started to complain about mosquito bites. That was fishy. Mosquitoes are not really a problem in Mexico and you are hard-pressed to find patio doors or windows with screens in them, simply because you don't need them...I didn't think it was mosquitoes. Sand flies maybe? But we had only spent a few days on the beach and Trevor'd been getting bites before that...then with startled revelation we realized what it must be...BED BUGS
     EWWWW gross gross gross gross! So while we were trying to sleep these nasty crawly bugs were creeping over our bodies and sucking our blood, burrowing into our clothing and hoping to hitch a ride back to Canada.

     The air conditioner was the icing on the cake though. We couldn't just leave the patio door open for a blessed breeze because of the night club next door. It is hard enough to fall asleep on the hardest bed on earth without having to listen to "don't be a drag, just be a queen." blaring all night long. The air conditioner was placed above our bed and  had it emitted a soft and constant hum as well as a refreshing breeze, sleep would have been able to hold us in its soft arms and rock us gently into lala land. Instead, in a premeditated state of calm, the air conditioner would run smoothly, lulling us into the comfortable state of relaxation that precedes sleep, then with the maliciousness of a serial killer it would rev it's fan to a deafening decibel, and jar us back into the land of SUCKS-TO-BE-YOU! If air conditioners could talk this one was saying, "Hey cabrone, no siesta for you. You no want to sleep, you want to fiesta! ARRIBA ARRIBA ONDOLE!"  Piece of crap air conditioner jerk!
     My only consolation was the love seat in the next room. Oh I could still hear the air conditioner alright, and even my 5 foot three frame couldn't fit comfortably on the tiny couch. I am also perfectly aware that bed bugs live not just in beds, but in couches as well, but at least my hips stopped hurting and that small piece of comfort gave me two to three hours a night.
During the day we were fine, despite the odd moments when I would cry for no reason (I repeat, hormones and sleep deprivation are so annoying), but as evening approached and we knew we'd have to once again do battle with our bed my level of anxiety would skyrocket. I've never actually said this in complete honesty about a holiday before, but I was starting to lose it...I wanted to go home.

A day at the zoo

http://www.zoologicodevallarta.com/
    It was the day before we were supposed to leave and we wanted to do something fun with Calixa...away from our resort. The zoo at Mismaloya seemed like the perfect outing. We knew that the zoo was south of PV but were a little leary of taking the bus. The taxi driver quoted us 50 pesos (about 5 bucks) for the trip and so, thinking we'd gotten quite a deal, we loaded the stroller into the back of the little Nissan and were off...in the wrong direction. The cabbie's limited English and my limited Spanish meant that the quoted price was for a trip to the "zoo restaurant" on the boardwalk.
     "No, ah no quiero ir a el restaurante. Quiero ir a el zoo con los animales." I reiterated once we realized the mistake and once again we were off, south this time to the city limits. We hadn't discussed the new fare for this longer out-of-town trip and I worried that maybe we should have taken the bus after all.
     Driving along the Banderas Bay coast highway gave new meaning to the phrase, "stop and go traffic". I can only imagine that the winding paved highway and blind corners created too many visions of racecar glory and too many tragic accidents. The result of this is that the highway is riddled with massive speed bumps. Between the bumps our driver would rev up the engine and drive like his life depended on it, much to the chagrin of my queasy stomach. I opened the window and let the wind scath my face in an attempt to keep my breakfast down.
     Watching the side of the highway, it became apparent that there are a lot of really nice resorts and houses just south of PV- worth noting if we ever decide to come back. They are more secluded but my guess is that they are also cleaner and probably more family friendly.
     It turns out the Mismaloya is only 20km south of PV, a fact that made the drive more tolerable. Once we pulled into the lonely dusty parking lot of the zoo the driver wanted to know if we'd like him to wait. A quick survey of our surroundings confirmed how wise this would be. Mismaloya is a ways from the highway and come to think of it, I hadn't noticed any other taxis for quite some time...and certainly none in the immediate vicinity and so price and time agreed upon, we and our driver went our separate ways.
     Cally's eyes grew wide as we pushed the stroller through the main gates. "Water water!" she squealed, pointing to the mass of boulders in the courtyard spewing greenish sludge from their top. "Yes, I suppose it does resemble water." I speculated and wheeled the stroller in a wide arc around the fountain. The Mismaloya zoo is laid out in a circle. All you have to do is walk along the path and enjoy the sights...what we didn't expect was that the path was nearly vertical. It was as much a workout as it was an adventure!

Wide-eyed Calixa loved the zoo but was a little leery of the giraffe

     Cally and I had been to the Calgary zoo a few months earlier and it was interesting to compare the two. The first major difference was the cost of entry. In Mexico it only cost $20 for the three of us to get in and Calgary was a good deal more expensive than that. The second was the cleanliness. Calgary took the cake there as the Mismaloya zoo assaulted us with smells and sights of every kind and color. In Calgary you can look at the animals but secure animal habitats make actual touching impossible. In Mexico, visitors are encouraged to feed the animals and you can buy bags of food at the gift shop. The animals get close enough to touch and their enclosures lead you to wonder just how safe you are from a tiger or bear attack. The snake houses aren't even locked. You could simply flip the latch and let out a six foot boa constrictor. In Calgary the animal habitats are considered humane and are large enough for the animals to thrive. In Mexico, this is sadly not the case. The poor hippopotamus was wallowing in a tub filled with green muck no bigger that 8 feet by 6. The rest of her enclosure was simply dust and dirt.
     The variety of animals on display was impressive: there were lions, tigers, pumas and leopards, crocodiles, snakes, flamingos and geese. Calixa really liked the monkeys and we counted at least 4 different kinds there. We actually saw one tourist get bitten by a monkey with a handler and I grimly wondered what kind of vaccinations she was going to need. The giraffe took me by surprise as he lowered his face to eye level, no less than 2 feet from mine. Evidently he expected us to feed him but once he discovered that we hadn't bought any food he turned back into his tiny cell and thoroughly ignored us. The funniest animals we saw were the raccoons and coyotes. We see those all the time at home and it was hilarious to think that in Mexico these animals are considered exotic.
    "See that coyote there Calixa?" Trevor pointed to the scrawny shaggy dog. "Daddy used to shoot those on the farm."
     "Woof." Cally said
     Our taxi driver was ready and waiting when we finally emerged from the menagerie. The drive home was about as stomach-lurching as the way there but we made it back to the resort without incident. Then he asked for his money. It was not the agreed-upon price. Trevor was pissed and I fell into my meager roll as half-assed translator. Finally we paid him what I had understood the price to be and with a genuine "Lo siento" re-entered the resort feeling like a marked women.

Food for the animals

On of the two tiger babies that you can pet...for a price. He howled the whole time we watched him. Clearly he was not a happy tiger.

The monkey that bit the tourist

Yelapa

     The next morning we decided to try a day trip. There are basically two types of day trips/tours available in PV; gay and non-gay and everybody and their poodle is a booking agent for one of them. You can't go into a restaurant, tequila shop or market without meeting someone doing double duty as a salesperson and day trip peddler. We decided to forgo the taxi driver's offer to hook us up with a "treep" and went to a more reputable-looking vendor- one whose shop is actually devoted to non-homosexual day trips.

     PV is in the middle of the bay of Banderas which means that a lot of the activities you can do start on a boat. Trevor was particularly keen on the Pirate ship, an old-fashioned looking boat that sails around the bay and has real-looking pirates in character for the duration. I didn't think my weak stomach could handle a whole day on the ocean and so we compromised and booked a trip to the southern part of the bay to spend time in a town that is only accessible by boat or donkeyback.

     Yelapa is quaint and pretty much what you'd expect for a Mexican town on the coast with limited tourism. The houses are simple and in various states of construction.
     "Construction eez one of de most jobs in Yelapa" the tour guide said in a the lilting tones of a Spanish speaker. "De sehcond most job eez tourism." And true to form, with friends honoring friends, our tour guide conveniently stopped at select booths and shops for us tourists with our "beautiful monee" to spend.
     "Rosewood eez one of de most woods use here in Yelapa." the guide announced as we stopped at a shop devoted to making any and everything out of the hardwood. As we continued up the steep path with overweight American cruisers wheezing on either side of us I noticed a series of rag-tag hoses running alongside the path. At each shoddy connection water sprayed with a hiss into the greenery.
     "Electricity only come to Yelapa ten yeers ago." the guide continued as we marveled at a nearly completed house precariously built on what seemed the steepest part of our climb thus far. "And peepol use to walk all the way to de waterfall for de water. Now gravity breengs de water to the town in hoses." Aha, so the squealing tubes were actually the public works system for potable water.

     At the peak of our climb we arrived at the waterfall. About 50 feet high, the water spewed over the precipice and cascaded into a small lagoon before running, casually out into a gravity-fed stream. It's interesting to note that in certain situations the difference between American and Canadian tourists is glaringly obvious. The Canadians, for the most part, rambled about the rocks surrounding the waterfall taking pictures and relaxing in the beauty of the place. The Americans, at least the ones who weren't so winded from the climb that all they could do was sit red-faced and wheezing, immediately jumped into the lagoon. I couldn't help thinking, while boy-o in the water yelled wide-armed at his friend to take his picture, whether the good people of Yelapa liked drinking water that was polluted by copious amounts of sunscreen and sweating American.
     Our decent took us through the town proper and more than once we had to shuffle to the side of the narrow cobble-stone path to allow a caravan of horses or donkeys through.

We arrived on the yellow sandy beach just after lunch and, as the system in Mexico goes, our tour group had a deal with a beach-side restaurant called Domingos. All the tourists were allowed to use Domingo's chairs and their questionable bathrooms out back. The deal of course being that us tourists would buy food and drinks exclusively at Domingos.
     It seemed as though we'd only just sat down to enjoy the beautiful sand and surf when the tour guide announced, "Eetz time to go back to de boat." And herded us all to the water taxis waiting to bring us back to the big boat. Once everyone was safely aboard, the music was cranked and it was time for open bar. There are fewer sights funnier than a bunch of sunburnt, drunk people trying to do a congo line on a boat. No one could stand up straight. I sipped my "veergin pina colada" and mused about how much less sea sick I felt on the way home...but it must have been a virgin right? All in all, it was an amusing day and we met some really great people on the way.

High octane golf

     Trevor's dad offered to take Cally for a few days and let us enjoy PV on our own. WHOOOP! We felt like a couple of kids in a candy store. 

     "What do you want to do first?" I asked redundantly. Trevor is a golf fanatic and since we moved to Manitoba and golf became affordable, getting him off of the green is about as easy as trying to convince a flamer that spandex doesn't look good on everyone.

     We walked over to the Marina golf club to peruse the grounds and check the rates for a round of 18. I very nearly fell over when I saw the fees: $129 for the green fees, $50 for the clubs and another $50 for the honor of sitting in the golf cart to watch Trevor play. We decided to come back again when the Mexican sun was at it's peak the twilight rates were in effect ...yes when you love something you can pretty much justify any price and so, twilight fees paid in full- one round of golf came to around $200. I shudder to think of how long a family in PV could survive on $2000 pesos. A lot longer than the 3 1/2 hours it took to finish the course.  

     Golf Digest gave the course 3 1/2 stars back in 2008. I'm not sure how good that means the course is but to me, it was swanky enough. Trevor practically orgasmed as he hit the ball off of the first tee and he couldn't wipe the silly grin from his face for the next 17 holes. There were certain hazards, beyond sand and water that were a bit of a shock. The first were the Iguana's on the road. They had no fear of the cart and took their Mexican time getting out of the way.

The second were the crocodiles.The signs were posted everywhere, "do not approach the crocodiles." Well, I certainly hadn't planned on walking up to one of the scaly lizards and giving it a pet but before we actually saw one I wondered how much truth there was to the stories I'd heard of golfers loosing arms or legs. I figured, like most stories, they were an exaggeration and the biggest croc we'd see, if we even saw one at all, would be a baby- maybe 4 feet long. Nothing to squeal about.

     The guys ahead of us were also from MB and we'd been following their game pretty closely. The last of their party was just teeing off when I saw the first big croc, "OH JESUS!" I exclaimed, white knuckling the sides of the cart- my fight or flight reflex sending adrenaline coursing through my veins.

     "Kim, shut up," Trevor whispered, reminding me that you aren't supposed to make noise when someone else is swinging a club. But I couldn't help it. This thing was a monster, and what's more, it was only a few feet from the green where Trevor's ball lay waiting. 

I filmed his short game, thinking "well, if he gets bitten the only thing I'll be able to do about it is document evidence. Maybe we'll get a settlement of some sort..." It was a nerve wracking putt on the green, for me at least. Trevor didn't seem too bothered and the croc didn't move at all.

     We saw several more of the hideous beasts lining the water hazards but both Trevor and I decided that any ball that landed in the water was going to be considered lost. For the first game of the season, Trevor's score was actually pretty good. Of course, now he's got the itch and is already fantasizing about all the golf he's going to play in the summertime. I might as well prepare myself for my summer title of "golf widow' right now- it's impossible to ignore that crazy gleam in his eyes.

Salmonella and E. Coli por favor

 

Chicken Quesidillas at the outdoor market

      We had it on good authority that one of the local markets got it's fresh fruits and veggies on Tuesday and so bright and early Tuesday morning we taxied it to Wal-Mart and then walked the 10 blocks to the market with Greg and Nathalie. As we ventured under the first canopied market stall I was fondly reminded of years gone by, shopping in Montreal at the Marche Jean Talon. The summer of 2004 was a summer of endings, beginnings and food- glorious food. I spent five weeks at the University of Montreal completing a french language course with University students from all over the country. The Federal Government paid for the program in an effort to integrate more Canadian anglos with the french language and Quebec culture. All I had to pay for was the flight to Montreal and the rest- lodging at the university dorms and a weekly allotment of money for groceries- was provided by the Feds. I used my money well, exploring new cuisine and trying new dishes. One of my favorite places to visit was, of course, the Marche Jean Talon. An all-season long outdoor market, it was the biggest in the city. With row after appealing row of vendors offering the freshest strawberries, crispiest lettuce and ripest melons, my mouth still salivates thinking about it. Shops lining the market grounds complimented the season's freshest wares with buttery french pastries and a seemingly endless selection of mouthwatering cheeses. I don't recall eating meat much that summer, but with wine, cheese and fruit en mass- I know I don't remember missing it either.
     Choosing a vegetarian diet in Mexico, however, is more of a health choice than a matter of taste. That was the decision I made once I ventured beyond the first nostalgic fruit stall and really got into the heart of the market. The smell alone was enough to send anyone with sensitive olfactories into the street to vomit. Pigs feet, chicken feet, feet feet feet... And any other animal part you could wish for. I know what I didn't wish for...tapeworms. Of course, we had made a meal of chicken quesidillas at a taco stand on the edge of the market before we'd actually ventured into it's heart and the prevailing sight of vats of boiling oil and pig skin made the (God I hope it was well-cooked) chicken roll around uncomfortably in my stomach. I didn't get too many pictures of the place...I was too busy trying to get to the exit. An authentic experience for sure!

Red snapper has a distinct smell but these were caught only a few hours earlier.

The lady assured me that these chickens were killed fresca esta manana (fresh this morning).