Whoa! Back up!

I think I was suffering from sunstroke when I posted this morning.  I have much more important news to share than my inner voice babbling morose trails to darkness.  It's Bras Bras Bras!!

I did mention that there are lots of little shops and folks working there, long hours. Now maybe I didn't mention that the women of Narayit are very beautiful, but just like in Manitoba, not all are size 2.  So what is with the bra shops everywhere with festive underwear in sizes zero through four.  Who is buying these?  Bathing suits would make more sense to me, but cutzie panties and every colour sexy bras that wouldn't fit an eleven year old stuffed with kleenex?
The displays are lovely though.
So, yes.  I am out and about and I met a guy!  Even without a fancy bra (me, not the guy).  We both like the same Palapa at sunset - the quiet one at the north end of the village. We both are staying in single rooms sans view and so are both village random walkers.  He is across the highway, and I am on the bay side. (Crossing the highway is a gulpy adventure - I always rabbit a local crosser.)  And... he doesn't speak Spanish either!  He is Phillipe from just west of Riviere du Loup and his sister set him up for a cheap vacation - almost as good a deal as mine! Might meet him tomorrow too.  Oh How Awkward! Kind of buffoony, just my type.

So yes, feeling back to normal. And no.  Not feeling romantic, but the sunsets are lovely. It was fun to talk about China and quads and eye surgery and crocodiles and snow back at home.
~~n Post#14 Day9/75

Cycling

I feel over spent.  I walked an hour south at low tide, to find Greg and Barb, long-ago neighbourhood friends.  I talked.  I listened.  Joy and sadness punctuate all lives with before-and-after events that change our journeys.  Great people. We know many people in common and share many old memories.

It was only a week, but, I had already grown used to shallow one or two word greetings with a smile, "Buenos dias.  Hola", so socializing in friendship, while so enriching, is now an effort.  So many thoughts are cycling in hindsight. My mind drifts backward.
From their balcony, after the parasailors and bevy of sloops had left the bay, we saw a whale, an active whale, breeching and breeching.  New moon.  Low tide.
I am in a small village and am probably now familiar here, with days of walking the few little streets and passing the same shops.  Finally, yesterday, after the trek back, before hightide could force me into the softer sand, I went to a quiet beachfront Palapa and ate the local fare.  Until now, it has been cans and crispy local (gluten free ;-) tortillas. It is the last restaurant to the north of the village.  The breeze and view are free.  I will go again. I do not like dining out on my own but, I found a corner under some palms where I felt less conspicuous. I read while I eat.  That is rude.

Where does my mind go, from day to day?  Well, as always, forward.  I find pondering the past to be circular.  Round and round as eyes flutter shutterly blind to where the feet trod. Sometimes, and rarely for me, the past presents itself in front. This has been such a week.
Time is such a soothing rocker.  The roosters call before dawn.  I hear the call of other birds too, the ones they project in the Coop grocery produce aisle. The village is very loud and it is not just music and highway and construction. The people too.  It is a tourist zone, and everyone has a joyous sense of familiarity, calling, stopping to talk, children taunting one another.  The  bars open.  The other tourists plan and reflect with eachother on the crowded streets.  Then it ends again. The traffic diminishes and you can hear the breakers from a block away. Round and round. Energy spent. Days upon dawns. Nights upon dusks.
Effort is spent. Everything counts.
~~n Post#13 Day9/75

Beaches

Beaches are a trope.
Movie scenes. Advertisments. Destinations.
People play out a version, then others mimic, then fit in.
Where the hell do I get a tide chart around here? Googling.
Heavy 25foot fibreglass boats are hauled up above the tideline. beached beside a public clear through. Motors must be hauled up to a street and into a truck. No oars. No oarlocks. Sometimes a tangle of net.
I beach walked north for an hour and finally found evidence of tide. Low tide on the rise. Lowtide beach walks are easier but I'd begun to wonder if there was any subsurface terrain or if Banduras was a gigantic Pacific bowl.

The Pacific on-shore breeze was lusciously steady.  No sailboats.  One street in, though, and you would never know the wind existed.

The waterfront real estate is locked tight mostly.  In the village you can partake a beach bar or restaurant, and their tables and chairs. North and south of the village, condos, some a few stories up, and villas and hotels protect their beachfront.

But the local people have clearthrough where the storm drains are needed to allow water overflows back to the sea.  Many of these access spots, some kilometers apart, others only a few hundred meters apart, are urban park like with stairs and garden walls to sit on and families eating oysters and barbecue, and children running, and musicians playing.  I have found most of the clear throughs north and south.  It is reasonable.

The  beach vendors are not pushy.  Tonight there was a fire juggler.  Nobody clapped.

My beach behavior has never changed.  I pick up little colourful shells, glass, stones and such.  I saw a stingray - a dead one, and a lovely leaf-like insect in the shape of a 5inch long grasshopper. Saltwater preserved.  There is a troupe of five brown pelicans in the mornings, playfully skimming the swells, like magic, and a family of shore birds that let you get only so close.  I saw a small black and white gull today.  I have not brought my birdbook.
Lowest tide in the morning.  Ideal.  I'm on it.
~~n Post#12 Day7/75

Sweeping Away

My crescent moon has disappeared.  It knows How To Disappear Completely.  I'm not here. This isn't happening.
Swept way, every morning.
From the pavements in fronts of shops.
In Montreal, des metalas sont dans chaque rue. Here, it is the brooms. It is a morning, afternoon, and evening passage.  An action.  Pharmacies, Market Stalls, Coffee shops, Grocery Extravaganzas, Taxi stands.  Real Estate storefonts.  Mobile Phone Hospitals. Sometimes there is a garden hose finishing the job. We sweep.

We hurry hard. Brushing the sheet. Straightening the rock. Heavy strokes.  Head down.
They dust the granite and the paving stones and the cobble.  Out, out, toward the street.  Bits of dust.  Maybe some litter.
I miss the morning crescent, yet always welcome a New Moon.  I will be on the water somewhere in the East Sea for the next full moon, so as it waxes I will continue passing time. I disdain busy-ness. Schedules are crutches.  Plans are excuses. Escapes.
Still I find miniscule chores. It is very important to feel the breeze! And, of course, I must hear the music, and there is such variety. There was some fishiness on my beach walk this dawn, so I can be sure my nostrils are effectively transferring olfactory data. I wonder. Where does my recycling go?  I observe.  I found the nearest bus stop and taxi stand.  And, I heard my name called yesterday! It was Barb. I may not hear that again for a few weeks.
My quest is complete.  My memories of my brother and his friends have been passed, in a nice stack of photographs, to his childhood cronies.  I am glad that is behind me.  Chipped off my shoulder, or off the old block, or maybe both. I listened to a long long list of names of people my brother knew who now dwell here for the better part of a year, year in, year out, some year-round.  I used took into aging faces wondering if these are people I used to know.  It is over now.  I do not expect to hear my name.
~~n Post#11 Day7/75

#brier2019 GoMBgo

photo credit: alamy stock photo

Inside Out

I have cleaned my sleeping quarters. I have very simple lodgings. A nice big bed and adjacent shower/toilet, a wee table and chairs, a sitting chair, and a dressing mirror, all under a 12 foot ceiling.  Tiled.  Fan and AC.  There is a bit of a paint smell when I enter, but in general, it is clean and spacious enough for me. I have a private hallway, I've yet to see a passerby, so leave my door gently ajar with the fan running, and fresh air exchanges.
I returned from a 90 minute walk.  I left at 06:15 and walked the beach south toward PV, in the dark.  My crescent moon is changing position. I had to jump a couple of waves to keep my keens dry, and after 45 minutes of listening to the waves drop onto the sand, and watching the froth scallop the path ahead of me, dawn was nigh. I stopped in front of a walled waterfront hotel with a beach volleyball court on its ocean side, and did my Yandara flow.  Twice through.  By then, there were other walkers.  I cut through east, away from Bahia de Banduras, between two highend hotels where a storm drain exits to the big water, and ambled back north along the lowroad that parallel's the waterfront.

It was 07:30 by then, and still very quiet from a humanoid perspective. The shops and restaurants and bars were all tightly wrapped.  Gradually, I faced a few other walkers, and some lanky dogs.  I did not hustle.  It was a nice slow walk past the fancy joints, across the gulch bridge, through the battened down day market and into the village cental park and gathering place.  The church bells rang at 07:45 and I stood by the church wall to listen to the preacher, or priestly male voice.  It was casual.  The Sunday gathering had begun, yet jeans-clad couples still entered through the archways and elders sat on outside ledges as the lesson echoed into the street. Onward, I stopped for a Tiny Americano and made my way into my building and straight to the roof.  I have found a corner, clean and dry, that gets no sun.  A chair and an inverted 5-gallon pail serve me well.  It is private and all mine.
I read until my coffee was downed and returned to initiate the cleaning.  It was called for. Mr. Montezuma found me last night so I will be analyzng my ingestion choices.  I was weak as kitten through the worst of it, but robust enough to walk this morning and feel recovered, but cautious.  Yes.  Purchased water.  No. All fruit was washed.  Locally made tortillas? No. No meats so far.  Some canned fish. I bought a small dish, and used it without washing it.  It is now clean and washed. Shrugs. I swear I've had a war-torn gullet because of my childhood of eating dirt and my poor handwashing habits, but I guess not.
~~n Post#10 Day5/75

Routine

I am easing into a routine.  Like home, early mornings are better.  My sleeping room has minimal outside light, so I yearn to get out quickly.  Morning streets are the quietest.  This is a loud and bustling village.  I get plenty of sublime quiet at home, so no complaints, but it takes a bit of adjustment.

This morning, remembering my Dawn Landing, I rose at 06:30 and ambled toward the sea, two short blocks west of me.  That crescent moon is still with me, so I grabbed a quick snapshot. I did my Yandara flow on the sand, shoes on.  Dancer was tricky, but the rest went okay.  Ground leg toward the sea.  Twice through.  Not epic, but done (dun).  My favourite colour.
The past two days, I have been casing out the village.  I had my second cup of local Americano, and well, caffeine.  It is okay in the morning.
Like everywhere, the morning, pre-dawn folk are the workers, mustering around gravel piles, ladders, and pick-up trucks loaded with tools and equipment. I am greeted cordially as the men laugh and smile among one another. All are gracious toward their travelling interlopers.  Like me.
Routine, sans surprise, is what I expect; day by day adjustment to the community and my rhythm here.  I have no excursions planned.  I do not need consumer kitch. It is simply passage of time.  Moderate exercise, sunshine, fresh air and pleasant observation.  It is interesting to acknowledge the different ways of living and earning.  Here is an open community, by comparison.  Winter definitely shuts us into our little boxes.
~~n Post#9 Day4/75

Flashback

Some of you know that phase one of this extravagant journey is a quest. I am seeking an old friend of my long passed brother.  But, yesterday I realized, just as if I was 15 and he was seventeen, I still am trying to be cool.  I walked the streets of this village and saw the same cool people I yearned to be among when I was a teenager. Couples.  Couples of Couples. Happy groups of beautiful 60 and seventy year old beautiful couples, like the ones on the freedom with depends ads.  Well, maybe a bit more beautiful than that.  I felt the same thing today as I knew all those decades back. I don't fit among them.  I am not a couple.  A woman who is not a couple is different from the man who is not, and folks assume, or maybe I assume they assume, that I yearn to be a couple.  There was a time, when just to be part of the scene, I did yearn for that, but it was not about coupleness, it was about laughing and talking and feeling a part instead of apart.  PLOM (poor little old me). HaHa.  I am so over that.
In my towns, I have not felt that way, not for a long time, but here, this village caters to a narrow sliver of coolness.  Whomever be it so cool in 1970, is cool in this village.

They all dress alike (no golf shirts for the men, all sleevless T's and cargo shorts).  It is the music that triggered this throwback reaction.  Certainly I hear the traditional local Mexican music spilling from the merchants and some of the quick meal local food spots, but the restaurants and watering holes that are calling these people are playing right off the top 100 playlist from 50 years ago.  Not the teenybopper stuff, no.  The album cuts of Steely Dan, Zepplin, Stones, maybe some Hall and Oates. Definitely not Credence.  I hear the sound.  Eagles is a bit too country.  I know and do enjoy that playlist of my northend youth.
I am thrown back. I guess that is the point. Everywhere I look I see the person I seek.  My brother's best friend.  We all look alike when we get to this age.
I will find him and give him some of Rick's love.  We both carry it after all this time, but have not laid eyes on eachother since that dreadful day 34 years ago.
~~n Post#8 Day3/75