For a special anniversary Christine and I are off to sunny Mexico, swapping business suits for bathing suits. Inside Manzanillo Airport we are oddly greeted by a crustacean invasion of dozens of little crabs clearly out of their depths; scuttling sideways across the tiled floor trying to avoid being scrunched beneath the sea of human shoes. Dodging the crab, we grab a cab, and head to the seaside town of Melaque.
Owners of La Paloma Hotel inform us that with this being the off season we are their only guests and have been upgraded to the spacious self-contained suite. Not only does the hotel have a lovely swimming pool adjoining the beach, but our top-shelf penthouse also offers a sea view deck with a palapa, a barbeque, an exercise bike, and a comfy hammock. Yes, I think it’s safe to say we just might be able to make this work!
Being a tad early for the Metamucil migration flocking here to escape the tentacles of winter, Restaurante Maya is one of the few restaurants that remains open. But it is enough. Kamikaze waves turn the beach sand into a frenzy of froth just meters away from a unique dining deck built out over the beach. Waiting to sink our teeth into the tasty flesh of an almond-covered shark dinner, this gringo and gringa perform a magic act of making several Margaritas and Pina Coladas completely disappear.
On a beach walk to the bordering town of Barra de Navidad we stop at Velaros for a seafood lunch, joining a pod of preening pelicans standing on the dock of the bay (sorry Otis). With lengthy bills pressed to breasts, the oddballs look much like gigantic feathered bobby-pins.
Checking out the hoity-toity Grand Bay Hotel for our anniversary dinner a few days from now, we find its massiveness totally devoid of atmosphere. However, later on the docks in Barra we happen to discuss our dinner dilemma with a boat owner named Victor, and together we hatch a brilliant alternative plan.
But for today, we hitch a two hour ride with a fellow Canuck taking his truck for repairs to a little town called Colima in the Sierra Madre foothills. Agreeing with Ray to reconvene later for a lift back, Christine and I set out to explore the pretty little town and encounter a couple of humorous lingo-related incidents.
Our first stop is at a department store to check for an ATM, and when I ask if anybody speaks English, staff calls over a girl who can speak a ‘leetle beet’. Asking her if they have an ATM machine, she replies ‘Si Senor, please comb’. Following her through several departments, including ladies underwear, she stops in sporting goods, and proudly pointing to a big exercise machine says; ‘Ear eeze dee ATM mahine’.
Furrowing our eyebrows, we break it to her that we’re in need of money not muscles, and I pull out my bank card to show her. Unsurprisingly, when cultures collide mirth frequently follows. She gasps at her gaffe and starts profusely apologizing, but when we begin to chuckle she too dissolves into laughter. We follow her back to the front door where she points down the street to a Cambio money exchange and says, ‘Than chew Meester; for dee rest of my live, I wheel no forhet chew an dee ATM mahine.’
Fat walleted with pesos, and having avoided pumping iron, we continue poking about and as no surprise, Christine finds a pair of sandals she wants to buy. The price is 220 pesos, but used to haggling in Asia, I decide it’s time for this hombre to negotiate. With my Spanish bargain-jargon creating a less than sparkling repartee I devise a new strategy and pantomime my point to the gorgeous salesgirl.
Using my finger I draw on the shop wall a two, followed by two zeros, indicating 200 pesos. Flirtatiously batting eyelashes that accentuate every blink, the caramel skinned beauty latches onto my index finger, and holding onto it with both hands, slowly ‘redraws’ over top of my 2 0 0 with 2 2 0! I open my mouth but the words just jam up, leaving me uncharacteristically speechless!
Giving me the dimples, the Bambi-eyed heart-stopper is radiating a smile so bright I’m concerned that gazing at it too long may increase my risk of melanoma. Realizing I’m done like dinner, I show dignity in defeat and happily fork over the full price. Clearly I’ve come out second best, but up against a sassy and stunning senorita that could make a monk rethink his vows I didn’t stand a chance!
‘She-Who-Shops’ then buys some flimsies, and myself a bag of sea salt. Hooking up with Ray for transport back, we stop outside the town of Comala and Ray shows us the ‘Zona Magica’; an illusion where the road appears to go uphill but in fact goes down! I accuse him of having too much tequila, but when he puts the truck in neutral, the visual trickery has it appearing to still be continuing uphill!
Next, Ray stops at a café where all the food you can eat is free when you have drinks! Sure enough, after ordering a couple of brewskis for Ray and I, and a margarita for the senorita, eight plates of edibles are paraded out and a Mariachi band stops by to serenade us with song. Ah yes, the great eight plate pit stop!
A car further up the highway clips a motorcycle but Ray doesn’t see the crash. As I shout at him to stop so we don’t run into the car in front of us, a helmet bounces past us about 80 feet from the crash. Fortunately for the rider his cranium is not inside it. As a crowd begins to gather, Ray decides there is enough help, and suggests that we vamoose rather than get involved with the Federales.
Back at La Paloma I dive into the ocean just as a monster wave takes its wrath out on the shore. Snapping my body backwards, it tosses me up on the beach like a rag doll, leaving me with a full on body exfoliation and sand imbedded in every possible orifice. An hour later, as I’m walking about like a penguin that got into a stash of rum, the owner comes by with a warning to avoid the water as a hurricane less than 40 miles off shore is wreaking havoc. Nice woman, but her timing could use a little improvement!
Today is July 14th, our 20th wedding anniversary. Breakfasting outside on our balcony, we are surprisingly gifted with an extraordinary occurrence. Beneath a daffodil sun, the sky of blue suddenly thickens with too-many-to-count show-offy Monarch butterflies flapping by on their migration thousands of miles south.
Ay, Chihuahua; the enormous butterfly flutterby lasting for over an hour leaves us marveling that the mass of mariposas have chosen this, our celebratory day, to introduce themselves! As the day continues, we collar some sunshine at the pool atop air mattresses, lazily floating about on our backs like a pair of otters, with a good read in one paw and a chilled Negra Modelo in the other.
As the sun lowers itself into the sea we taxi to Barra for a rendezvous with Captain Vic, who tours us around the lagoon in his panga boat before mooring it on Colima Island. The island’s seaside restaurants are all closed for the off-season, but several days ago we made arrangements with Victor, who lives on the island, to have one of his friend’s restaurants open up just for us.
Victor has ensured the restaurant has taken care of our seafood request of Dorado and jumbo prawns, and has arranged for tasteful soft music to accompany a candlelit table in the sand. Savoring a transfusion of special spirits with the sea gently lapping up beside us we dig in to a whole lot of happy on our plates; the mellow vibe of our salty setting absolutely perfect for our intimate and romantic anniversary dinner.
I present a present to Christine of an engraved medal I’ve had made for being married to me for 20 years. She is blown away, and I believe I may have just accumulated some lifetime brownie points. Slow dancing in sugary sand under a sky chockablock with stars, all is well with the world. In the early hours of morning Captain Vic arrives to boat us back to Barra, bringing our magical day to an end. Es Muy Perfecto!
For our last night we are back on ‘our’ special cantilevered deck at Restaurante Maya. With frigate birds soaring in the thermal currents above us, we watch as a caballero gallops past atop a white stallion kicking up a rooster tail of sand. Meanwhile, out patrolling the waves like jet fighters in formation, keen-eyed pelicans in search of a meal sporadically fold in their huge wings for an ungainly kamikaze style splat into the sea.
As dinner arrives so too does a pawsh pooch unglamorously named ‘Itchy’. If a dog’s life is measured in wags this little guy seems to be doing just fine, as his goofy enthusiasm results in a wicked tail flogging of our ankles. After kindly helping us to finish dinner, the four-legged connoisseur sits patiently by with an imploring gaze, indicating he’s also amenable to helping out with dessert.
Savoring a Key lime pie with the serenity of a setting sun pinkening the sky over the surrounding hills, we clink glasses in an affectionate toast to our 7,305 days of wedded bliss. And now, with our ‘Mexcellent’ meal over, so too is the brevity of our time in Margaritaville. Aah yes, the magic of Melaque.
Mark Colegrave 2004