Whirlwind of Fullness -- Puerto Escondido, Mexico

Boy came Thursday.

Boy left Monday.

In between?

Whirlwind of fullness. Of sunsets and sunrises. Of red wine, mojitos and passion fruit margaritas. Of jumping into waves like a little kid (Boy) and of immediately crumpling into a little cannon ball so that the waves pass over (guess who). Of cuddles in hammocks and kisses on beaches and hands reaching for hands and shoulders and back pockets (Boy needs to purchase more pants with back pockets into which Girl may put her hands. Hint to Boy).

Four days of Girl sharing her life with Boy. Four full days.

Tomo took over the am and pm yoga classes. Boy asked Girl to please not write her blog during his stay and Girl reluctantly agreed.

"Those four days are yours. Every moment."

I suppose the blog can wait. Even though the thought of four days without writing freaks me out a little. 

Hey. 

Girl. 

Your life has some new priorities these days. 

Hey. 

Boy. 

Boy kissed Girl goodbye last second before going through security in Puerto Escondido and both Boy and Girl knew they couldn't have possibly made more of their meager four days together.

A good feeling. 

Nary an ambitious, half-asleep yogi stumbled to the rooftop of Akumal for class on the Thursday morning of Boy's arrival, but as I was contemplatively leaving the hostel, a heavily (gloriously) bearded Nebraskan hippie who'd practiced with me the day before rushed up to give me a hug. I'd serendipitously managed to hook him up with a less well-bearded Canadian hippie who happened to be making the same journey to the same festival in Costa Rica and Nebraska wanted to make sure to thank me.

I don't know anything about making money or wearing comfortable pants, but I do seem to be quite good at making hobos. And now I'm branching out into the realm of making travel buddies. 

"What are you doing now?" asked my clear-eyed friend.

"Just gonna drop off my laptop in my room. Then I think I'll go to Amoki for some coffee. Around nine.  Wanna join?"

"Sure, see you at nine?"

"Eh, nine, nine-thirty."

Whoa. Bourget. Mexican points. You can't even commit to a specific time anymore. Whoa. 

Stephen and I spent the next hour lost in conversation over our respective mugs of Mexican cinnamon coffee. The connection was immediate, intense, clear.

Michael once said that life is much more beautiful when it just... happens. When you plan less and listen more. When you let go of your stranglehold on the wheel and just be open... available...curious...and see where you end up. 

So are these kinds of connections. 

*sip*

Breathe. 

*sip*

Open. 

*sip*

Available. 

*sip*

Curious. 

I can't believe my life puts these kinds of people in front of me. I keep chancing across complete strangers who settle into the "old friend" chamber of my heart in the time it takes to drink a cup of coffee. 

After the gloriously bearded Nebraskan hippie had been successfully and lovingly stored in the "old friend" chamber of my heart with a goodbye hug, I moseyed on up to Casa Kei to see if Joy and Vajra were around.

"No, they went out for lunch," Sam informed me.

"Aw, shoot. Okay. Um. I guess I'll just... umm... go to the airport."

At least it will be air-conditioned, so I might as well wait there. It'll be like the yogurt place but without the yogurt. It's 12:45 right now... Boy's plane lands at 15:55. If I give myself plenty of time to get lost, I'll be there around... umm... 14:00. So, that's only two hours to sit inside an air-conditioned airport and read a book/journal while I wait for Boy. 

Yes. 

Plan. 

Happening. 

However, when I give myself loads of time to get to a place, I never panic. When I never panic, I never get lost. So I somehow managed to get to the airport and find a seat with enough room to journal and jiggle-jiggle tip-tap-toe my feet in nervous excitement by 13:10.

So... I have... err... Just about three hours to wait for Boy. 

*sigh*

At least there's air-conditioning. 

Puerto Escondido's airport is tiny. It may very well be the smallest airport in the world and of all-time-ever. To put this into perspective, the waiting area has only ten seats.

I parked on one for three hours.

I stood up at 15:45 and began to pace nervously, peering through the doors. Wondering if perhaps there was another section of the smallest airport in the world and of all-time-ever that I could have somehow missed.

WHERE IS HE? My inner banana(s) fled for the hills as I took a blank picture with my camera (my iPhone doesn't work anymore) to get the time. 15:56. I'm in the wrong place and he must be dead. Why else wouldn't he be here yet? 

"Ya waitin' for aerobus?" the voice of a young man slouched over a beer drawled slowly.

"Err... I'm waiting for the flight from Mexico City that's supposed to land at 15:55 and hasn't landed yet."

"Yeah, that one's delayed an hour. My friend's on it too. Flyin' in from Quebec."

"Oh man, I bet he's tired. My boyfriend's coming from Colorado. Three out of four flights were delayed (upon hearing this news yesterday, I did responsible girlfriend things like panic, chug two mojitos and collapse snoring into a hammock. With cats) and he had to spend the night in the freezing airport of Mexico City. The only time he managed to fall asleep, a security guard came along to wake him up. Probably very rudely with sticks."

"Yeah, I just told my friend to get a hostel. There's one right next to the airport. Why didn't you tell your boyfriend to get a hostel?"

"Err... ummm... so, where are you from?"

I spent the next hour drinking a criminally marked up Mucho Mango Arizona tea whilst chatting with Nick (so many Nicks!), a Canadian whose father lives in Puerto Escondido and who just finished a short visit with his girlfriend and is now set up for nine days with his friend, Frank.

"Ya know, my dad lives in La Punta. I could just give you and your boyfriend a ride down if you like."

"That. Would be perfect. Thanks so much."

I love Nicks. All of them. Every Nick. Love. 

Boy arrived at nearly five o'clock.

I rushed over for hugs and kisses.

Boy collapsed onto Girl.

"You're here."

"Finally."

Boy tried to drag Girl into the baggage claim, but the security guards of the smallest airport in the world and of all-time-ever were neither amused nor sympathetic.

I had poked and pried Troy via Skype about why he needed to check a bag for a four day trip, but he evaded my question in such an unsubtle way --

"Troy. Why are you bringing a checked bag?"

"How was your day?"

"CHECKED BAG?"

"You teach a yoga class?"

-- that I knew something in the checked bag was for me. So even though I was less than thrilled to let go of my --

"Wow, ya know, your boyfriend looks exhausted. Really should have gotten him to book a hostel last night."

-- slightly tired boy so soon after getting him, my, err... investment in his checked luggage made it easier to let him walk away.

Troy had four flights and one of them was in Mexico. And three of them were delayed. I wonder if the bag actually made it through or if it just got so worn out that it decided to stay in Houston for the night. Oof. 

Checked bag did make it to Puerto Escondido and I exerted amazing self-control over my inner two-year-old by offering Boy some of my Mucho Mango Arizona tea and not immediately opening all the pockets of the little black bag swinging in Boy's right hand. Boy washed down the Mucho Mango Arizona tea with a swig of nearly boiling mezcal from Nick's glove compartment.

"Welcome to Mexico."

After settling into my small, three dollars a day and thirty seconds from the ocean room, I asked Boy to tell me what was in the bag.

My favorite tea. Two boxes.

My favorite chocolate (dark with ginger). Five bars (there's still one left).

A chunk of ginger cheese.

A package from my mom, my sister and my grandparents with a cute money belt (yes, they do exist.  I was as shocked as you are) and 160 dollars to go inside.

They just paid for my month by the ocean. 

Girl. 

Feels. 

LOVED. 

I was so busy examining my bountiful booty that we missed Troy's first sunset in La Punta. We did make it out for a quick dinner with Vajra and Joy, where we sat on swinging benches and drank passionfruit margaritas.

"Troy," I snuggled next to Boy on our bench swing (which was great for kicking up feet but less than great for snuggling). "This is our first date. You flew all the way to Mexico to take me on our first date."

"That," Boy kissed Girl, "was not cheap. But so worth it."

I'd decided that most of Boy's time in Mexico would be spent living Girl's life. So our first day, I made Boy an avocado mango salad with lime and coconut oil for breakfast. When I returned from the dismal communal kitchen, Boy presented me with a water bottle.

"What is it?" I sniffed the brown beverage and took a timid sip.

"Maybe it doesn't taste the same when it's cold," Boy mused.

"WAIT!" everything clicked and I kissed Boy with sugary, creamy coffee lips. "You brought me a Cuban Cremosa! You brought my favorite coffee from my favorite cafe in a water bottle all the way to freaking Mexico!"

There are reasons I love this guy. 

We watched the sunrise on the beach.

"Welcome to my life."

We shared a Hulk smoothie (avocado, banana and NUTELLA) and a cappuccino at Cafe Ole.

"Welcome to my life."

We walked along the beach to Zicatela and shared a frozen yogurt.

"Welcome to my life." 

Boy tells me that my life is kind of delicious. I don't argue. 

We continued to walk all the way to Puerto Escondido. I got us very lost and Boy got very sunburnt in the process.

"Err.... umm... welcome to my life?"

"Gee, thanks."

We watched the sun set over the Pacific, waves crashing and burbling, frothing up to reach for our toes, crabs popping in and out of their holes with ninja speed and Napoleon Dynamite awkwardness.

"Hey," I kissed Boy and held his scruffy face. "How's my life?"

"I mean, your life is not bad."

We shared a tlayuda for dinner that night. I used one napkin and Boy used three.

No Mexican points for Boy.

We went to Mazunte on Saturday. Ate a Mexican breakfast at a cafe overlooking the ocean. Walked over a hill to play in a beach. Napped in the shade between two rocks and played in the kiddie pool created when the tide came in to reclaim our shady napping spot.

Ate barbacoa tacos and waited forty minutes for a colectivo to take us back to the bus that would take us back to La Punta.

Even though I'm an adult now who pays three dollars a day in rent for her room by the beach, I booked the top room of Casa Kei for the second half of Boy's visit.

'Cos I wanted him to be on the list with Vajra, Joy, Sam and Tomomi.

And I wanted him to see the sunset over the ocean from his bed.

Whilst drinking a mojito. Made by Sam. Who has kind of become the mojito goddess in Pepe's absence. 

Sunday morning was lazy. I brewed a pot of coffee and carried two cups up three flights of stairs to my Boy. We tentatively, determinedly made our way into the hammock and watched the sun usher in the morning as the coffee ushered in our senses (mine, anyway).

Sunday afternoon was packed full of adventure. We'd booked the turtle releasing, bird watching, bonfire building, plankton swimming tour through Antonio, so we bought our sausages, donned our swimsuits, packed a towel and loaded into Antonio's car around 2:30.

Joy looks sneaky and concerned when she eats pistachios. Troy looks sneaky and INTENSE when he puts on sunscreen. 

As I mentioned in a previous post, only one out of a hundred hatchlings survive and come back to lay their own eggs on the beaches of Oaxaca. However, with the help of these tortuga loving humans, their odds of surviving the perils of egghood are increased to a whopping ten percent.

Nests are transplanted to this area of protected beach and fences are built around them to ward off hungry dogs.

When the eggs hatch, the baby turtles are placed into buckets and then released onto the wet sand close to where the waves can rumble-tumble-whisk them into their frothy, salty home.

The tortuga loving human creature plopped the baby turtles into decorative coconut shell bowls. Not just to advertise their coconut bowls, but also so that our sunscreen/lotion/insect repellent wouldn't interfere with the scent of the sand. Getting proper scent recognition is important for these little dudes because it leads them back to the same beach ten to fifteen years later and they do their own egg laying.

I don't think my baby turtles would appreciate spending their whole lives searching for a coastline full of lemongrass.

The tortuga man drew a line in the sand behind which we released our turtles.

"We can't just put them in the ocean because the run to the water helps them become strong enough to swim," Joy translated the tortuga man's Spanish for us not so polyglots.

I squatted next to Boy and dumped my little dude onto the beach.

"Go, go, go!"

I felt like I was at my childhood church's youth group, releasing tediously painted, carved pine race cars down a short track with parents cheering (or trying to look less bored) on the sidelines.

My pine race car never won. No matter how many bright colors/glitter/unicorn stickers I used.

Neither did my little tortuga.

He toppled flippers over shell into a footprint canyon and spent far too long upside down and trying to right himself.

Dear little dude, 

There are appropriate and inappropriate times to be upside down. Take it from a girl who knows. 

Love, 

a girl who knows

Some turtles made it to the ocean but were rumble-tumbled back up to the starting line. Where they righted themselves and ran helter-skelter back to the waves.

Instincts are strange things. Indefatigable and un-fucking-fazed. 

I wonder how many instincts continue to drive me.  

I wonder which are actually healthy. 

Nary a one of the four little dudes I released managed to make it to the water first (which Boy gloated about far too much for Girl's liking), but they all got there eventually.

And they were probably SUPER strong from all that toppling into footprints and rumble-tumbling back up the beach and helter-skeltering down. 

We walked back to Antonio's car and continued on to the lagoon, where we unpacked the car and loaded up the boat.

Guitars make everything better. Everything. Give me one example of something that would not be made better by the presence of a guitar, and I'll tell you you're wrong. With or without further explanation. 

This is where you take everything I just said about the guitar and apply it to Joy and Vajra. 

Girl and Boy on boat. 

Part two. 

Boy and Joy

This is Boy's face when he first hears about the plans Joy and I made about him without him. 

This is Boy's face when he finishes hearing about the plans Joy and I made about him without him. 

After an hour or so of bird watching and drifting through the magical lagoon, we beached the boat and lugged our guitars, sausages and mezcal across the sand.  

I kept snapping pictures, but Antonio hinted that my time would be better spent gathering wood for the bonfire.

Warning for future camping/bonfire buddies:

Girl doesn't gather wood.

Girl goes meandering through sand/forest/jungle, contemplating small sticks. She disregards said sticks for being too small for the first twenty minutes of her little jaunt. Then she figures she might as well pick up a stick or two in order to feel slightly less useless. After her hands are marginally less empty, she inevitably runs into a very large log (literally, more often than not). She then spends the next twenty minutes contemplating the log.

If I break it off here... perhaps if I drag it over there... should I just go get help? But is it really worth it? 

Meh. They probably have enough wood by now anyway. 

So Girl leaves the log and returns to the fire pit. On the way back, she critically analyzes the three to five twigs in her hands.

Meh. These wouldn't make any difference anyway. 

So she drops the twigs in the sand/forest/jungle and goes off to watch a sunset with Boy.

Boy is much better at gathering wood than Girl. Girl allows this. Whole-heartedly. 

We roasted sausages over the bonfire, listened to Vajra and Joy sing and strum the guitar, snuggled in the sand and felt the fullness of our idyllic days.

The water wasn't deep enough for swimming and the plankton weren't plentiful enough for make-believe sorcery, but the conditions were perfect for a glow-in-the-dark water fight with Boy.

I giggled like a five-year-old and splashed like a chicken.

We walked through the gate of Casa Kei late. After a mad hunt for a bottle opener, we uncorked our bottle of wine and swung gently in the hammock of the treehouse's top room.

"Welcome to my life."

Boy left Girl yesterday afternoon. There was a final sunrise, a final breakfast at Cafe Ole, a final swim and a final greasy tlayuda.

"Thirty-eight more days."

"It's not so long."

"You really make it hard to love you."

"Do I?"

"You're just never around for me to love you."

"You could be here. Share my life."

"Shommitments."

"Shommitments."

*sigh*

"Thirty-eight more days."

"It's not so long."