"Don't you have anything better to do with your life?" I read into the faces of Grano's incredibly efficient servers.
"Better than talking to my family and Boy, drinking a lovely latte/cappuccino and writing? Umm... no, not really. Unless you have a piece of gluten-free cake you'd like to give me. Or cheese. That would make it so I'm doing something better with my life."
German took me on a bike ride on Saturday morning. I'd assumed that this excursion would be similar to our first leisurely bike ride -- a few ups, a few downs, a plethora of potholes and maybe a bit of huffing and heaving.
"YOU SHOULD HAVE WARNED ME," I whimper/gasped to German about ten minutes into our adventure. "WHY DIDN'T YOU WARN ME?"
German just smiled.
"Is it ALL uphill?" desperation flickered across my face.
"No. It's not ALL uphill," German kept biking. "We can walk if you want."
"No. No, I'm... *HUFF*... okay... *HEAVE*... I just...*PUFF*... need to catch my breath," I stubbornly insisted on continuing to ride, ignoring the demands of my displeased lungs and the burning sensation in the back of my throat.
How the hell am I going to hike the Colorado Trail if I can't make it up a measly hill? And if German says it's not ALL uphill, then I should be able to last a little bit longer... at least until it levels out a bit...
German is a very sneaky sort of Mexican. He was absolutely correct in saying that the journey wasn't ALL uphill. Because about one percent of the hour long ride was flat and the final two percent was a glorious, longed for downhill.
"What did you say was at the end of this?" I finally toppled off of my bike and decided to walk, sacrificing my pride for the sake of my lungs.
"A river going through a cave."
"Well... I suppose that sounds worth it," I tried to be a good sport and keep my griping to a minimum. Part of me was frustrated with my body for struggling so much. Another part of me was just wishing we'd taken the car. Another part of me was celebrating feeling so damn tired and taxed.
There's something so exhilarating about exploring physical limitations...
Yet another part of me felt kind of pleased with myself that German even considered I'd be able to do this bike ride in the first place.
After relishing the meager two percent downhill, we tried to sneak into the park without paying the ten pesos entrance fee. Alas, I was so disoriented by this strange downhill business, that I gracefully slid down the slope (created quite the ruckus), bruising my backside and creating a mini-landslide.
My inopportune landslide attracted the attention of a stern looking chap wearing a cowboy hat (this headwear probably has another name in Mexico... I just spent too many years riding horses English style, and everything that wasn't a "hard hat" was a "cowboy hat"). He approached German and politely demanded the twenty pesos. A fee German promptly paid, even though it was my fault for falling down the hill.
"Are you okay?" my host asked as we strolled past picnicking families and playing children.
"Just a bit sore," I gingerly rubbed my backside.
We spent the next hour or so just walking...
... and it felt exquisite to be back in nature again.
This is where someone like me belongs.
The ride back down to town wasn't boring. Neither was it slow. And it was just the right amount of stupid dangerous to keep me from drifting off into future dreams or sliding back into reminiscing. What with the abundance of topes, charging dogs (an owner actually laughed when his mutt snapped at my hairy, frightened legs), and... errr... irregularities within the winding road.
It was ridiculously fun.
When we finally reached German's home, I finished up the chair paintings I'd been working on..
 |
| German told me that his favorite animals are tigers and capuchin monkeys. Then he bought me paints and set me loose on his furniture. |
I'm so happy I left Puerta Vieja.
Leaving something that wasn't fulfilling... and ending up couchsurfing with a fellow who lets me teach him yoga, paint his furniture and cook bananas foster. Someone who shares amazingly beautiful parts of his city with me, introduces me to the best coffee I've ever had and is well on his way to becoming a friend I sincerely hope I'll meet again.
Yes. Yes, please.
We went to quesadillas again that night. I splurged and spent six dollars on dinner. Six dollars which bought me a small warm glass of pineapple atole, a duck quesadilla with zucchini flowers and a slow-cooked pork quesadilla with some manner of fruit chutney.
After dinner, German and the two Mexican girls couchsurfing with him went off to a night/early morning of dancing.
"I'm an old lady," I confessed to German. "I'm just gonna go to bed. Buenos noches," I kissed everyone goodbye and walked back to my host's wooden house just outside of town.
What a perfect day.
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