Barra de Navidad

“Don’t go to Vallarta,” Marcos said, “Vallarta is not a place for a romantic getaway.”

“I think you should go to Acapulco,” Armando said, “Acapulco is great. I remember the days when you could sit down at a table and say to the waiter, “I’d like a martini, a gram of coke and a boy.” And the waiter would say “Si Señor,” and you got it.”

“Well, that’s not exactly the kind of vacation we’re looking for either. We were thinking something more remote, palapas on the beach kind of thing. What do you know about Bara de Navidad? Rod has been there and likes it.”

“Don’t know it,” Marcos said, “But I hear that it’s nice. I like Vera Cruz.”

“I don’t want to go to Vera Cruz,” Rod said. So plans were laid for Bara de Navidad.

“You’ll be going through Guadalajara,” Victor said, “So you should stop and check out the Icipali furniture place. My mother and sister are also living there and could show you around.”

We packed up the SUV, turned the house and little car over to Christine and gave her instructions for the staff and the animals. “We’ll be back on Friday evening, after the girls and the gardener have left. So I’ve left envelopes in the buffet with their names on them. If you could just put them out on Friday. I’ll pay Mary on Saturday.”

So off we went, at the crack of noon.

The drive to Guadalajara is about three hours and took us through plains of blue agave fields (the cactus used to make tequila). Rod had us scheduled to meet with Jose Antonio, or “Gordis” as Rod calls him, an affectionate name for a fat person, who is another dog breeder and handler. Most of the evening they spent rattling on about different dogs and gossip about different kennel club members. I didn’t mind not understanding much as had the conversation been in English I probably would have been equally bored. Gordis then took us to the Icipali furniture factory where I ordered furniture for the front patio.

The next morning Victor’s mother, sister and two nieces, ages 6 and 8, met us at our hotel. After a brief discussion as to where to have breakfast, we set out to a popular spot a couple of blocks away. The 6 year old walked up to me and took my hand and didn’t let go all the way to the restaurant. When we arrived at our table, her mother asked her where she wanted to sit. “Next to him,” she said in Spanish. Before the meal was over she was in my lap, her sister standing next to my chair as we pointed to things and traded words in Spanish and English. I wanted to steal them both.

After breakfast we kissed the girls goodbye, eliciting promises that they would come to San Miguel soon, and continued on. We crossed plains of dry lake beds throwing up dust tornados, past the impressive Colima volcano (which has since erupted and still is) and began to see roadside stands selling fruit and candies. And then as if someone had drawn a line on the landscape, we entered the tropics.

Bara de Navidad was like a time warp, like stepping into a beach community from the 60’s. A lagoon on one side and bay on the other, and then in contrast, a huge five star resort, Grand Bay I think it is called, sat perched on the peninsula. The town only has two main streets, one on the lagoon side and one on the ocean side. On the lagoon side we ate dinner over the water and watched blow fish snack on scraps tossed to them by customers. Our hotel looked out over the bay side where hardly a soul was on the beach. It was strange for me to see so much empty sand in such a beautiful setting.

“I noticed when we were at the bar that you didn’t talk to the other Americans that we saw,” Rod said, “Don’t you like your culture.”

“I heard those guys talking by the pool today,” I replied, “One of them said, “The only thing that could make is place better is more naked chicks.” That’s not exactly my culture and I don’t think we’ve a lot in common.”

We decided to live large for an evening and made reservations at the best restaurant at the fancy resort. At the water taxi station, security called to confirm our reservation and then we were given tickets for the return. After crossing the lagoon inlet we were greeted at the dock and passed through pristine gardens, multiple water falls and swimming pools and reached the elevator where we ascended several floors to the restaurant. It felt strange being surrounded by such elegance. Also, being low season, we were practically the only people at the resort and were the only people at the restaurant. We kept giggling as waiters fluttered around us (having no one else to serve and nothing else to do). And I have to admit, it was one of the better meals that I’ve ever had.

On the drive back temperatures reached 107. We stopped at roadside stands and sampled strange fruits that I’ve never seen or tasted before. Everywhere people were gracious and in good humor, despite the heat. We spent the night outside Guadalajara and after shopping the next morning, we returned to San Miguel.

Shortly after we arrived at the Ranchito, Christine returned from her teaching job. “You’re cramping my style,” she said, “You’re early.”

“It’s five o’clock,” I thought to myself. Then I noticed the envelopes for the staff on the buffet. “Why haven’t you paid the girls and Fidel?” I asked.

“Because it is only Thursday,” Christine replied.

Rod and I looked at each other in disbelief. “No it’s not,” I said, “It’s Friday.”

“Umm, Hello! I ought to know. I have to work tomorrow.”

“We could have stayed another day at the beach!” Rod said, “Take me back.”

The opening of Rodrigo’s new clinic was last Friday night. The day before I asked him to call my father’s doctor and invite her. She, her husband and son came to the party and presented us with two coffee mugs. On the front was the logo for Rod’s business and the name of the clinic, and on the back of one cup his name, mine on the other. Her husband had driven by the building that morning, copied the logo and made the cups before coming to the party. I continue to be impressed by the kindness and accepting nature of this community.