There is nothing better than an impromptu trip to liven up the little gray cells. As Hercule Poirot might say.
My experience is that the planning and anticipation of a trip is a sure fire way to suck all of the fun and spontaneity out of it.
Since my return to Melaque, I have not strayed from my garden other than for a few local trips. Otherwise, it has been just me and my Kindle on the patio with the Duraflex fan.
One of my fellow church-goers decided I had had enough solo time. At our post-service lunch, she asked if I could drive her to the airport. Sure, I said. I love taking people to the airport.
The airport in Puerto Vallarta. I recently had told her and others in our congregation that I was tired of saying "no" to suggestions. Certainly, said I.
Early on Tuesday morning, I headed north with her. I am not certain when I was last in Puerto Vallarta, but I always like visiting the Big City. Well, big to we fishing village folk.
After I dropped her off at the airport, I settled into my hotel room and contacted one of my readers. He and his family moved to Puerto Vallarta last August. Coincidentally, he saw on my blog I was headed to his area of the country, and he asked if I would be interested in getting together.
My original plan was to sit down and have a drink with him and then head off to a late movie. After all, multiplex theaters are rather rare here.
So, off we went to the older section of town and the exotic luxury of an Italian restaurant.
Our conversations started out with the joys and frustrations of living in Mexico, but then turned to the finer points of political philosophy, natural law, the weaknesses of fiat currency, and why someone with such limited talent as Brad Pitt can be a movie star.
The conversation was one of those exchanges that is worth savoring -- like a fine truffle. Instead, we settled for Italian.
What we both thought would be a short get-together soon turned into four hours. The weather helped conspire to keep us at our table.
I have seen plenty of tropical rain storms. But this one went on for well over an hour before we decided to dash through it to the car.
I am accustomed to water in the streets in Melaque. But the area around town is flat. Old Puerto Vallarta is build on steep hills. The cobblestone streets looked and felt like white water rivers.
When I drove out of town on Wednesday afternoon, I stopped at an overlook where the Tomatlán River empties into the Pacific. The lingering effects of the storm were still evident.
The photograph at the top of this post is of the silt-saturated river water mixing with the sea. At the bottom of the photograph you can see how the silt is floating only on the surface of the ocean. A boat's wake reveals the blue water beneath.
Other than dropping off my passenger at the airport, nothing on this trip went as planned. It went much better. And, for that reason alone, it was well worth getting away from my Melaque doldrums.
When I drove out of town on Wednesday afternoon, I stopped at an overlook where the Tomatlán River empties into the Pacific. The lingering effects of the storm were still evident.
The photograph at the top of this post is of the silt-saturated river water mixing with the sea. At the bottom of the photograph you can see how the silt is floating only on the surface of the ocean. A boat's wake reveals the blue water beneath.
Other than dropping off my passenger at the airport, nothing on this trip went as planned. It went much better. And, for that reason alone, it was well worth getting away from my Melaque doldrums.
One last note, the sun managed to peek through the storm clouds just as it was setting. I have never seen the sun that orange. And there I was without my camera.
This inadequate photograph is from the camera on my telephone.
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