We drove about two hours from our house in Escazu (outside of San Jose) to this trout farm. The scenery was incredible, and the fishing was lots of fun. The fishing equipment was even included!
The bridge from the parking lot/restaurant to the ‘farm’.
Here it is, our included ‘fishing equipment’!
Casting with his ‘rod and reel’
We got one!
Here fishy fishy.
You’re not afraid of it, are you?
At the restaurant next door, waiting for our catch to be cooked up.
Mmm, mmm, it was tasty.
Our Family in Mazatlan, MX
“You’ll never know what’s possible until you try the impossible.”
Anthony Robbins
In April of 2007 our family of six embarked on an amazing adventure – a six week road trip from Utah through Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, finally to Costa Rica, where we lived for a year.
When we started this journey our four children were ages 3 months, 1 year, 3 years and 4 years.
It was an ambitious and monumental escapade.
We crossed many borders, not just politically, but more importantly, psychologically, emotionally, and socially.
It expanded the perimeter of what we previously believed to be impossible.
Throughout the following posts, I’ve intermixed travel stories with tips, antidotes and advice:
Making friends in Sayulita, Mexico
“Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights;
it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.”
Mark Twain
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica.)
Up late writing my thoughts, I leave the door open to our room to let in the cool night breeze at the Mar de Jade resort.
Like a moth to the flame, the insects swarm the light of my computer screen, then snack all night on our sweet blood, so by morning we look as though we all have the chicken pox.
Knowing we have to depart soon, due to the silent retreat beginning that day, we relish the morning in Chacala, our serendipity by the sea, and soon forget the itchies.
Hubby spends some time working hard trading options, taking advantage of a WiFi connection.
The kids and I explore the grounds, and discovering large, green balls, we take them to daddy to see if he knows what they are.
Coconuts! These things are coconuts? They’re nothing like what we’ve seen at the store in the States.
Asking the gardener if he will open them for us, he slices off the top with his machete, inserts a straw, and we all try a taste of our first coconut water.
The flavor is a unfamiliar, but the kids love it, so much so we open another.
I let them drink it up, while I drink up the pure pleasure of the moment- experiencing something new and exotic with my children.
As the silent retreat guests began to arrive, we know the time has come for us to depart.
We head south again. The family we met yesterday raved about Sayulita, a hopping beach town only a few kilometers away, so we think we’ll stop and see what it is all about.
Unfortunately, we get off on the wrong foot. That is Sayulita and I.
It’s starts with the difficulty in finding the place – no signs.
After significant wandering, we discover what must be Sayulita, but roads are narrow, and clogged with more tourists than Mexicanos.
Feeling ensnared, we can barely maneuver our big SUV between the car lined streets, while dodging countless pedestrians. This must be the definition of a ‘tourist trap.’
Every hotel posts ‘No Vacancy’, and we wonder if we’ll find anything for the weekend. Finally, at the end of the road, right on the beach, Junto al Rio has a ‘tent’ available for rent, at a decent price.
Hungry and cooped up, the kids are anxious to exit the vehicle, so we take it, although I’m nervous on what I’ll find. (Hubby looked at it before, but I didn’t get that chance.)
The tent passes inspection- more like a large, canvas room, spacious, with a very comfortable king size, plus two twins, chair and other amenities. The only downside is the heat.
Canvas + Midday Mexican Sun = Discomfort
However that’s easily remedied with a few steps to the beach where we plan to bath in the sun and splash in the waves.
It’s so scorching hot, we seek sanctuary under a large multicolored umbrella instead.
My kids have soon made friends with a plump Señora who dotes on them, while daddy goes in search of some refreshment.
He returns with what must be ambrosia of the gods…a drink so delicious we’ll tell our grandchildren about it.
Orange juice fresh squeezed into the hull of a pineapple, the flesh of which is crushed into delectable pieces, mixed with mashed mango and perfectly chilled.
Oooohhhh…Ahhhh….soooo good.
Exhausted by the heat, it’s time to find a ‘real meal’.
One hundred yards from the beach there is an on site ‘restaurant’ at the far end of the coconut grove- one white plastic table with plastic chairs in the grass, next to a hut that houses a smallish kitchen.
The cook/owner takes our order, then chats with us while he prepares our meal.
The food is toothsome, unsurprisingly, but despite our satisfied bellies, we’re already thinking about breakfast as our host tells us about the ‘juice lady’ in town. Fresh made smoothies are a family favorite.
Sleep is sweet and sound, for the kiddies, although I’m not unaware of the thumping tunes that play late into the night. Sayulita does present a party scene.
It’s not until the next morning that we discover the mosquito family reunion that occurred in our tent throughout the night.
With a threat of dengue in the area, the prolific number of mosquito munchies on baby’s skin is cause for some concern.
But right now smoothies are on the brain, so we search out the ‘juice lady’, whom we find at ‘El Bicho’.
We get our fill of the good stuff- fresh piña, mango, orange juice and berries blended to a creamy, cold perfection.
Next it’s across the street to ‘Si Hay Olitas’ for a sit down meal, which is, of course, so deliciously good.
Why did it take us so long before we dared to try the local cuisine? We sure missed out on a number of great meals.
Eating incredible authentic food has got to be one of the best parts of travel.
Hubby makes friends with an expat named Frank, who offers to take him out for body boarding, man style.
This is the real deal, not a kids game, so I take them to play on the beach by our bungalow.
By the time daddy returns, they’re ready for a nap. We return to our tent to attempt it, but it’s so stuffy, despite the blowing fans, it can’t be accomplished.
Although we’ve paid for three days stay at Junto al Rio, it’s not working for us right now.
The kids need a nap and shelter from the heat, and an air conditioned car seems like a good place to do it.
With the high temperature and the mosquitoes, the owners are understanding and more concerned with people than money. They happily give us a refund.
Then we’re on our way again headed south to Puerto Vallarta.
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica.)
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Playa Chacala, Mexico
“Serendipity is to look for something,
but to find something else, and then realize that what you’ve found
is more suited to your needs
than what you thought you were looking for.”
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica. View the photo gallery for this post.)
Our day had been fraught with adventure, between jungle river crocodiles and the crumbling ruins of an ancient church immortalized by Longfellow.
But now we continue our journey southward to Puerto Vallarta on Mexican Highway 200.
We don’t travel far before, by some serendipitous act of fate, we’re diverted (or drawn) to explore a small beach town called Chacala.
Entering the village from the east, what first comes into view is a golden strip of sandy heaven that cradles a cerulean sea.
We can go no further. Coming to a halt, we exit the vehicle and walk trance-like toward hypnotic waves.
Momentarily disturbed by the mounds of moldering litter and refuse, the riotous result of ‘Holy Week’, it barely blemishes the ultimate beauty of this phenomena before us.
Then the playing begins. Children run animatedly along the sand, chasing the waves that flee from the shore and splashing in the great blue drink.
My husband wholeheartedly dashes head first into the breakers, the biggest kid of us all.
Body boarding, sand castle construction and sun bathing envelope the afternoon.
It doesn’t take long to be convinced to stay in Chacala for the night, we are none to eager to leave anytime soon.
At the far end of the beach, away from town, nestled in the deep jungle green is a mustard yellow home which my husband discovers is the Mar de Jade, a Zen/Buddhist resort.
We wander that way to inquire after rooms – there’s one available for one night only, due to a week long silent retreat that begins the following day.
Exploring the grounds and our newly rented room, the kids are eager to play in the cobalt blue pool.
Swimming and diving, we all make new friends with two young children and their parents who are traveling from New York.
“Are you here for the silent retreat tomorrow?” they question us.
Nearly drowned out by the din of our boisterous brood, I find their inquiry comical, but simply answer, “No.”
“I thought it would be difficult for your family to participate in,” was their response.
“Difficult? It would be impossible,” we say with a smile.
Food is our motivation to head back ‘into town’, about a 1/2 football field away. We drive, because it’s easier than carrying 3 or 4 small tired and hungry children in our arms.
En route, we pause for a moment to observe the residents playing a rowdy game of futbol.
Chicos restaurante is the first on our path, and it’s seems as good as any. I’m caught off guard by the pens of roosters in the parking lot- is that dinner if we order chicken?
A typical beach side palapa, we’re seated at a table that allows us to simultaneously kick off our flip flops and wriggle our toes in the sand while watching the sun slowly sink into the ocean horizon.
Palapas are the perfect ‘kid friendly’ restaurant. Restless toddlers waiting for their meal entertain themselves by building sandcastles or running down the beach.
It helps to pass the otherwise lengthy wait – as though they’re catching and cleaning the fish, harvesting the coconuts and marinating our meal to culinary perfection, with a manner that mocks at the idiotic and unwholesome idea of ‘fast food’.
Incomparably fresh, indubitably authentic, it’s the kind of fare that can’t be photocopied in some ‘Mexican restaurant’ franchise back home.
Completely satiated, we amble back to our waiting beds and drift into a satisfying slumber, dreaming dreams of delightful serendipity.
The adventure continues:
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica. View the photo gallery for this post.)
The Bells of San Blas toll no more
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica. View the photo gallery for this post.)
What say the Bells of San Blas? were the words penned Henry Wadsworth Longfellow as he lay on his death bed.
He wrote of a place he had never visited, a formerly illustrious church and port in San Blas Mexico, that now lay dilapidated.
The silent bells of San Blas signify an era that has past.
Where once the bells were proud, and rang out their song for all to hear, they now ‘mould and rust.’
That age has ended. A new day has dawned.
It’s an era ‘lifestyle design’, ‘location independence‘, and of non-conformity, not for the sake of being different just to be different.
But in recognition that each individual is unique, and marches to the tune of their own drummer.
No longer do we all hear the same song and march in the same path. We live in a world where as individuals we make our own rules, and define our own life course.
In the past, the bells tolled “go to school, get good grades, get a good job, work til your sixty-five.”
The bells chimed “settle down, get a 30 year mortgage, stay in one place to raise your family.”
The bells have pealed “family OR travel”, “career OR contribution”, “money OR fulfillment”
This era shines a light on the convergence of formerly contradictory values.
Today people all over discover family AND travel, contribution as a career, and wealth as a result of doing what they love (their personal ‘art’).
This generation is learning to take their dreams very, very seriously.
Travel creates those connections. It opens our hearts, expands our minds and is “fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness.”
“Oh, bring us back once more
The vanished days of yore,
Some fight this epoch age, uncertain and afraid, they long for days gone by.
There comfortable with the ‘known’, cozy with the ‘familiar’ and ‘the way things have always been’.
They’re afraid of the changes taking place, and uncertain of where they stand.
But their longing is in vain. This is an idea whose time has come.
“To awaken in a strange town is one of the pleasant sensations in the world.
You are surrounded by adventure. You have no idea what is in store for you.”
Freya Stark
It’s silent in our motel room at Casa Roxanna.
The kids still sleep, so I relish a few moments of quiet study and meditation, in a strange room, in a strange town that has altered my perception of reality.
The silence doesn’t last long, waking the children so to embark on the day’s adventure.
Destination: the La Tovara River. Waiting for us dockside is a lancha which we board, and have all to ourselves (the European travelers opted for their own boat after spying our rowdy half-pints- not that all Europeans are this way, but this group was).
Pushing off, we glide silently atop the chocolate brown river and penetrate a deep green tunnel of mangroves.
The tranquility is shattered by the cries of a child.
The boat of Europeans push past us, plainly glancing our direction with a look of disdain that shows they wished our family was on the other side of the world so we wouldn’t ruin their travel experience.
Allowing their behavior to spoil my peace, I’m fretful of every noise the kids make.
But then I decide that ‘kids will be kids’ and it’s best if we all focus on enjoying ourselves, even if we make a little more noise than a group of middle-aged, child-less sight-seekers.
My worries abate anyway, as the baby is soon asleep, and the kids are engrossed gazing at wildlife:
White Egrets sequestered in mangrove tubers, Rufous-necked Wood-Rails perched on offshoots, fresh water turtles slinking from their sunning rocks and disappearing below the dark glassy surface, blue iguanas clambering through thick, leafy branches.
And then there’s the crocodiles! Real, live, wild crocodiles!
Little boys squeal with delight as they spy the sizable reptile silently lurking just below the water’s surface not ten feet from our boat.
Meandering deeper into the labyrinth of mangroves, we dead end at the Refugio de Cocodrilo.
We exit our boat at the dock, then carefully creep across the slimy, black, slippy strip of mud used as a path.
An amigo carrying 1 year old Kimball, slips and swings onto his backend, dropping our little boy into the mud.
He’s more dirty and frightened than hurt. Cleaning him up and comforting him, we press on to the refuge.
Mammoth sized reptilian bathe in concrete and chain-link enclosed pools.
Handlers pass expired fish to cavernous toothy mouths through holes in the chain-link next to warning signs which provide us with a clearer grasp of the obvious:
Cuidado con los animales! (Careful with the animals!)
Strolling the grounds, we find enclosures that contain creatures we’d never seen or heard of- peccaries, coatimundies, and our first ever banana tree.
Although I knew bananas grew on trees, I didn’t know how. A large plum colored bud dangles like a pendant, with vivid green half-moons that reach for the sky.
It’s thrilling to learn something new by seeing it first-hand.
Soon we discover several corrals of baby crocodiles, separated by age and size. The keeper clambers into the enclosure and deposits two pounds of ground beef, which the minute crocs heartily consumed.
My bold and brazen husband decides he wants to hold the mini reptile, and doesn’t falter from letting the handler know it.
At first the man resists, but my husband’s mastery of the Spanish language holds sway, and he’s finally convinced.
Capturing a little carnivore by the tail, he’s handed to my husband who gives each of us a chance caress or cuddle the cute little crocodile.
Kyah (4) ventures to hold the writhing reptile, but Parker (3) and Kimball (1) just give it a quick pat.
Our time is up, the infant is returned to it’s watery cradle, and we meander back to our boat.
The sun begins to sink in the sky as we lazily float to the dock where are vehicle is parked.
We’re peacefully content with today’s ‘preschool’ for the kids, having fully experienced Travel Maxim #5
“Experience, travel – these are as education in themselves”
Euripedes
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica. Visit the photo galleries: Mazatlan, Las Islitas & San Blas)
We have a decision to make. Do leave our beloved El Ranchos, with her heavenly gardens and solitary tranquility?
We have no real schedule, or timetable to keep, yet our travel virginity, our impatient enthusiasm for adventure, pushes us on and on, to the next bend in the road, the next horizon.
Errantly, we are intent on arriving at the next destination, rather than relishing the journey.
Fully clothed, sitting poolside discussing our options, three year old Parker decides he wants to swim after all.
Stripping down to his birthday suit, he scatters his clothes on the pool deck, then bounds back butt naked to our villa to fetch his swim trunks, while we enjoy a good hearty laugh.
Forward, Pressing ForwardWe enjoy a final swim, then gather our belongings and bid farewell to the hospitable staff, who requests to take our picture.
Driving south for about four hours on Mexico Highway 15, we stop first at Playa Las Islitas, a mecca for surfers trying to catch ‘The Big Wave’, the Holy Grail of Surfing – an occasional 20 foot breaker that carries surfers a Guinness Book World Record mile and a quarter to the shore of Playa Matenchen.
It’s not surfing season, so we have the beautifully peaceful beach to ourselves, except for a lone white man who is out walking.
Standing like sentinels, a row of coconut palms guard the dark sand beach which imperceptibly slopes into a clear black lagoon enclosed by a vegetated rocky outcropping.
My husband strikes up a conversation with the walker, and discovers he’s an expatriate American who owns a yellow house at the far end of the beach.
The man with the yellow house relates at length surfing tales of ‘The Big Wave’, while I capture photographs, and the kids play a rowdy game of tag and wade in the cool water.
Regrettably we’re driven to depart due to the increasingly annoying ‘jejenes’, microscopic biting gnats, that seem to worsen their attack as dusk approaches.
But not before stopping at a close-at-hand palapa for a taste of the ‘world’s original pan de platano.’ I don’t know if it really is the world’s first, but it could certainly compete as being the world’s best banana bread.
Next stop is nearby San Blas. My first reaction is fear.
Fear comes, not because of where I am, or what I see. My fear started long before that.
It started with how I learned to view the world.
In the country of my birth, the parts of town that were run down, abandoned, grafittied, and inhabited by the dismissed and disdained members of the animal kingdom, were the ‘bad’ and ‘scary’ parts of town. The parts that you didn’t visit.
Whether or not it was accurate, it became my frame of reference, the glasses through which I viewed the world.
So as we enter San Blas, instead of seeing a quaint Mexican town with cobblestone streets and bicycle peddling residents, I’m looking through tarnished spectacles.
I espy what I’ve been trained to see- rabid-looking dogs, and abandoned, graffitied buildings- and through my ‘tourist’ glasses, I have an incorrect perception of reality.
Hence I label this hamlet as hazardous to my safety. I see ‘scary’. I see ’dangerous.’
Maxim #2
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes
but in having new eyes.”
Marcel Proust
We secure accommodations at the Casa Roxanna. Besides our roach motel experience in Los Mochis, this is the first ‘authentically Mexican’ hotel we’ll be staying at.
I’m originally nervous about what I’ll find, but the pleasant grounds with flowers, palms and swimming pool, prove to be promising. I discover it to be simple and comfortable, despite lacking air conditioning.
Now we go in search of food. To this point in our journey, we’ve been uncertain about eating local fare. How do you know where to eat, and if it will be safe?
Our options are limited now. If we want to eat, we’ll have to ‘go local.’
Maxim #3
“If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion
and avoid the people, you might better stay home.”
James Michener
We choose El Cocodrilo, in part because of the taxidermic decor on the wall – a large croc- which delights my two little boys.
Our table is opposite the open windows which look out onto the main town square. Evening is approaching, street lamps light and cast a golden hue on the townsfolk that are gathering.
Indistinctly, wistfully, music plays, filling the night with a sentiment of nostalgia.
Children play games of tag, mothers bounce babies and push strollers, grandmothers gossip, lovers stroll holding hands, ancients take root on park benches and torpidly people watch.
Meanwhile, back in the restaurant, my eyes are glued to the scene. I’m completely captivated by the chance to watch a ‘foreign’ people in their ‘natural habitat.’
Take away language and distinguishing characteristics like skin color, and these could be any people in any city or town in the world.
Laughing, talking, loving, caring, smiling, dancing, singing, living.
These people were just like me, and all the people I knew. They weren’t any different.
Enthralled by the scene, the more I watched, the more I imagined myself as one of them, living out my life in this small hamlet by the sea.
I felt a kinship, a connection.
Where did I ever garnish the idea that ‘foreigners’ would be somehow ‘foreign’, or that this place was somehow dangerous? And what other ideologies did I hold that were also incorrect?
The kids impatiently wriggle waiting for the food, their little tummies are hungry.
But the comida finally arrives, and it is well worth the wait (the best we’ve had since arriving in Mexico).
Paying the bill, we cross the street to intermingle. Our children quickly make friends. My husband strikes up a few conversations.
Not entirely fluent, and naturally reserved, I smile and snap photos of the architecture, but my heart is warm.
My view of the world has been altered. That’s a rewarding day’s travel.
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica. Visit the photo galleries: Mazatlan, Las Islitas & San Blas)
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Do you get this excited at the beach?
“The big question is whether you are going to be able to
say a hearty yes to your adventure.”
Joseph Campbell
After sequestering ourselves in the jungle hideaway of El Ranchos, our condomininum by the sea, we aim for a short exploration of Mazatlan.
Opting to stay in the car so little ones can sleep, we do a driveby of the boardwalk and spy couples holding hands and roller bladers gliding by.
Passing the shops and staring at the tourists, we search for a restaurante for some comida.
Dining open air we feast on fabulous, flavorful food and stuff ourselves with beans, rice, shrimp and tortillas.
Our bellies are full, we lazily examine the shops within walking distance. But little legs don’t last long, so we pile in the vehicle to search for a grocery store for tomorrow’s meal.
Asking for directions in Spanish, my husband discovers there’s a Walmart. Hurray!
We follow the instructions given as best as possible, but being born and raised in a very ‘gridded’ city like Salt Lake City, Utah, we’re having difficulty navigating the curvy, winding roads.
At length (and after a few more inquiries), we finally find Walmart.
Exploring this ‘name brand’ store in a foreign land is an adventure in itself. We’re entertained by simply walking the aisles and
examining the novelties. Even shopping becomes a new and interesting experience while traveling.
Eggs are stacked on unrefrigerated shelves by the entry (and near the very large speakers which are blasting a variety of Mexican tunes).
In the dairy coolers, there’s a very large selection of yogurt, most of which is drinkable.
The meat, seafood and bakery section are in the style of an open air market. Slabs of beef, chicken parts, whole fish, shrimp and other animal flesh exude an unmistakable smell as they lay displayed on mounds of crushed ice.
In the bakery, buyers choose a silver platter, and place their bread selections on a tray with the use of provided tongs. Then they’re carried to the bakery counter to be wrapped and priced, and the purchase is completed at the checkout stand in the front of the store.
Our grocery store explorations are only interrupted by wonderful Mexican men and women who stop us to pinch our baby’s cheeks, and exclaim with delight, Hermosa! Gordita!
Completing our purchases, we return to our vehicle in the guarded parking lot and tip Ferdinand.
It’s now dark, and we are all tired. Thinking we have some reference to where we are compared to where our hotel is, we opt to try a new route home, rather than meandering back the way we had come, which was in the opposite direction.
Confidently setting out, we attempt to use the ocean as a reference point. Keep it on our left.
We drive, and drive, and drive, and we still haven’t found anything familiar.
We turn and twist, and come to dead ends, and the ocean’s now on our right. How and why?
Where is our hotel?
Asking for directions once, then twice, then three times, doesn’t seem to get us any closer to our destination.
It’s darker and darker by the minute, and we appear to be heading north out of town, away from Mazatlan. Trying to find a major highway or main road, we’re thwarted at every turn. And becoming more frightened.
All we want is to turn around, to get back to Mazatlan, but we can’t even seem to do that. Every road is one-way, every possibility dead ends.
Taking a street which we hope will lead to the highway, we’re dismayed when it turns to dirt, then stops on a hill overlooking the city.
The children are oblivious, they just want to know why we’re not ‘home’ yet. But I’m thinking, ‘We are really lost! And we can’t see anything. What are we going to do?’
Turning around to go back the way we came, our path is blocked by a vehicle that’s shining their headlights on us. We’re cornered.
What are they doing here in the middle of nowhere? Did they follow us? Are they trying to stop us?
We knew it was wiser to avoid being out at night, especially in a very large and ‘American’ looking SUV that could become a target.
Attempting to pass, uncertain and afraid, the moment seems to last indefinitely. Are they not going to let us by?
As if in slow motion, they start to back up, and let us proceed. Relieved, we drive on. They continue past us and down the hill, on a road that we couldn’t see, into a ‘shanty’ village below.
Somehow we miraculously found the highway, and then the exit to our hotel. All I could think about was how scared I had been.
I don’t know if we’d really been in any danger, (in fact we probably weren’t), and I don’t mind being lost either (it can be fun during the day) but I didn’t like the situation in general – lost, unfamiliar, at night, and in unknown ’safe’ areas.
It’s something we would definitely avoid in the future.
Please share any tips you have learned below.
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica)
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We've found the Garden of Eden at El Rancho in Mazatlan
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica)
“I don’t believe people are looking for the meaning of life
as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive.”
Joseph Campbell
Stretched out on a white lounge chair, I collect the sun’s rays with a resolution to transform my white body to something more fawn, beige or caramel. I’m kept company by an olive green iguana who is also basking in the warmth of the golden ball in the sky.
Just a few feet away, a rectangle of aquamarine glitters in the sunshine, and jungle green palm fronds wave gently in the breeze.
Crimson red and candy pink hibiscus flowers polka-dot the emerald green verdure.
Viridescent vines languidly tiptoe the walls of tan adobe domiciles.
Giggling and splashing, delighted and carefree, mounted on lime green dragons and baby blue airplanes, my children sail across an azure sea.
Square ventanas share companionship with ruby red azaleas.
Variegated leaves of oranges, golds, fuchsia, plum, glaucous, and lime flank the perimeter of our own Garden of Eden by the sea.
Baby sleeps in her bouncer nearby . I close my eyes with a deep feeling of contentment, relishing the moment.
Switching on the iPod, I listen to Wayne Dyer How to Be a No Limit Person:
“How long would you sleep if you had no clocks or calendars, no specific meal times or bed times?”
He sites a study done in an underground facility, with no reference to night or day, the average person slept only 4.4 hours per 24 hour period.
Pondering the possibility of being an extreme early riser, we pursue our bunch as they beeline for the beach, only 150 feet away.
I wriggle my toes in the warm, flaxen sand of Playa Cerritos that fronts El Ranchos Villas where we’re staying in Mazatlan.
My boys (including the big kid, my hubby) dig ferociously in the sand, building golden castles and gaping moats. Kyah frolics in the frothy white waves, skipping and splashing with joyful glee.
Combing the tow-colored beach, baby on my shoulder, under the dazzling sun, I search for treasures from the sea.
Iridescent oyster shells, opalescent clams, mustard augers, fulvous jujubes, pearly jingles and tawny alphabet cones, all glistering in the sunlight.
We comb, and gather and sort and delight. I envisage my own business, fabricating fabulous articles of jewelry from my oceanic treasure trove, recalling what Wayne Dyer once said,
“You can make a living doing ANYTHING. Anything at all that you can think of, you can make a living doing it.
If you’re getting by where you’re living right now, you can make it anywhere in the world.
There are no limits to what you can accomplish.”
The hot tub to ourselves, I enjoy a good soak while baby Aaliyah floats in her yellow ring, and our children take turns leaping into daddy’s arms and having ‘swim’ lessons.
Returning to our two bedroom bungalow, we exchange our wet swimsuits for dinner attire- something appropriate for an evening meal on the beach (read: shorts and flip flops).
Opposite the pool, facing oceanside, we climb the stairs to a thatched roof cottage on stilts with a soothing view of the Atlantic.
Two plastic tables fill the small room composed of mostly windows. We take a seat and scour the menu, place our order, and admire the sunset.
Grateful we’re the only patrons in the restaurant, I can relax a little more despite my children’s noise. They’ve had a long, fun day, and are eager to eat and then go to bed (maybe just mommy is eager for that part).
Our meal is amazingly delicious, with fresh seafood, rice and beans, our hungry brood devours every bite.
We stroll back to our room in the balmy night air, past the sleeping iguanas, the sparkling pool and deep green gardens, appreciative for an enjoyable day in which we could spend so much time together.
One of the best benefits of travel, is the way it forces you to ‘be where you are’ and to focus on the moment.
Learning to ‘embrace the world before our eyes’ is the lesson to take to our everyday lives. It’s the way to really experience living.
Isn’t this what it’s all about anyway, to have a feeling of being alive?
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica)
Wandering in the heart of Los Mochis, Mexico
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica)
After an exciting bodega experience, we return to our musty, dingy, poorly lit motel room to further inspect where we’ll actually be staying.
I’ve mentioned before, this is my first rodeo. It’s my first experience staying in accommodations that were… ‘sketchy.’
The only other time I’d left the U.S. was when I’d traveled to Tijuana, Mexico, and it gave me culture shock.
Now I was face to face, and nose to nose with sleeping arrangements that were a little ‘uncomfortable’ to me.
The single outlet in the room that stands about halfway up the wall is very odd to me. I utter an incredulous gasp when I
discover the beds are really cement pedestals with foam pads. And I’ll never be able to bring myself to lay on those sheets.
And the smell…what is that anyway?
Children are so adaptable. That’s one of the qualities that makes them great travelers. They hardly blink an eye at our surroundings- in fact they find them fun and exciting.
A little cubby hole below the t.v. in the wall, seems to serve no other purpose than to entertain my children, which it does perfectly.
The kids eventually wind down and fall asleep on our concrete beds. I doze for a little while, after spreading out my own sheet.
It’s too hot for a blanket, despite the attempt of a swamp cooler, which only seems to be increasing the mustiness of the air.
At 3:00 a.m. I’m up writing, and kept company by the radio blaring from the guard’s station next door. Perhaps loud music keeps him from dozing while he keeps the premises under surveillance.
I was startled when he turned it on. Baffled really. Who plays the radio loud at 3:00 a.m.? I’ve got to remember I’m not in Kansas anymore.
We’re eager to leave the next morning, after a stale, sleepless night.
My husband is adventurous enough to shower, but not before he removes the remains of a deceased resident who is legs up on the shower floor.
Stepping out for some fresh air, I’m unpleasantly surprised to find the smells out-of-doors are worse then in.
After check out, we search for a gas station to get some orientation. We’d like to locate an internet café, and a church to attend, since it was Sunday.
A friendly señora can’t help us find a church, but she gives us directions to an internet café.
Following her instructions as best we can, we’re led through a tour of the ‘real’ Mexico.
When you first experience a place so entirely foreign and unfamiliar, why is it that you feel a bit nervous and uncertain?
Is it fear? Are we afraid of what we don’t know, or are unaccustomed to ?
What do we imagine might actually happen? Do we think the people who inhabit such aberrant dwellings(according to our standards), might be dangerous, or wish us some harm?
I wrestle with these feelings, not willing to fully explore them or what they mean.
Torn between staring in order to learn more about how these people live, and wanting to be respectful ‘intruders’, I settle for sneak peaks, while trying to maintain an unassuming demeanor.
Winding through roads that vary from paved, to partially paved, to dirt, I snap shots from the window of red, blue, yellow and white clothes as they hang from the line in the ‘backyard’ of a home that is fenced with wooden pallets.
As we pass through neighborhoods I’m astonished at their deviation from the ‘norms’ of American suburbia with perfectly manicured lawns, evenly shaped sidewalks and driveways, and their unduly demanding HOA’s.
I’m so fascinated by it all, craning my neck in every direction and dumbfounded by my first real look at ‘the world’ outside my little corner of the Earth.
We still haven’t found the internet café, but reaching a significantly sized road that appears to be a main highway, we decide to make for Mazatlan.
Picking up speed, we start cruising toward highway speed. When what to our wondering eyes did appear? A dead end.
Stupefied, I’m at a loss for words. Does this very large and apparently well maintained road really go nowhere? This substantial slab of concrete was constructed to lead to a field? It’s almost comical really.
Amused and bewildered, we did the only thing we could do – turned around the direction we came. I’m thoroughly entertained.
So many deviations from normality – there’s something appealing about it. It adds variety, amusement and unpredictable fun.
The hilarity continues and I laugh aloud this time, enthralled in the adventure of abnormality, when I spy a bloated, dead horse lying roadside.
What will we discover next?
(This post belongs to a series, “Crossing Borders”- Family Road Trip Costa Rica)
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