Curiosity Roving : V.8 : Margaritaville
Curiosity Roving
The Grand Adventures of L Rose Goossen
V.8 : Margaritavillein which we go south of the border
________________________________
Greetings and Salutations!
Welcome to the eighth volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention. For new subscribers, I extend a special welcome from me to you. You join this program already in progress, and if you would like to become familiar with the long and winding road that brought us to the present moment, I invite you to review my letter archive: https://tinyletter.com/curiosity_roving/archive
It's now been six months since I quit my job and blew up my life, and I regret nothing. This odyssey has been and continues to be totally rewarding, educational, challenging, and fun. Thank you for taking the time to read these letters and join me for a joyride.
I spy with my little eyeI'm writing to you today from the western coast of Mexico, in the province of Nayarit. In the time since my last letter, I have been doing the crazy and doing it hard. I spontaneously jumped in a car and backtracked momentarily to the chilly north, for the best of reasons. I completed a daylong walking tour of Puerto Vallarta with a guide who is legally blind. I accepted an abundance challenge, learned to whistle the catchy theme song of the virgin of Guadalupe, and then pledged a pretty significant portion of my life savings to an upscale vacation conglomerate owned by the Corona family while quaffing frosty tequila and cooperatively lying about my age and occupation. I danced on stone-cobbled streets with my shoes full of sand beneath a big fat juicy moon. I fortuitously positioned myself in a house with no address just in time to save the life of a good friend who experienced a serious medical emergency. I cropped my hair down to twelve millimetres last week, and so far, not one person has mistaken me for a boy. Viva Mexico! After a great deal of research, I can competently distinguish between a good margarita and a subpar margarita. I can also emphatically confirm the factual existence of Montezuma's famed revenge. That's as diarrheal as it gets, folks!
You can groan if you want, but I'm giggling.
horse of a different feather
My brain is language soup. It's been easy to program the Español into my daily meandering, but I'm in a strange situation in which my comprehension skills are far better than my speaking ability. Although I can understand a lot of what is said to me, I'm challenged to summon the words to respond or express myself. Sometimes I just throw up my hands and speak Italian. That generally gets the message across, but it feels like cheating.
Spanish is fantastic. I can barely make a real sentence, but after ten days of light immersion, I do understand that I can use the same word to say 'hope' and 'wait' (esperar), ditto 'tall' and 'stop' (alto), ditto 'parents' and 'potatoes' (papas). To me, all of this is hilarious.
"huevos divorciados" - also hilariousThe best crash course thus far was drinking a beer on the beach of Bucerias with Ricardo, 27, a construction worker from Guadalajara who is divorced with three children. He knew about three words of English, so I listened to his life story in Spanish for an hour or two, and he corrected some of my responses. He taught me the difference between the classical retornar and Mexican regresar. He taught me arrullo, and carried me like a baby for half a block. We laughed a lot, mostly at my mistakes. I accidentally said that I have nine boyfriends, and he asked if he could be the tenth. He didn't mind that I said no. He taught me yo te cuido. He was polite and kind and respectful. Dear world, please be like Ricardo.
local colour in BuceriasIt's my first time in this country, and the territory that I'm currently exploring is a good starter pack, a sort of Mexico Lite for fresh gringas. My ambitions are humble. A group of wealthy polo players recently passed through San Pancho for a tournament, and they informed me over vino and langostino that it is a bad time to go a-wandering in Mexico. They presented the possible scenario of a senseless kidnapping, and told me that I would be a perfect target, "because no one is going to ask for you". A few days later, a local musician told me that they would say that, because they are rich. I suppose all of this is true. Overall, I feel much safer here than I did in American cities.
view of VallartaThis area is easy to love. Prior to arriving, my concept of Puerto Vallarta was defined by glassy-walled towers and colourful graphic images on tiny t-shirts that appeared on the backs of my elementary school classmates each year in January. I was delighted to find that the old town of Puerto Vallarta is a real town, with papelerias and hardware shops interspersed amongst the tourist swag. San Pancho is the local cultural hub, and the home of my favourite overall margarita situation. Bucerias has got the best beach for walking, and the best sunsets. There are adorable and friendly little doggies out for walkies every morning. The roads of all these places are cobblestoned in the very bumpiest of archaic traditions, and the hills will trip you up. They do not care that you're on holiday.
mean streetsAnd sure enough, it's the holiday season! The winter solstice! Feliz Navidad, amigos! I made my deadline! Somewhere, chestnuts are surely roasting upon open fires. Around here, the timeshares and resorts are flooded with snowbirds and their fledgling chicks. I do not have plans, and I do not need them. A wonderful feature of living abroad is that holidays become optional; I am not obligated to participate in local celebrations, and I am not expected to show up for the festivities "back home". I create my own occasions for merriment, and overlook any socially sanctioned events that I can't find a use for. Christmas is probably canceled over here, and between you and me, it seems like 2019 is already drunk. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but she should probably just go home.
taste, colour, and enchantmentListen, reader: I'm going to be thirty in May. Would you like to come and celebrate with me somewhere in Mexico or Central America? If you're still giving your time to my words, you've certainly earned an invitation to my party, and I'll try to make it easy for you. Or, if May is too soon, let's rendezvous in Argentina for the solar eclipse next December. If May is too late, why not join me in February for a weekend of yoga and dancing at my friends' ashram in Belize? I mean it. You're invited. RSVP at your convenience. Make of me your magic carpet, and ride, Sally, ride.
Our sauce today is a love note for an old friend. Rated PG-14.
Our sauce today is a love note for an old friend. Rated PG-14.
Take it easy, one and all. Don't sweat the small stuff. Get loose with your nearest and dearest. Tell tall tales. Argue with your in-laws. Get offended, and cry into your eggnog while the herald angels carry on a-singing. Delight in this delicious mixture of the sacred and profane. And please, pour out some extra gravy for me.
Until next time, stay curious. -- Rose
Appendix : Recipes for Readers
Everyone knows that the most important part of any holiday season is food, food and food, so I will take this opportunity to furnish you with three festive recipes, which I have collected and composed over the last year. This is what's on the menu:
1) a vegan brownie from a Year of the Pig celebration for lush expats
2) a turkey sandwich that will transform your leftover bird bits into solid gold
3) some chocolate chip cookies from my mom's house
Don't miss what's next. Subscribe to Curiosity Roving: