Date: Tue, 8 Jan 2002 20:35:41 -0800
Reply-To: mike miller <mwmiller@CWNET.COM>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: mike miller <mwmiller@CWNET.COM>
Subject: FW: San Patricio Melaque: Jellyfish!
In-Reply-To: <20020108224322.6258.cpmta@c003.snv.cp.net>
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Remember I'm only forwarding this. Don't reply to me. I'm just as jealous
as you are.
Mike
Jan 7th 2002
San Patricio Melaque
Jalisco, Mexico
Greetings everyone—
Life in the little fishing village north of Puerto Vallarta was so pleasant,
I feared if I remained another day I might never roll up my tent & move on
to new adventures. Chalk this up to a gorgeous sweep of un-peopled beach
bordered by coco palms with a lagoon at one end (full of colorful birds &
the occasional crocodile). Throw in a small population of amusing
international travelers with good stories & books to swap--including a
handsome single French Canadian who concocted a divine shrimp pasta, taught
me to play Euker, beat me at gin rummy often enough to keep it
interesting, & offered space in his fridge!
If life in Melaque is not the idyllic existence of the fishing village, it
offers other charms & amenities: internet cafes, fresh fruit smoothies, a
plethora of good restaurants & markets just steps away from it’s little RV
park on the beach front. (And for those so inclined, there’s a whorehouse
full of transvestites rumored to sport stainless steel falsies—or so I am
told by my pal Ed, a wild Irishman & racing sailmaker I met last year.)
Unfortunately, this time through, I am dwarfed here by huge RV’s & “fifth
wheels” from Canada & the US. Later
in the season--on my way home--van conversions, tent ampers, & Westfalias
prevail, filling only a quarter of the available spaces. This is the Melaque
I know & love.
So I’ll remain a few days more, then head up into the central highlands.
There’s little peace here now, as I’m hemmed in on three sides. My nearest
neighbor sprawls in a lounge chair, a cold cerveza clutched in his meaty
fist, monitoring his crackling ship to shore radio & tallying the dorado &
red snapper hooked by sunburnt sport fishermen two hundred miles to the
south. When he intercepts a fisherman out of gas & drifting toward rocks,
he heaves himself up & out of his lounge chair like a beached whale, grabs
another cold cerveza, & hollers to all within earshot.
“Jee-zus! Some yahoo’s dead in the water again! Some guy named Bob sez he’s
landed three big dorado. And there’s a shitload of jellyfish.”
Here, now, I am far younger than these RV’ers. Normally, I am younger than
even the early retirees I find in RV parks along this stretch of coast, &
since I look younger than my years & travel alone (!)(their exclamation, not
mine) I am highly suspect. In self defense, I’ve learned to adopt a
detached air. Rarely, a few of the older women are riendly; the husbands
are another matter: they appear, as if by magic, to”help me set up”or add
my carton of yogurt to the contents of their fridge.
But in general, I am regarded with disdain by these bewildered older RV
wives, who find my presence unsettling. For this reason, & many others, I
don’t often stay long in these big-rig RV parks. I’ve learned, also, to
keep a low profile & reveal little of myself, my unconventional life, or my
travel adventures—lest I am invited for cocktail hour & trotted out to
perform like a trained seal.
“This girl’s been to Peru, Daddy—all alone! Fancy that…Tell ‘em, honey.”
Today’s unseasonably hot, in keeping with this winter’s whacky weather
worldwide. Even Melaque’s got jellyfish today, a rare occurence. (Locals
swear by urine as the best
remedy for painful jellyfish stings, but I prefer Tiger Balm)
It’s just too damn hot to do much of anything. I´m writing in the shelter
of my large Kelty Sun Shade--& it’s so bright I struggle to locate my
laptop’s cursor. Lo! A ten year old boy’s just appeared with a huge tray
balanced atop his head--fresh baked flan topped with peach slices--to which
I simply must succumb. Cursor be damned!
My Westy’s just purring along & a shot of WD-40 seems to have fixed my
erratic speedometer. Once I´ve had my fill of Melaque´s fruit smoothies
I´ll head south. The current plan is to follow the coast south all the way
to Acapulco,
then head inland.
¡Andele!
Phaedra
’85 Westy “Basecamp”
psavage@mexconnect.com
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