Trust me, I know. Everyone was digging the 17 degree temperature in Vancouver today, but they don't know, they just don't know. Mexico was excellente. Mui excellente. Eight days and seven nights of sun-filled, cerveza-fuelled relaxation. We were like the couples from the Corona commercials come to life. Except paler and fatter.
Sure, I complained about the clamminess of the hotel room at night, and the way my stomach felt after consuming retarded amounts of pickled jalapeno strips, and the time Simon frolicked in sea-lion infested waters only to realize that our camera had been in his pocket the whole time--but those things didn't really bother me. Except for the camera thing. I wish I could have stayed for another week. Or month. Or decade.
We spent our wedding anniversary on a private beach called Las Caletas, once owned by John Houston and Elizabeth Taylor. Now it's owned by a tour company called "Vallarta Adventures", but despite the occasional Survivor-esque ornamentation, they actually managed to refrain from sucking all the beauty and romance out of the place. We lounged in hammocks, checked out the monkeys and parrots, ate lobster and squid, and drank rum. Fabulous. Even when we stopped by the harbour en route to Las Caletas so the giant cruise ship could spew oversized Americans in undersized swimwear on to our little boat, we still had a great time. It sucks to be back. But at least we have that whole "trying to start a family and finding out what life is really all about" crap ahead of us to look forward to.
2 comments:
That sombrero picture is fabulous! Your hair is gorgeous, I seriously thought it was a wig at first.
That is also one wicked green tortilla chip.
That reminds me, I still have to ship that damn sombrero to my nephew in Saskatchewan. Never drink tequila before souvenir shopping, a more sober person would have purchased the small, easily packable t-shirts, rather than the big funny hat and ukulele.
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