What is about airports that makes you anxious? Is it because they’re places of activity and motion, always curious who other passengers are, where they’re going and why. Or is it the way airport security frisks and looks down on you and makes you feel criminal. Or is it because you are about to get onto a great wing-ed beast made of metal and get propelled to the stratosphere and somehow expect to not fall in a downward spiral plummeting to your fiery death.
From San Jose Costa Rica we flew to L.A. California arriving around 10pm, another hour after luggage, customs and immigration, but hey who’s counting. It’s L.A. It will be warm…a t-shirt, shorts and flip flops should do. This is mostly true however the air conditioning in the “international terminal” seems to not have discovered appropriate climate control; next to actual flying snow, I’m not sure it could get any colder. I know, I know, after six months travel in warm countries your sympathy lies between shit and syphilis in the dictionary. Be that as it may, it was a friggin cold night on the floor of the terminal beside a cold window in LAX with the nearest illumination, a McDonalds sign and also the site of our most recent meal and indigestion, not a lot of options at that time of night. In the morning we checked into our flight to Cabo.
Visions of Bajha: What is all that crap floating thickly down the Sea of Cortez? Maybe it’s the remains of unified projectile vomit induced by immigration policies enforced
by roaming border patrols and the xenophobia of Southern California towards Mexican Americans. Maybe it’s whale dung. Maybe. Who knows?
Marie and I managed to find local transport to Cabo via public bus for a fraction of the cost of either shuttle or taxi service, after not dignifying the baying pleas of taxi drivers come-timeshare salesmen. After six months on the road, the excitement of seeing my family was nearing epic proportions, all my cousins in one place after at least a decade, one from as far as France, to celebrate the wedding of Booie and Shippi. With the exception of an uncle and a few partners, the entire group would be together for nearly a week.
We arrived in style with our battered rucksacks in tow with hundreds of stories on our lips; we were reunited with fathers and mothers and sisters and uncles and aunts and nieces and nephews, cousins and rum (not that we needed to be reunited but surely it was there), new friends and new cousins and newly engaged and about to be married. Whew, just a few people. For Marie it was a bit overwhelming, coming from a smaller family, to meet the Fishers en masse with margaritas and tacos en tow. The hijinks were to come.
My sister Natalia, who currently is travelling in India, generously offered her room to share with us ( a godsend for our 60 a day budget) and we moved and unpacked our compressed and waiting explosion of soiled socks sweaters and everything else we have been carrying in our snail-like homes carried on our backs; unpacking is like a religious experience when you rarely stay in one place for more than a couple days.
The following week contained many adventures, misadventures and new friends and surprises (Christine Rogerson, what the Hell!). From hiking the hills of Lovers Beach to swimming the crushing surf of Divorce
Beach and urban hiking in search of
Christian Slater; from Sam Young-inspired suicide tequilas to Team Strike Force moustache parties, sing alongs with Brod, skinny dipping in the cold Pacific. From Canada – US hockey matches, great conversations with family and conversions of cousins. We had a great time catching up with everyone at fantastic and opulent dinners, or simple tacos.
The main event went off without a hitch or quite literally WITH a lifelong hitch. The beach ceremony, perfect, with a beautiful bride and an anticipatory groom whose smiles outshined the sun and the flowing tears could float the ships of joy down the riverways and streams of life. Sorry, a litle indulgent but it was quite awesome. This led to hoeurs d’ouerves to satisfy all the eaters needs to the tune of mariachis who played in musical unison to our delight. We were welcomed to our dinner with the brides procession under a sky of sparklers raining light on this fantastic event.
With a three sectioned buffet of salads, potatoes and broccoli, made to order fajitas, and grilled to perfections steaks and chicken breast, it’s not hard to believe that many guests missed altogether certain sections, but quickly found their footing with the desserts of cakes and flans. Marie performed a hula hoop fire show to introduce everyone’s dancing shoes to the dance floor and to begin the night of revellery. Were we full? yes. Were we wined and cocktailed? Yes. Did we group together in hilarity, tomfoolery and reintegration?Definitely!!!!
With days spent on the beach lounging it was hard not to notice the declining numbers as the week finished and the responsibilties of normality called people back to duties in Canada and elsewhere. Marie and I stayed on managing to have great dinners with my parents on one night and to be invited out another night to dinner with my sister’s family and get reacquainted with nieces and nephews. After all was said and done we were so very grateful to hang out with the family and a little sad to part ways again.
We hopped onto public transportion again and headed to the airport for another flight and layover in Mexico City en route to Manzanillo where we were to be picked up by Marie’s parents who bide a portion of their winters on the coast of the Pacific in Melaque amid other retirees who spend time beach side and hang around But Linda and Juergen don’t follow suit by constantly designing adventure day trips and exploring the beautiful scenery on long walks throughout the day while some of their compatriots may nurse hangovers and sunburns waiting for the specials. In the company of a couple that is semi-retired, Marie and I were generously put up in our own room and beset with a constant feeling of slight laziness in comparison to this highly active union.
The following week, we were to pursue many activities and enjoy the missed company of the Spechts. With long beach walks and explorations to near abondoned resorts and almost hidden beautiful spots to days at the beach snorkling and visiting crocodiles, (yep did that too), we enjoyed market days and firework displays. Juergen and I made it to the local pool hall for a couple games and even ventured into the realm of Mexican macho man dominoes betting, learning the nuances of “for money” dominoes and only watching the real deal. The everyday gourmet meals we were led through (Marie’s father retired professionally as a chef but you never really retire as a chef) and wine and evening brandy’s revealed the pleasures of conversation and playing dice and cards in the company of family. The discussion even led to our wedding planning for next year and the realities of reintegrating to normal working life when we arrive to Victoria to start new lives.
Again with heavy hearts we parted company and boarded the what ended up being forty hours of relay buses across the border to Phoenix AZ where we were met by my cousin Kyla whom we had recently spent time with in Cabo San Lucas. Kyla and Trent, whose generosity previously had buffered us from the South West as we planned to enter Mexico several months ago now gave us the buffer from the culture shock resulting from our rentry into the land of all selection groceries and automatic car washes, twenty five dollar campgrounds and the majestic beautiful landscapes of America.
Another week of gourmet cooking Kyla style finished with an awesome roast
and sweet potatoes, broccoli and cauliflower with cheese, Yorkshire pudding…. A week of exploring Phoenix, climbing up the camelback, a local peak. We drove to Saguaro National Park, whose hundreds year old cacti wave you through or stick you up or give you the finger or maybe salute you. We also visited the O.K. Corral in Tombstone and had a sit down for a gunfight and wandered into old time saloons for pints of beer with the riff raff of sock sandaled, cottonwool-haired, zippy trousered tourist types.
After a wash of clothes, a new car battery for Poncho Gonzo and a host of hugs and waves goodbye to Ky, Trent and the dogs, Sebastian and Jack, we headed back on the road for the slow, beautiful drive along the Pacific, headed North.
