Oh My GAD!

When the Road Runner would do his running thing to get away from the coyote, he ran so fast that the world around him looked blurry.  It looked blurry why? Because the road runner was running super fast.

When you get on a plane and watch the lines on the runway as it's taking off, things get a little intense with the speed man, I'm telling ya.  What is normally a series of white lines in succession quickly becomes one white line that follows along until the plane leaves the ground. 

With GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder), all things are possible.  Fast running or flying planes not required.  The world around can look just as blurry because the surroundings are moving on... while GAD helps with the sort-of-stuck in this ethereal funk-of-frozen feeling.  It can be debilitating when it's chronic. 

GAD is a sort of umbrella term used to encompass various forms of anxiety.  Whether PTSD or Agoraphobia, the "G" for generalized is intentional and on purpose. 

Anxiety is a normal happenstance for the human race.  It's when the anxiety actually manifests itself in a way that prohibits or prevents normal participation in society that it becomes the disorder.  I can tell you from first hand experience that it's scary shit... on a number of levels.

Even as a young kid I think I was a sort of restless girl, wanting to be doing something, ANYTHING, other than what I was doing.  This flowed over into my teen age years, where I longed for the "ideal" high school experience (like something out of GREASE or maybe The Babysitter's Club), and yet felt so socially awkward and uncomfortable.  I felt angsty and insecure and all kinds of stuff that I didn't have the words for nor could I really put a finger on it.

Fast forwarding a few years, I found myself in Undergrad and Graduate School on this weird emotional and spiritual roller coaster where all of the sudden I'm in this pool of "Churched" people (that is the precise language I heard used), therefore obviously quantifying me as an "Un-Churched" person (i.e. different and/or lacking in some way). 

It seemed that everything about my life is changing as grandparents die and the world keeps turning.  Funerals and term papers I would say.  Troubles on the home front 3 hours away while I'm practicing my Greek and writing about the Trinity. 

The OH MY GAD grandma panic attack occurred while I was home visiting from college.  I had the very real sensation that I was leaving my body.  I couldn't breathe.  My hands drew up in fists and I lost some serious motor function.  I was driving and somehow safely pulled myself across 3 lanes of traffic to safety on the shoulder.  I was scared.  I was embarrassed.  I felt humiliated.  And to add to the shame, I couldn't pull myself together enough to drive myself home.  I actually had to ask for help... it was like putting on an invisibility cloak of a different sort.  All of my vulnerabilities exposed and no where to hide.

Anxiety can be a really great laxative.

Thankful for the quiet assurance from my brother Jason, I made it home and locked myself in my room for a few hours.  Just allowed the embarrassment and fear stew for a bit because that always helps.  And knowing that my parents' humble home was filled to the brim with visiting family members just added to this ghastly pressure cooker. 

"You had a panic attack."  The doctor said.  Immediately I started crying and immediately felt ashamed that I immediately started crying.  The doctor immediately questioned why I put so many feelings on top of feelings.  At this point, I'm sure the snot had made it from my nostril to my upper lip and she finally handed me a tissue.  I couldn't really talk between the hyper-ventilating breaths. 
"Here, take some Paxil." 

Awesome. 

Paxil made me nuts.  For a year I could not drive.  I had a car.  I had a license.  I physically could not drive.  Sitting behind the wheel tipped me over into another frenzied panic, with the manifestations of dizziness, sweaty palms (which I typically have on a normal basis... gross I know), and tightening of the chest.  Here I was, in the world of academia shooting for my masters degree, and I couldn't drive?  Give me a break.  You see how this is a struggle?  A cycle?  It's like an incessant game of "Let's upstage the last failure!" 


All of those little arrows are telling
that kid that he sucks at life. 

Zoloft happened and it helped.  No issue with public speaking and now driving to and from the gym.  But sometimes the walls still breathed and I felt dizzy.  Sometimes my knees felt like they would buckle and I felt the desire to hurry up and hide. 

I decided that I didn't need any "help and stopped taking Zoloft.  I found myself laying on a couch and waiting for someone to shoot me.  I don't recommend doing that.  Ever.

And sometimes I have really awesome
 lightning storms in my head. 

At the age of 34 I still wrestle with this GAD business.  I'm more familiar with it and have learned to give myself some grace and patience.  But man, when it happens it's so draining.  It becomes a grappling match (sort of like MMA), between my own internal dialogue based on anxiety and my own internal dialogue based on tools I've learned.  It does not define me (like many other things), but it is part of what makes Rachel the unique and wonderful Rachel she is. 

Right?

Despite that fact that no one really knows what the Citalopram is actually doing to my body long term, I'll continue taking it like a good little girl to properly function in a way that society expects from me.  After all, it's a legal substance and some pharmacy somewhere is making big bank off of GAD.  It's just another way I can contribute to society. 

And that makes me want to vomit.

See all those Benjamins? Those really should be
going towards my student loans.  THAT would
help me with anxiety.  Punks.

The X Factor

Duck Dynasty, as you may well know, is sort of like a video-blog of a lucky family who have made millions from sounding like ducks.  Now, I'm all for the boot-strap theory.  This is 'Merica!, the place where you can sound like a cat in heat and TLC will make a show out of it.  Let freedom reign.  The Duck Dynasty-ers have no doubt worked hard for this money by their own genius and capacity for wild life imitation. 

Before I go any further, I must share that not only have I watched some episodes and laughed in spite of myself, I've even taken a gander at reading a little from one of their books that was conveniently placed by the toilet for my morning quiet time.  An interesting read indeed.

It's equally wonderful to see a family, a motley crew of personality and down-home humor, who gathers around the table at the end of the day to give thanks to the Almighty for the bounty.  It's like a revised Norman Rockwell painting, capturing the ideal of "family" while also allowing room for off-color humility (i.e. "I have a long beard and play in the woods"). 

Duck Dynasty, aptly put, is a show and a family that brings not only entertainment to many across the board, they also provide, for many, a sense of "Huh, that's kind of like me!"-ness to viewers everywhere.

Perhaps it's just me or my surfacing cynicism, but methinks the French wouldn't get it.

That's besides the point. 

So the one guys who always says "Hey!"... I can't remember his name.  I can only remember that he says "Hey!"... was in a picture posted all over my facebook news feed.  He was holding a picture that read "Keep Christ in Christmas". 

Sigh.  This is one the most misunderstood and misguided complaints about the holidays.  And when I saw that the famous bearded man was holding this sign, I felt compelled to speak to that.  Once and for all.

I have an announcement:  X = CHI = CHRIST = CHRISTMAS. 

"X" is the Greek letter CHI.  In the early days of the church, Greek was the main unifying language before Latin.  And I know there are many who will feel uncomfortable with this BUT like it or not, the church that you are a part of (Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal, Unlimited Holy Water of God, etc) originated from the Catholic Church.  Did your hair spike up a little?  It's okay.  Did that to me at first too. 

See, the book that you and I have that's called The Bible wasn't always in existence.  It's a collection of writings that were gathered by a group of men who decided what should be "kept" and what doesn't fit what they considered "orthodox teaching".  I.E. - The Bible did not just fall out of the sky... it was created by people just like you and me.

At any rate, when the Catholic church people come together it's called "mass".  And the one that they celebrate the birth of Jesus is called "Christ Mass".  Ah but because they were Greek-speaking with a modge podge of other languages, to make it make sense to all who attended the letter "X" was used.

Let me repeat: X = CHI = CHRIST = CHRISTMAS.

The only person who is taking "CHRIST" out of anything is, perhaps, you. 

So, the "Hey!" guy is continuing this trend of misinformation.  And he's part of a very charming family and makes you laugh and stuff.  But I gotta tell you, the "Hey!" guy along with many many many others have got it wrong.

Wrong not in the judgey sense of the word, wrong in the sense that... well... it's just not true.  And it makes me sad. 

Don't be a sheep.  Be a shepherd.  Study.  Read.  Find out for yourself.  And maybe you'll see, the "X" might have actually come first.

Merry Xmas indeed.

Do Not Consume a Consumer.

I don't fish.  I can count on one hand the number of times I have gone fishing.  Not because I have some ridiculous moral code that prevents me from sticking a hook their scaly flesh, but because I find it to be... how do I say this gently?

Boring.

I do not hunt either.  Although there was that one time when I rode around on the back of my brother's truck chasing groundhogs.  I have killed spiders before; more or less because I felt they were hunting me.   

Nor do I make a habit out of wearing camouflage as to make myself invisible to critters.  If I wear camo, it's because it's re-gifted hat that no one wanted. 

Furthermore, I generally choose something other than fox pee for my personal eau de toilette.

"Kim" called me yesterday.  She tried really hard to get me to see myself differently. 

According to "Kim", I was such a valued customer at the local Bass Pro Shop (I've been there twice), that my name was chosen for an outstanding travel package.  "Kim" spoke to me for 15 minutes, calling me by my first name as if we had been long-time friends.  "Kim" shared with me of her own travels and the impact her experiences had on her and her loved ones. 

"Kim" spoke in earnest about her appreciation of my purchasing-power in such a way, that I ALMOST believed Bass Pro would send me away on an all-inclusive vacation.  After all, my only responsibility would be to drive myself there.

"Kim" recommended Williamsburg. 

All I would need to do to make this happen included securing the packet for delivery with my VISA or MasterCard.  The packet, "Kim" said, contained sensitive material, including "two $25 gift cards for Bass Pro!  Isn't that awesome Rachel??"

Totally.

"So how much we talking on the VISA?"

"Well, after counting in all of savings that we are offering, this is a real steal Rachel.  You will receive the gift cards, paid vacation and a certificate for a cruise that is good up to a year for only $269.43!!"

"That's cool.  So I'm getting a free vacation for $269.43?"

"Yep!  It's a really great deal Rachel..."  and then she proceeded to tell me about her trip to Las Vegas and the food she ate and how cute her boyfriend looked and... you get the picture.

"Um, well I just returned from a trip to Mexico, so I can't really afford $269.43 for a free vacation."

"I totally understand Rachel.  I know money can be tight which is another reason why this deal is so AWESOME!  I mean all the money you get to save by getting this deal..."

"Yes.  It is awesome Kim.  Totally.  But I don't have $269.43 for a free vacation."

"Okay... let's see what I can do for you.  Tell you what, I'll offer you this deal for $218.  That includes the gift cards, vacation and cruise!!"

"Right.  I don't have $218 for a free vacation."

"Hang on one sec Rachel okay?  I'm gonna send you to my manager and see how we can help you."

Silence.

"Hi, Rachel?"  The voice sounded less chipper and more demure.

"Yes."

"I understand we are offering you this amazing deal at minimal cost... are you interested?"

"I just returned from Mexico.  I can't afford this free vacation."

"Okay I tell you what I'm going to do for you... I'm only allowed two of these a day and haven't used any so far."

I wait. 

"I'm gonna give you this package for the slim cost of $116 Rachel!  This is quite a deal!!"

"Yeah, uh, I can't afford $116 dollars for a free vacation."

"Are you sure?" sounding annoyed, "This is a really good deal Rachel."

"Yeah, I can't afford $116 dollars for a free vacation."

"Okay."

Silence.....

.................

"But... thank you?"

Silence......

Dial tone.

I wonder about the irony here... I did actually buy something from Bass Pro.  Once.  For my trip to Mexico. 

Day 8: The Final Farewell

With America knocking on our door, it's funny how time just seemed to speed back up suddenly.  I could smell coffee brewing in the breeze.  I heard the shuffling of others shaking the sleepy from their bodies and preparing for the final journey ahead.  By some strange twist of fate I had the wherewithall to pack light so it didn't require too much effort. 

But still, there was a quiet sulleness in my midst knowing that we had only a few short hours left before "good bye" would be mandated.  Trying to soak up as much of the shore line as possible, a group of 15 would-be residents repacked for the trip home, giving gracious farewells to Tom and his amazing crew....

By the way, Geydhi and Jose did EVERYTHING short of wiping our butts while we were there.  Incredibly hospitable, friendly, warm and forgiving (for our more obnoxious nights).  They work hard... damn hard. 

We piled up into our caravan after what seemed like an hour of exchanging embraces and farewell's and "see you soon"'s.  With one last final check, the van doors shut... and Casa del Corazon became a lasting imprint in our rear view mirrors as well as our hearts. 

The time spent there has left such an impression that many of us will return again in the Fall of 2014.  Same place.  Same exact coordinates on the map. 

Tom is a host with the most.  And I can't wait to Viva La Mexico all over again.

Landing in RVA

Day 7: Down with the Sickness

Was the room spinning?  Nope.  That's just the ceiling fan.  I spent the majority of this day in the quiet solitude of my Zen Palpita.  If you're going to be sick in any fashion, I would strongly suggest waiting until you get to paradise.  There's no better place to have a "bug"... though it was arguably a hangover, I prefer to say I had a "bug".  It gives the appearance of greater self-respect. 

My comrads enjoyed the sunbeams and the sand per usual.  I simply slept.  Threw up a few times too... but what does that matter?  I was still in paradise.  And somehow, that made even the dry-heaves worth it. 

On that note, I'm gonna grab a beer.  One sec...

Mimi joined me for a snooze.

As I was saying, I spent the day listening to exotic birds and gentle breezes in the comfort of my bed.  Visitors stopped by on occasion to make sure I was ingesting water and a cracker or two.  Tom even took it upon himself to visit with the wise tale coined "Hair of the Dog" in an effort to mend my nauseated tummy.  Emerging from my palpita with a Dos Equis to quell the heave, I made my way to join the others at the beach.  A short few minutes in the hammock, and I was out... again.  Embraced by the lapping ocean and coconuts... who silently mocked me with their hairy little faces. 

I slept... and slept... and slept.......

Viva la Mexico. 

6: Drunken Tortugas

Happy campers!

Load em up and move em out... 12 of us made our way to the Dive Shop in Akumal.  We had a very important adventure awaiting us.  Little did we realize how awesome the experience was going to prove to be (nor how strong the drinks)!  With SPF and shades in tow, our first stop landed us at Akumal Beach. We received clear instruction in Spanglish (I kid... our guide was great!) on how to use our snorkeling gear.  A handful of us braved the oh-so-slimming affect of the wet suit including yours truly. 



Instructor at the Akumal Dive Shop

You wanna see something funny?  Watch an Amazon try to put on a wet suit over an already sweaty frame... it made the sweet noises of flatulence for the entire duration.  Luckily I couldn't understand enough Spanish to really get the full affect of the giggles coming from observers.  My graceful attempt at donning the skin tight suit left me feeling about at as sexy as a Spanish sausage roll.

We followed behind our guides in the white special bus (i.e. our rental van) through about 15 minutes of jungle.  The sites of minmal shelters that many called homes, and the tiny yet charming escola, gave us all another take on life in the Yucatan peninsula.  Welcome to the jungle, it's all not fun and games.  Exotic as it may be, I don't think I have what it takes to live there.  Granted, I am thinking this from the comfort of our air conditioned ride, but it was my initial thought.  Part of me likes to think that I could make it work... and then I realize that I digress and would rather focus on the destination at hand.

The Yucatan Peninsula has a vast array of underground waterways known as Cenotes.  The water is fresh, clear and approximately 72 degrees... not your normal bath water mind you.  I was happy to be a Spanish sausage. 

Making our way from the van to the cenote, we walk single-file to the place of entry.  It's a bat cave.  With amazing stalagtites that make the earth around it appear as if frozen in time mid-drip.  Two-by-

Cenote

two we ease into the cool waters and get a true feel for the idea of snorkeling.  Donned with fins, mask, snorkel and flashlight, the group proceeds to weave in and out of this magical cave with the gentle reassurance of our wonderful guides.  We see prolific rock formations, some only visible by use of the flash light. 

Several members of the group risked the fear of tight spaces to visit this place... and once captured by the beauty of our natural surroundings, the fears were faced and conquered.  With much jubilation and chattering teeth, we reached the end of our journey in the cenote greeted by the cuddly-hanging faces of the bats the reside there (yes, by this point they were actually cute as opposed to scarey). 

The fish help to keep the sea turtle's shell clean.

Our next stop lead us to the Akumal shore line to swim with sea turtles, sting rays, squid and a
beautiful cornicopia of tropical fish.  The whole adventure lasted several hours.  The experience will last a life time.  Luckily, the hickey that the snorkeling mask made around my eye balls only lasted a few minutes.


We finished our adventure with much-needed refreshment in the town of Akumal.  Stumbling upon a charming restaurant who's name escapes me (I will blame it on their strong margarita's), we enjoyed a delightful meal in the cool shade of the palm trees.  The waiter treated us each to a shot of Cacau, which I believe is a local liquor made from a tree or something like that.  At this time I was less than able to fully comprehend any pertinent information.  However, I do recall that the service was excellent despite that fact that I needed to dilute the same margarita TWICE.  Whoosh!

Once again, we returned to our regularly scheduled programming at the casa... it's a hard life.

Viva la Mexico.

Day 5: Mayan Marriage Celebrations

It's probably safe to say that approximately 40-45% of those in attendance had some sort of romantic encounter of significance to celebrate during our week in Mayan paradise.  Some took the morning to do some shopping in the town of Tulum.  I stayed behind to bask in the timeless existence of just being where I was.  That's a lie: in actuality I simply didn't feel like thinking about how to spend pesos.  And quickly made peace with that.

Morning Yoga lead by our very own Walter

I don't know that I've ever experienced this sort of "lazy" before. 

Actually, that's a misnomer.  What I typically consider "lazy" with my American thinking is, in actuality, a sort of relaxed quality of life that I am utterly unaccustomed to.  It dawned on me as I was enjoying the company of those who stayed behind, that this was a totally new way of being for me. 

I sat.  I listened to music.  I skipped around.  I sat some more.  I conversed.  I twirled.  I plucked my eyebrows. I completely lounged and enjoyed my surroundings. 

I even enjoyed me.

I did not feel guilty for doing so.  I did not feel the compulsion to go "do" and "be responsible" in an effort "save time" to relax later.  I didn't have to have a plan to be more efficient.  I did not have to multi-task or be available to anyone's needs but my own.  It felt very foreign; yet also familiar... like it's the way things should be.  Perhaps the greater truth is that it's the way things could be if I'd get out of my own way. 

That evening a beautiful meal was prepared for us by Geydhi (I hope I spelled that correctly), Tom's right hand woman... to celebrate the anniversaries of some of my dearest friends.  And I thought it to be a unique personal metaphor... this Marriage Celebration... it's not only the partners we choose that make it a marriage... it's also our relationships we choose to have with ourselves. 

For that, too, is a sort of marriage.  You're sort of committed to yourself for life.

The love I observed being displayed around the feasting table, whether through jokes, hugs, or head-locks... I was proud to be part of such a colorful and wierd group of people.  Each with their own journey; their own story to be told; their own aches, pains and joys.

A collective group of beautifully crafted humans in every way.

And to that, I raised my glass.

Viva La Mexico.

Day 4: Melting Like Mayans

Tuesday, May... it doesn't matter anymore.

Honey slap on the SPF and break out the shade cuz we gonna check us out some history!  The Tulum Ruins were only a short 10 minute drive away from our resort.  Known as the only coastal ruin in existence for this particular region, it was a swelteringly beautiful tour.  We couldn't get to the breezy coast fast enough!  The ancient rocks beckoned of a once vibrant culture that knew how to survive in such a tropical setting without our cozy creature comforts. 

Being a thrifty group, we didn't bother with paying for a guide.  Instead, we just sort of nuzzled up against various groups who had in fact paid for a guide and listened until, well, we decided we didn't want to anymore.  Others quickly retreated to shade.  Some of us made up our own stories instead and chased iguanas.   Either way, it was magical and not for the faint of heart in the May heat. 

   Upon returning to the resort, we quickly resumed our regularly scheduled programming beach-side. 

Tres... number Tres of viva-ing.

Monday, May 20...


I don't quite recall what we did.  I know there was a lot of beach, sun, sand, puppies... maybe even rainbows and unicorns.  This may have been the day that Jordan and Walter cooked us a feast.  And even if it wasn't, I'm going to tell you about it anway.

We had a trough of the best guacamole this side of the equator, with fish tacos and pico de gallo and chips and cheese and...

Let's just say that the spread was colorful, beautful.  It was rich with both color and flavor.  We all gathered as one motley family around the table and consumed. 

Heavily.

And while we were eating, we planned dinner for Wednesday.  Gluttonous pigs!!

Viva La Mexico: Day Numero Dos

Sunday, May 19.  I wake up to some of the most exotic sounds.  Doves that sound like owls... Grackles that sound like... grackles.  The breeze up against the palm trees that sound like a mix of heaven and one of those cds for relaxation.  The beautifully manicured landscape of our surroundings care of Tom and his crew quickly bring me back to planet earth.  Though it's hard.  This is real? 

With the tickling of the low hanging palm branches that brush my shoulder, I am quickly reminded that I am, indeed, awake.  This is real.  Hairbrush be damned, my butt goes directly to the sand and my eye balls wait intently for the sun to make its full appearance.  The hammocks' gentle sway in my periphery ground me further into a deep mental state of relaxation and ease.  Other early risers are walking the shore line from their own living spaces.  Household pets join unassuming passerby's on their morning walks and stop to make new friends at their leisure.  Time moves very slowly.

What feels like hours has only been minutes.  I am joined by a friendly yellow pup who decides my company is worthy enough to lounge with.  Wearing a collar that requests no feeding due to medical conditions, the pup is obviously loved and cared-for.  And I quickly realize that personal space and community have a totally different unfolding here.  It's as if there is an innate understanding that all people here are "good".  Mi casa su casa.

I'm in love with this place.

Before long I am softly surrounded by the emergence of my group with faint smells of coffee, deep sighs and the gentle uprising of laughter.  Let the day begin.

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I must confess that even the major Mexican grocery store felt like a mecca of undiscovered treasures.  With it's vast array of incredibly affordable produce, to it's selection of baked goods, cheeses and... need I say it?  BEER... time still moved slow.  I don't know exactly how we did it.  But with the 14 of us who piled into the van, we managed to buy groceries for the week, pay for them accurately, stock pile in and around ourselves once returning to the van, and making it back to Casa del Corazon in minimal time.  No stress.  No duress.  Just time. 

I must be honest... I have very little recollection of what took place the remainder of that beautiful first full sloooowwww day.  Beach.  Sand.  Snorkeling with magically-colored fish.  Picking on a weathered guitar and making up lyrics to the blues.

Sipping on delicious beverages and making tan lines.  Taking stabs at kayaking and getting comfortable with the sea-grass.   Making less-than-desirable "stretch marks" from lazing in the hammocks with bare skin.  Dancing in the moon-light and laughing at man-kini's. 

I digress.  There was only one man-kini.

Time didn't matter.  Money didn't matter.  Make-up and hair didn't matter.  The only thing that mattered was being there... in the moment... surrounded by the goodness of friends and family.  Surrounded by the reality that life really is good. 

Oh, and that we can collectively make one hell of a mess.

Viva la Mexico.

Viva La Mexico: Day 1

Saturday, May 18: The Great Send Off

A year's worth of planning finally coming to fruition, and I'm in full "morning-person" mode.  From home, to airport through the up-close and personal TSA, I'm so happy to be alive I can't stand it.  Even the security officials are annoyed with my 6am smile.  With little more than a back pack full of wrinkled and rolled up clothes, I'm ready for a week in Mayan paradise to explore not only the Yucatan but also my own inner need for some deep breathing.  Even the lay over in Jersey felt amazing... and the airport food?  I mean, just marvelous.  Over-priced water never tasted so refreshing! 

The soothing 3 hour flight to Cancun lulled me into a semi-dream like state.  I dozed and sipped on a disgusting cup of airpline wine... but I didn't care.  I was on my way to paradise!  Disgusting or not, it was wine, it was mine and I was on a plane to vacate in the tropics. 

And then we landed.

The moment our feet cross through the formidable customs of Mexico, we are surrounded by a spanish-speaking mafia wishing to wisk us away in their pricey caravans to this place and that.  Time has suddenly sped up and I see lots of hispanic mania... need money?  need taxi?  Nope.  Need an interpreter.  Or just my rental van. 

Before long, a group of 15 has dwindled to a group of four... and I find myself bargaining with the Mexican clerk in the National rental car office.  Tempers have flaired amongst group members, while half have been safely shipped off to paradise in a chartered shuttle.

The smart ones. 

Somehow I manage to maintain a level of calm and gentility, while also communicating that I want to clearly communicate and failing miserably to communicate clearly (say that five-times-fast).  I ask the clerk 20 questions at the risk of annoyance, though my 6am smile has morphed into a slight furrow in the brow.  Eventually, I convince his coworker to yell "More Beer!" with a country accent to make it all better.  He did.  The van magically appeared.

After learning how to drive a 15 passenger van around the Cancun airport for an hour, the remainder of our group are finally retreived with 3rd degree sun burns and dehydration.  Four has become seven, and we quickly decide to keep with the theme of the day... BEER.

My, how culture can change one's perspective... for once we were the minorities lined up outside of a Mexican 711.  Dos Esquis?  Check!  Smokes? Check!  Savviness with pesos and/or currency exchange in USD?  Haha.  That's funny.  Those clerks made bank on us new arrivals.  We didn't even know what hit us until we piled back in the van.  And doing some quick math realized that... we're not in Virginia anymore.

Oh well.  BEER.

A sulky and quiet ride to our final destination reunited all 15 of us once again...
Casa del Corazon beach bungalows: Soliman Bay Mexico
 ... our home for next week.

Image with me, if you will, 7 grown people pouring out of a van like grade-school children at recess.  It's a pretty accurate assessment.   Complete with giggles, gasps and flying beer tops, we traipsed and skipped all the way to Tom... who stood there beaming as if he'd been waiting on the remainder of his children to come home.  His beautiful staff greeted us warmly, not minding the stale smell of well-traveled bodies.  If my memory serves me correctly, I believe we performed a jazz number in unison all the way to the shore line.

Let me not forget the scenery of enchanting bungalows encountered in the midst of our musical number.  Spacious, open and ornate, each group member nestled in quickly to the inviting and spacious living quarters reflecting the saucy and colorful culture that is Soliman Bay.  From the beautiful wooden windows that allowed the fresh Riveria breeze to breathe into each room, to the beautifully tiled counter-tops... I believe I actually hugged the sun for a second. 

Catching my breath at the shore line, lazy hammocks begged to be of use while the kayaks patiently waited for exploration of the bay.  The crystal blue water gave gentle applause for our arrival and seemed to whisper "Hey, I'll be here all week.  No rush man." 

Ok.  I'll accept that.  Let's eat!

Oscar y Lalo's was just a short dusty drive from the resort... authentic Mexican dining with Lala the spider monkey.  I enjoyed fresh mango margaritas with tortilla's, pico de gallo, queso and vast quantities of bug spray.  The mosquitos enjoyed vast quantities of my ankles. 

Need a break from your dining experience?  No problem.  Just pull your chair aside and lay in the hammock next to the table... take a siesta before the next round of shots.  Or play with Lala, she'll give you kisses on your belly.  In my case, she'll kiss your belly, sit on your face with her gnarly little diapered monkey butt and shove her salty ass toe in your mouth.

 Next time, I'll laugh with my mouth closed.

With full bellies back at ocean-side, one by one the gentle breeze and swinging of the hammocks lulled us to our new homes for a night's slumber.  My final thought?  We've only just begun...

Viva La Mexico.