Just before Christmas, Thespian told me that his big bro was renting a house in Mexico basically for the month of January and that we would be going for a week. I was elated, of course, but also a little freaked out. I'd been harboring some childhood fears about Mexico nearly my whole life--mostly having to do with my father and some irrational fear I had that maybe I'd be held back at the gate once we were south of the border. Some of that had to do with my insecurities about not being able to speak Spanish even though I look Hispanic so I made pathetic attempts at practicing (jumbling it up with French words every now and then) at the corner taqueria in San Rafael but it did little to quell those old fears. A little swimsuit shopping on eBay, though, was enough to distract me the rest of the way.
I tried to do a little preparatory research on where we were going--Sayulita , a small fishing village about 45 minutes north of Puerto Vallarta--but I also didn't want to completely squash the element of surprise.
Well, so, in no time at all, Thespian and I had our passports expressed, our bags packed, and we were on our way. [P.S. The international terminal at SFO is sooo much nicer than domestic! Point off for no bars being open at 7 a.m. though. I mean, c'mon.]
When we arrived in Puerto Vallarta, a driver sent by Thespian's brother picked us up, handing us each a can of Tecate, and turning up the radio to the strangest assortment of '80s tunes sung in English by unknown but really good cover bands, while driving us through lush jungle past Punta Mita. Eventually we were deposited at Villa PCaso, a curvaceous, imaginative, three-story, sky-blue casa influenced by Pablo Picasso in the coolest and weirdest little details. It was beautiful...
