It’s hard to believe today is the last day of our Mexican excursion.
Tomorrow we leave.
But not before we completely absorb one last day beaching, sunning, swimming, reading and relaxing in the sand.
To try something new, we headed north to San Pancho.
While it is marked as San Francisco on maps and guides it is lovingly referred to as San Pancho by locals (as if the name it shares with the city by a bay in California wasn’t confusing enough!).
It is different there.
The tourists are few.
The vendors are even fewer.
The brightly colored village is piquino too.
But the food is fantastic!
A traveling gourmands dream.
(The only downside is the flies have already found this gourmet mecca and dwell table side in hopes of a mid-life snack.)
As I sit back in our villa above the casita and palms trees typing my final Mexican post, I am reminded of what makes life beautiful.
Take my promise not to shop for example.
If I could just go buy the bright pottery, local woven arts, dresses and sandals I am pretty sure I would appreciate them less.
They would be just things to me.
Things to buy, gather, take home, negotiate for and keep.
Instead, The Promise 365 has taught me their value.
I see the livelihood they support of the local women who paint by hand every little crook and crevice on a pot or plate surface.
Speaking of crevices, mine are covered in sand.
If I had cleavage it too would be sandblasted.
You see, even though the town is much smaller, the waves in San Pancho are much bigger.
And one of those waves decided to first toss my cookies and then throw me into the sand butt first. As if that wasn’t enough, it then completely removed the top of my bikini. All in three seconds flat.
After recovering my top, regaining my footing and then my composure, I appreciated my dry towel on the still beach with great resolve.
It was The Contrast.
From wet to dry.
From churning to stillness.
Speaking of churning, my stomach and heart did a flip flop for about thirty seconds this afternoon.
Right after I left my party to go to el bano for a little potty break I missed the show of the day.
What I caught was this:
When I returned to the beach my party was dispersed.
As I looked around all I saw were four people standing above a man hovered over a large stack of drift wood.
When I looked closer I recognized the man.
It was my love.
What was Justin doing there I wondered?
My heart skipped from my throat to my pinkie toe as my mind determined every possible horrible thing that must have happened while I was in el bano.
He had a heart attack?
The ocean broke his body in five million pieces?
Turns out while I was in the bathroom, that same nasty wave that took off my bikini top returned a few hours later to take him down on one shoulder. And his shoulder in anger decided to dislocate itself.
But what I saw was Justin bent over driftwood.
What I missed was Justin walked himself calmly out of the water and asked for help relocating his dislocated shoulder.
I only caught the last 5 minutes of the show.
And it dislocated my heart for a full 30 seconds.
I missed the preview.
He was fine, just needed a little pull.
That too was The Contrast at play.
And it is The Contrast that makes vacation so beautiful.
To leave your home, work, commute and bills in a far off land called “real life” and to absorb the way “the others” live, eat, breathe and shop.
Tomorrow The Contrast ends, but not before we soak in every last drop of this Mexican sunset.
With love and light filling my head, heart, body and soul (and may I add no items purchased!) I bid this special spot on earth a fond adieu. Or adios. Or buenos noches. Or whatever they say in your part of town.