Hi All. Thanks for the continued wonderful reviews. Sorry this piece took
so long to get posted. My friend (who wrote that lovely piece I posted for
him) has been going thru a tough time and I've been worried about him,
another friend is moving out of state, and just life in general has made it
hard to concentrate on my writing lately. Since I have actually been to Lo
de Marcos to visit my dad, I have pictures, so if anyone is interested,
feel free to go take a peek at my web site:
www.angelfire.com/scifi2/aimspar and click the Mexico Pictures link. Some
of those places defy description! More soon, I promise.
Sara leaned over Ian to watch out the window as the plane made it's final descent. She was vaguely disappointed because it looked a lot like the airport in Ontario, California. Lots of palm trees and tarmac. The flight attendants were reminding everyone to take the customs paperwork with them for the officials at the gate. The plane landed smoothly, but didn't taxi up to the terminal as she expected, stopping instead about a half a mile away. There was a ladder platform and two bright red transport buses pulling up as the plane stopped rolling. Sara looked over at Ian, who didn't seem surprised in the least.
"Is this common," she asked. He nodded.
"There are few actual gates at this facility," he informed her. "And as the weather is almost always clear it poses no great difficulty to operate this way."
"Oh," she said, thinking about it, and stood to retrieve her carry-on from the overhead bin, very glad she had a model with wheels and a handle. "What's next?"
"Customs," he said as he retrieved his bag and followed her out the front exit and down the stairs. They got on the bus, which was more like a trolley, with open sides and not too many seats. The heat hit her like a wave, and Sara fumbled in her purse for her sunglasses. Ian already had his on, and didn't seem to be minding the heat, even with his leather jacket on. The humidity was high enough to help, but after winter in New York it was difficult to adjust to the ninety degree heat.
As soon as the first bus was full it started rolling, taking them to the terminal. She could see a big sign labeled in several languages "Customs". As the bus stopped everyone filed out and got into line. As Sara got to the first Mexican Customs agent, he asked to see her paperwork. She handed him the forms she had filled out on the plane and her passport. He checked them over and then handed them back, asking her to continue forward. The second agent stamped the bottom third of her form and handed it back to her, stressing that she must not lose it because it would be needed for the American Customs agents when she returned home. He directed her to baggage claim, where she and Ian, who had gone through the line right behind her, gathered their luggage.
They got in line again, and waited their turn at the random search machine. It looked like a traffic signal on a four foot post, but there was no yellow light. When it was Sara's turn she was asked by another official to step forward and push the button below the light. If it came up red, she would have her bags searched. It came up green, and she was passed through with a friendly smile and a wish that she enjoy her stay. Ian came through right behind her.
"That wasn't too bad," Sara said as they walked into the crowded lobby, and from there out to the parking lot. "Everyone was friendly, smiling."
"We Americans represent a large portion of income to their city," Ian reminded her. "They are very happy to see us." He was scanning the parking lot, looking for something. "Ah," he said, and waved to a man standing two rows out. "Come meet Mario, Sara," he invited, and started across the lot. Sara followed, curious. They approached a young Mexican man who was grinning and leaning against a green Infinity i30.
"Mr. Nottingham, good to see you," Mario said in only slightly accented English, holding out a hand to shake. Ian took it and shook firmly, then held out his hand, and Mario dropped a set of keys onto his palm. "Mario, I wish to introduce to you Miss Sara Pezzini."
"Hi," she said, smiling.
"Welcome, Sara," Mario said earnestly. "I hope you have a pleasant vacation."
"Thanks." She smiled back.
"Let's get your things loaded," Mario said, giving Sara a hand with her bags, loading them into the trunk, Ian's following suit.
"Bienvenido a Mexico, señorita," Mario said, smiling, and walked off. She watched him go, then turned to Ian.
"Who was that, and what did he just say?"
"He said 'Welcome to Mexico, miss'," Ian explained, "And he works for Mr. Irons."
"I should have guessed Irons would have a place down here."
"I will take you by it later, if you wish," Ian offered. "Shall we go?" He was holding open her door. She smiled at him and slid into the passenger seat. He closed her door and then got in on the driver's side, starting the car. The air conditioning kicked in, and Sara sighed.
"You know how to get to my cousin's place," she asked.
"I had Mario find it, and he has provided a map for us to your cousin's house." Ian pulled out of the airport parking lot and onto the road, heading away from downtown Puerto Vallarta.
"If I know you that's not all he's done," Sara said, arching a brow at him in question. Ian grinned.
"You seem to know me very well, my lady," Ian replied. "I had Mario check on the condition of the house with your cousin's caretaker, stocking the fridge and making sure there was plenty of bottled water. Also, I wanted to be sure the place had been most thoroughly sprayed for insects and such." He eased the car into another lane as the road got busier and appeared to merge into a highway. Sara was looking all around, but shot a sharp glance at Ian after his last comment.
"Insects?"
"There are several species of poisonous spiders around here, Sara," he informed her. "Not to mention the scorpions that have a habit of hiding in one's shoes, and the other pests about. I wanted to be sure you had nothing to concern you during your stay."
She looked back out the window, torn between being pleased and annoyed that he had been able to access her cousin's home so easily from thousands of miles away. The land stretched away in flat brown fields inland, with a town in the distance. Towards the ocean there were more developments, capitalizing on the access to the beaches and the tourists. A few minutes later they slowed, and joined a line of cars at a checkpoint. There were uniformed soldiers with automatic rifles looking at the cars as they passed through the turn-out. Traffic slowed but did not stop as they continued forward past the guards. Occasionally the soldiers would signal a truck to pull out of line and park, and an inspection would begin.
"What's this about, Ian?" Sara looked worried.
"This is the border between Jalisco, where Puerto Vallarta is, and Nayarit, where we are staying. They're territories not unlike states. Mostly the guards are there to try and control smuggling."
"You mean drugs," she asked.
"Among other things. They don't often stop tourists, though. You see? We're through," he said, as they pulled past the guards and accelerated back on to the highway. She turned to watch the outpost recede behind them for a bit.
"That's just creepy," she said, settling back into her seat. "Armed guards between states."
"This isn't home, for all it is a lovely place to visit," Ian reminded her. "The government controls most aspects of life here. Gasoline and utilities are a government monopoly. Most houses don't have phones because they're too expensive, and internet café traffic is high as a result. But because of the heat there is garbage collection service three times a week, and the bottled water providers will come by every other day."
You know a lot about Mexico, Ian," Sara said.
"I have traveled here several times with Mr. Irons, Sara." He smiled at her. "But this is the first time I have ever had the chance to really enjoy it."
"Well, I'm glad you're going to enjoy it with me." She smiled at him. "No meetings, no suits, just relaxation and sun."
"That sounds good," he replied. "Very good." They drove in silence for a few more minutes.
"We're coming to Bucerias," Ian said. "At the next intersection take a close look. The left turn lane is off on the right instead of at the center of the road."
"That's bizarre," She said, looking at the left turn arrow on the right side of the street. The turn lane was completely off the highway and on the other side of a curb divider. It seemed to work just fine, but it was so different than what she was used to that it threw her completely.
"There's a really good spice shop here in town, just down from an internet café," he told her. "If you want to get anything to take back with you let me know before we leave."
"I wanted to pick up a couple bottles of tequila," she admitted. He grinned.
"It will cost you more to get a good quality tequila here than in the States. Wait until you get back home and get it then. No one will know the difference. Besides, U.S. Customs will only let you bring two bottles back with you."
"Only two?" She was surprised. "Well, I guess Jake's out of luck then." She thought a moment. "Is it really cheaper to get tequila back home?"
"For the good stuff, yes," he affirmed.
Bucerias was a small town, and they were already through it and heading up into the jungle. The rest of the drive was relatively quiet, with Ian pointing out this or that thing and Sara mostly just trying to look at everything. Finally, when they reached Lo de Marcos, they turned off the paved road onto a cobblestone street with lots of potholes. There were people and dogs about, and cars on the street, and they all watched curiously as Ian managed to weave around the bigger potholes and turned left when the road T'd at the beachfront restaurant. A few minutes later they were pulling in to a driveway with a locked gate a few blocks out of "downtown". Ian got out of the car, pulled a key out of his pocket, and unlocked the gate. He pulled the car in and parked it under a cover made of bamboo and palm fronds. They got out and looked the place over.
It was a small place, with two stories, but they would only be using the bottom floor. The yard had several coconut palms with the huge nuts growing on them, and a few on the ground where they had fallen off. There was a hammock between two of them. There were flowering bushes on the right, and mostly bare ground on the left where the car was parked. A nice sized patio-style porch under cover up some steps graced the front of the house, with a table and four chairs on one side and two lounge chairs and a small refrigerator on the other. Potted plants lined the edge of the porch. Sara found a key behind one of the candle holders on either side of the front door, and they went in.
Inside it was small. The front room was half kitchen and another table with chairs, and half sitting room with couch and chairs and tv. Beyond that were two bedrooms, with the small bathroom connecting the two bedrooms in the back. There were ceiling fans in every room. Sara noticed there was also no bathtub. The beds were freshly made and turned down, and everything was clean. There was an assortment of sunblocks and lotions and insect repellant in the bathroom, and a nice collection of liquors under the counter in the kitchen. The refrigerator and freezer were crammed full. There were beautiful flowers on the kitchen table.
'Which room would you like, Sara," Ian asked. She thought for a moment, then picked the one on the left. They brought their bags in and changed. Sara felt much better in her swimsuit and wrap-skirt. She put her hair up to keep it off her neck, then went out to sit on the patio to enjoy the breeze. The heat wasn't so bad now that she was in cooler clothes. Ian came out a moment later in a loose indigo muscle shirt and knee-length tan shorts, his feet bare. Sara looked him over, noticing how pale his skin was and the lean muscles underneath. He had let his hair down, and the breeze played with the curls. With the exception of the pale skin he could have passed for a beach bum in his casual clothes.
He handed her a glass of chilled juice and sat next to her in the other lounge chair.
"Thanks, Ian," she said as she took the juice.
"You will need to remember to drink a lot to keep hydrated," he said. "But remember to use only the bottled water."
"Yeah," she replied. "It would really suck to get sick." She sipped her juice for a minute, looking out at the scenery, then looked back at him. "You look so different."
"Does color in my clothes make such a difference," he asked, amused.
"Some of it is that," she smiled back. "But you seem different, more relaxed."
"I am not on call, on constant watch. I can let my guard down, and just enjoy the sights," he said, looking at her. "And what a sight it is."
"Ian!" She blushed. He grinned wolfishly.
"Are you hungry," he asked, changing the subject. "I saw some salami and cheese in the fridge."
"That sounds good," she said, rising. "I'll cut the cheese if you handle the salami."
Ian stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. When Sara realized how what she had said could be interpreted differently, she laughed too. They headed to the kitchen together in good spirits.
Sara leaned over Ian to watch out the window as the plane made it's final descent. She was vaguely disappointed because it looked a lot like the airport in Ontario, California. Lots of palm trees and tarmac. The flight attendants were reminding everyone to take the customs paperwork with them for the officials at the gate. The plane landed smoothly, but didn't taxi up to the terminal as she expected, stopping instead about a half a mile away. There was a ladder platform and two bright red transport buses pulling up as the plane stopped rolling. Sara looked over at Ian, who didn't seem surprised in the least.
"Is this common," she asked. He nodded.
"There are few actual gates at this facility," he informed her. "And as the weather is almost always clear it poses no great difficulty to operate this way."
"Oh," she said, thinking about it, and stood to retrieve her carry-on from the overhead bin, very glad she had a model with wheels and a handle. "What's next?"
"Customs," he said as he retrieved his bag and followed her out the front exit and down the stairs. They got on the bus, which was more like a trolley, with open sides and not too many seats. The heat hit her like a wave, and Sara fumbled in her purse for her sunglasses. Ian already had his on, and didn't seem to be minding the heat, even with his leather jacket on. The humidity was high enough to help, but after winter in New York it was difficult to adjust to the ninety degree heat.
As soon as the first bus was full it started rolling, taking them to the terminal. She could see a big sign labeled in several languages "Customs". As the bus stopped everyone filed out and got into line. As Sara got to the first Mexican Customs agent, he asked to see her paperwork. She handed him the forms she had filled out on the plane and her passport. He checked them over and then handed them back, asking her to continue forward. The second agent stamped the bottom third of her form and handed it back to her, stressing that she must not lose it because it would be needed for the American Customs agents when she returned home. He directed her to baggage claim, where she and Ian, who had gone through the line right behind her, gathered their luggage.
They got in line again, and waited their turn at the random search machine. It looked like a traffic signal on a four foot post, but there was no yellow light. When it was Sara's turn she was asked by another official to step forward and push the button below the light. If it came up red, she would have her bags searched. It came up green, and she was passed through with a friendly smile and a wish that she enjoy her stay. Ian came through right behind her.
"That wasn't too bad," Sara said as they walked into the crowded lobby, and from there out to the parking lot. "Everyone was friendly, smiling."
"We Americans represent a large portion of income to their city," Ian reminded her. "They are very happy to see us." He was scanning the parking lot, looking for something. "Ah," he said, and waved to a man standing two rows out. "Come meet Mario, Sara," he invited, and started across the lot. Sara followed, curious. They approached a young Mexican man who was grinning and leaning against a green Infinity i30.
"Mr. Nottingham, good to see you," Mario said in only slightly accented English, holding out a hand to shake. Ian took it and shook firmly, then held out his hand, and Mario dropped a set of keys onto his palm. "Mario, I wish to introduce to you Miss Sara Pezzini."
"Hi," she said, smiling.
"Welcome, Sara," Mario said earnestly. "I hope you have a pleasant vacation."
"Thanks." She smiled back.
"Let's get your things loaded," Mario said, giving Sara a hand with her bags, loading them into the trunk, Ian's following suit.
"Bienvenido a Mexico, señorita," Mario said, smiling, and walked off. She watched him go, then turned to Ian.
"Who was that, and what did he just say?"
"He said 'Welcome to Mexico, miss'," Ian explained, "And he works for Mr. Irons."
"I should have guessed Irons would have a place down here."
"I will take you by it later, if you wish," Ian offered. "Shall we go?" He was holding open her door. She smiled at him and slid into the passenger seat. He closed her door and then got in on the driver's side, starting the car. The air conditioning kicked in, and Sara sighed.
"You know how to get to my cousin's place," she asked.
"I had Mario find it, and he has provided a map for us to your cousin's house." Ian pulled out of the airport parking lot and onto the road, heading away from downtown Puerto Vallarta.
"If I know you that's not all he's done," Sara said, arching a brow at him in question. Ian grinned.
"You seem to know me very well, my lady," Ian replied. "I had Mario check on the condition of the house with your cousin's caretaker, stocking the fridge and making sure there was plenty of bottled water. Also, I wanted to be sure the place had been most thoroughly sprayed for insects and such." He eased the car into another lane as the road got busier and appeared to merge into a highway. Sara was looking all around, but shot a sharp glance at Ian after his last comment.
"Insects?"
"There are several species of poisonous spiders around here, Sara," he informed her. "Not to mention the scorpions that have a habit of hiding in one's shoes, and the other pests about. I wanted to be sure you had nothing to concern you during your stay."
She looked back out the window, torn between being pleased and annoyed that he had been able to access her cousin's home so easily from thousands of miles away. The land stretched away in flat brown fields inland, with a town in the distance. Towards the ocean there were more developments, capitalizing on the access to the beaches and the tourists. A few minutes later they slowed, and joined a line of cars at a checkpoint. There were uniformed soldiers with automatic rifles looking at the cars as they passed through the turn-out. Traffic slowed but did not stop as they continued forward past the guards. Occasionally the soldiers would signal a truck to pull out of line and park, and an inspection would begin.
"What's this about, Ian?" Sara looked worried.
"This is the border between Jalisco, where Puerto Vallarta is, and Nayarit, where we are staying. They're territories not unlike states. Mostly the guards are there to try and control smuggling."
"You mean drugs," she asked.
"Among other things. They don't often stop tourists, though. You see? We're through," he said, as they pulled past the guards and accelerated back on to the highway. She turned to watch the outpost recede behind them for a bit.
"That's just creepy," she said, settling back into her seat. "Armed guards between states."
"This isn't home, for all it is a lovely place to visit," Ian reminded her. "The government controls most aspects of life here. Gasoline and utilities are a government monopoly. Most houses don't have phones because they're too expensive, and internet café traffic is high as a result. But because of the heat there is garbage collection service three times a week, and the bottled water providers will come by every other day."
You know a lot about Mexico, Ian," Sara said.
"I have traveled here several times with Mr. Irons, Sara." He smiled at her. "But this is the first time I have ever had the chance to really enjoy it."
"Well, I'm glad you're going to enjoy it with me." She smiled at him. "No meetings, no suits, just relaxation and sun."
"That sounds good," he replied. "Very good." They drove in silence for a few more minutes.
"We're coming to Bucerias," Ian said. "At the next intersection take a close look. The left turn lane is off on the right instead of at the center of the road."
"That's bizarre," She said, looking at the left turn arrow on the right side of the street. The turn lane was completely off the highway and on the other side of a curb divider. It seemed to work just fine, but it was so different than what she was used to that it threw her completely.
"There's a really good spice shop here in town, just down from an internet café," he told her. "If you want to get anything to take back with you let me know before we leave."
"I wanted to pick up a couple bottles of tequila," she admitted. He grinned.
"It will cost you more to get a good quality tequila here than in the States. Wait until you get back home and get it then. No one will know the difference. Besides, U.S. Customs will only let you bring two bottles back with you."
"Only two?" She was surprised. "Well, I guess Jake's out of luck then." She thought a moment. "Is it really cheaper to get tequila back home?"
"For the good stuff, yes," he affirmed.
Bucerias was a small town, and they were already through it and heading up into the jungle. The rest of the drive was relatively quiet, with Ian pointing out this or that thing and Sara mostly just trying to look at everything. Finally, when they reached Lo de Marcos, they turned off the paved road onto a cobblestone street with lots of potholes. There were people and dogs about, and cars on the street, and they all watched curiously as Ian managed to weave around the bigger potholes and turned left when the road T'd at the beachfront restaurant. A few minutes later they were pulling in to a driveway with a locked gate a few blocks out of "downtown". Ian got out of the car, pulled a key out of his pocket, and unlocked the gate. He pulled the car in and parked it under a cover made of bamboo and palm fronds. They got out and looked the place over.
It was a small place, with two stories, but they would only be using the bottom floor. The yard had several coconut palms with the huge nuts growing on them, and a few on the ground where they had fallen off. There was a hammock between two of them. There were flowering bushes on the right, and mostly bare ground on the left where the car was parked. A nice sized patio-style porch under cover up some steps graced the front of the house, with a table and four chairs on one side and two lounge chairs and a small refrigerator on the other. Potted plants lined the edge of the porch. Sara found a key behind one of the candle holders on either side of the front door, and they went in.
Inside it was small. The front room was half kitchen and another table with chairs, and half sitting room with couch and chairs and tv. Beyond that were two bedrooms, with the small bathroom connecting the two bedrooms in the back. There were ceiling fans in every room. Sara noticed there was also no bathtub. The beds were freshly made and turned down, and everything was clean. There was an assortment of sunblocks and lotions and insect repellant in the bathroom, and a nice collection of liquors under the counter in the kitchen. The refrigerator and freezer were crammed full. There were beautiful flowers on the kitchen table.
'Which room would you like, Sara," Ian asked. She thought for a moment, then picked the one on the left. They brought their bags in and changed. Sara felt much better in her swimsuit and wrap-skirt. She put her hair up to keep it off her neck, then went out to sit on the patio to enjoy the breeze. The heat wasn't so bad now that she was in cooler clothes. Ian came out a moment later in a loose indigo muscle shirt and knee-length tan shorts, his feet bare. Sara looked him over, noticing how pale his skin was and the lean muscles underneath. He had let his hair down, and the breeze played with the curls. With the exception of the pale skin he could have passed for a beach bum in his casual clothes.
He handed her a glass of chilled juice and sat next to her in the other lounge chair.
"Thanks, Ian," she said as she took the juice.
"You will need to remember to drink a lot to keep hydrated," he said. "But remember to use only the bottled water."
"Yeah," she replied. "It would really suck to get sick." She sipped her juice for a minute, looking out at the scenery, then looked back at him. "You look so different."
"Does color in my clothes make such a difference," he asked, amused.
"Some of it is that," she smiled back. "But you seem different, more relaxed."
"I am not on call, on constant watch. I can let my guard down, and just enjoy the sights," he said, looking at her. "And what a sight it is."
"Ian!" She blushed. He grinned wolfishly.
"Are you hungry," he asked, changing the subject. "I saw some salami and cheese in the fridge."
"That sounds good," she said, rising. "I'll cut the cheese if you handle the salami."
Ian stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. When Sara realized how what she had said could be interpreted differently, she laughed too. They headed to the kitchen together in good spirits.
