Ajijic: Day One--Flight of the Living Dead

I don't know how I get myself into these situations. When I booked my flight to San Diego to attend a meeting of the Family Law Executive Committee in place of the chair of my regional subcommittee, Mark Ressa, I had no idea my friend David would be inviting me to come and spend a week in Mexico with him to scope out the ex-pat retirement community he was hoping to move to this summer. So I booked a latish return flight.

So my day Saturday went like this: Arise at around 8 a.m. to make a 9 a.m. meeting, which went on until about 1 (thank goodness for Passover, which dictated that our Jewish members had to head home in time to cook before sundown), then limp over to Borders for some travel reading, hire a cab to take me to Ritz Camera (where I purchased the 3rd charger for my digital camera--who knows where the other two are?), to the Horton Grand hotel to check out, and to the airport, a good 3 hours before I had to be there. Then the just-over-an-hour flight back to Oakland (where a surprisingly freezing wind prevailed), the drive home via the ATM at my local Lucky's so I could deposit enough money to ensure bills would be paid through the end of the month (sitting on about $2000 of travel reimbursements that have yet to be processed), and finally home with about an hour left to ensure a week-long supply of food and water for the cats and pack a new suitcase with appropriate tropical items. David picked me up at 10 p.m., and our nonstop flight to Guadalajara left at the inhumane hour of 1:10 a.m. I felt especially sorry for the parents of the already pyjama-clad children, especially one single dad who had a push chair (that had to be folded up to put through the xray), his own bag, a pink Hello Kitty! roller bag, and a daughter whose limbs were completely flaccid in sleep.

The flight itself was pleasant enough, with food and beverage (two cuba librés for me, thanks very much) service probably occurring at about 2:30 a.m., but of course this was all seriously past my bedtime, and the fitful sleep that ensued involved the inevitable stiff neck, drooling, and vain shifting of buttocks to attain a more comfortable position.

When we arrived, along with the contents of at least two other planes, there was a single immigration official on duty for each of the Mexican and Foreigner lines, so that took another 45 minutes to an hour. At this point one child started screaming so persistently that the officer asked someone to fetch her and her mother to the front of the line. I felt she spoke for all of us, really! ;-) When the day shift came on, there were only about a dozen of us left. Customs was interesting: you pushed a button, and if a red light came on, your luggage was searched; if the light turned green, you were free to go. David was red, I was green. Maybe the random light generator sensed he would be sicking around.

Then the 30-mile cab ride (after a brief break at the ubiquitous Starbucks and time for David to have a cigarette and change some money). Of course, the area around the airport is generally not the most salubrious, and we were already on the outskirts of Guadalajara, so all I saw of it was the the golden glow of lighted streets and monuments in the breaking dawn from the air as we approached the landing. The road started to climb, and soon we could see Lake Chapala, a bit misty to the south and backed by even higher mountains.

The village of Ajijic is not at all what I had pictured; the streets are cobbled and quite narrow, the houses stuccoed, with many painted in very bright colors. Our B&B presented a deep rose-painted front, and before we had even unloaded our luggage, I could hear the welcoming tones of our hosts, Steve and Fernando. Through the grilled door we had glimpses of a lovely garden with bougainvillea climbing everywhere, and a tranquil pool tiled with turquoise mosaic. Casa Flores

This was David's second trip here, and on the first he became acquainted with a Realtor who provides a newsletter and a blog. While he was still napping after our arrival, and I was chatting with Steve and Fernando, Elliott arrived. She is, as was promised me, a force of nature! Her plan was to take us to the Mariachi Buffet at a local luxury hotel, the Chapala Real, but before we left we had the kind of free-flying conversation you can only have with people you have met 5 minutes ago and with whom you share a lot of common sensibilities and history. Steve told some cute stories from the village in Northern Ireland where he grew up, and Elliott made a vain attempt to teach him how to incorporate a blog into his website. We duly went along to the "comida," seeing street-corner fruit stands and donkey and horse rides along the way, all the while gossiping about other ex-pats who inhabited this or that house.

I forgot to mention Steve and Fernando's adorable poodle Kika, who still has remnants of green food coloring on her head and the puffballs above her paws (a memento of St. Patrick's day). If I hadn't been such a bonehead and left my memory card in the computer when we went out today, I'd have a photo of her by now, as well as of the place I'm 99% sure David is going to rent for the next 6-12 months. (It's Monday, now, all this stuff happened yesterday.)

By the time we got home from overeating (and 2 margaritas) at the buffet, talking our heads off in the breezy and clean air, David was ready to fall into bed unconscious. I still had to have a couple of nightcaps, finish my book, and start to re-read Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for about the 6th time (hey, it was there, okay?), but we both slept for at least 12 hours and were a bit closer to conscious human beings when we woke up this morning.

The photos are finally here, thanks to some good advice from Al Sparber and Gary White about how I had managed to screw up my file paths. Now to get working on Monday.