Hey, I’m almost not kidding. We have arrived in our little Mexican town. It’s windy, sunny, dirty from blowing sand, and so-ooo authentic. It’s un-touristy to the point where it seems as if we’ve landed on another planet. An alternate universe. The other side of the rabbit hole. But having said all of that, it must also be said that it is interesting, amazing and beautiful. Wow.

But before I tell you all about Bahia Asuncion, let me tell you about the rest of the RV caravan. Yes, we’ve finished that portion of our Mexican adventure, but not before lots of things occurred which kept it as the trip of a lifetime. Some of the highlights of those last three days are as follows:


Dinner at a historic restaurant. It was old, really old (the restaurant, that is, not the way I feel today), so old the menus have all apparently deteriorated. But Rich saved the day by holding this one up for us, not that we could read it.



A birthday party and surprise gift for Dan the Man. No, I mean Danolia. He’s so cute.

mulehage 029  mulehage 020 mulehage 021 And a going- away party for us that brought about a few giggles and a whole lot more. Now that skit was the definition of cute. And what about words to their song that said, “the Airstream was rockin”? What could they mean by that?

But the most memorable thing about the RV caravan for us was our new friends. I can’t ramble on enough about the fabulous people that made this incredible experience possible. All I know is that we came to enjoy them very much and really miss them already. Adios, new amigos. Will never forget you…


                                                                            TIL WE MEET AGAIN.


But for now, onto chapter two. This is a small ( 2400 people) totally Mexican town located right on the Pacific Ocean. We are here to house-sit and manage a small inn (and to miss Winnipeg’s winter) for the month of February.  The inn is located at the edge of town right on an outcropping of huge black rocks that jut out into the ocean. We’ve only been here for three or four days (or is it two? What day is it? What month?) and we’re settled right in. After driving a harrowing two hours down a lonely sometimes nicely paved road (and other times, holes, chunks of broken pavement, and sand dunes right across the road), we’ve made it here.


When we arrive, we realize that preparations have been made for our arrival. We are immediately guided right into a great parking space just behind the main house. Big handmade rock and concrete walls surround the house and the Airstream (therefore keeping us safe from the gale force winds around here) but we have ocean view from both the front and back windows of the trailer. And what views they are! Think jaw-dropping. Think breathtaking. Think ten foot waves breaking over gigantic black rocks. Wow. This is amazing.


P1050603 P1050607





The town is yet another story. It’s a fishing co-op and by Mexican standards considered somewhat prosperous. But our Canadian eyes still see the never-ending dust from the sand and wind, the garbage that some people (certainly not all) leave around and houses with plywood walls. It’s culture shock, but after a bit it doesn’t matter because of the spirit in this place. Everytime we go “downtown” on our bikes (no need to drive), we must wave and wave and wave. Hola. Bienos dias. Hello. How are you? Good morning. Over and over it happens, to the point that I almost lose my balance and topple my bike into the sand because I’m waving and nodding and trying to say Hola without sounding like an idiot. It’s great. It’s warm and welcoming, seemingly without rules (was that a stop sign? Oh well), and so different to us. It’s cool, to say the least and the people are great.  I love Mexicans and the laid-back Mexican attitude. And look how Jim is getting with the program.


And the gringos here are very nice too. We’re not here for an hour and an American woman appears behind me saying, “Hi, are you Glenda?” Then, on our first evening, we go out for dinner with our hostess. The second night, we’re out to a gringo party with a full turkey dinner and all the trimmings, meeting our fellow expats.  During the third day, we’re off on a trip into the desert with a local guide looking for ‘artiifactos”(and getting cactus scratches all over the truck with Jim personally feeling every one).  The fourth day here, I ride my bike over to an unlikely- looking building from which can be heard very loud music. Oh boy, a real Mexican Zumba class. Wow!

Well now, that class is a story in itself. Suffice to say, I’m the only gringo (apparently that doesn’t matter to the other participants but it was definitely strange for me), the class is in a room with plywood walls and a concrete unpainted floor, everyone else speaks only Spanish and the teacher, Lipito, is charming. She tells me with her few English words that she is a teacher of “kinder” but that her school has closed. Soon the class begins with me still wondering what on earth I’m doing. Too late. The other ladies pull little zumba skirts out of their bags and attach them over their shorts and yoga pants. Then they start jiggling the glittery little gizmos that are attached to the fabric. Their hips look great but, I wonder, does it hurt to do that? Again, too late.  The music comes on (very loud) and the warm-ups begin. Soon, we’re doing a few dance steps which I can easily imitate although I feel like a giraffe among these shapely Mexican women. And then, omigod, all hell breaks loose.  Now we begin to gyrate to about ten or twelve (or maybe fifty, geez, will she never stop?) songs doing REAL Spanish zumba dance steps. Oh man.  Up, down, sideways, and don’t forget to zumba. Move them hips, shoulders, boobs! Shake that butt. Yahoo! Carrrrumba!!

This evening….. My hips are dislocated; my calfs are sending stabs of pain with each step. Today I learned that sticking your chest one way and your shoulders another is considered a dance step. I learned that rotating one hip at a time and then quickly switching to the other side in time with very fast, very loud music is a part of Spanish dancing. I learned that running your hands up your body from your hips to your head is then followed by a complete shaking of the rest of the body until your teeth rattle and your loose stomach muscles vibrate to the beat of the music. Omigod, what am I doing to myself? Well, I can only say that if I survive this, there will be lots more to follow. We’re on the edge; I just hope we don’t fall off. Stay tuned.





4 thoughts on “Welcome to Mars, Folks

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