Vamos A La Playa

If you haven't heard the song "Vamos A La Playa", it's worth a listen. Not the catchy 1999 pop song by Miranda, but the 1983 catchy pop song by Righeira. It's actually worth it for the dance moves alone. And the wrist antennae the adorable guy on the right is wearing. And the fact that the lyrics in English loosely translate to "We go to the beach. The bomb exploded. Radioactive wind ruffles the hair. We go to the beach. At last the sea is clean. No more smelly fish. We go to the beach."

The point is, we do go to the beach. Not as often as I would have expected, all things considered. It's always there, but it's not every day we have time to frolic. But when we do find time to frolic, it's frolicsome indeed.Day trip to Mazunte and Zipolite. I know it doesn't look like there's much movement going on, but this was between boiling sand beach volleyball rounds and dancing around in Mexican blankets sessions.

Me, Holly and Bronnie at Zicatela on one of our last nights before Bronnie returned to Nueva Zealandia.

Bronnie's departure gave us all an excuse to have as much fun as possible in the name of "Bronnie's last ________" (week, meeting, chance to eat large quantities of ice cream) We were all in denial until the last minute, when we all caravaned to the airport and took one last adopted family photo.

Jared, Bronnie, Holly, Mike, Chelsea

The surf has been crazy. I haven't been out very much, it's just too heavy. Last night we all watched with dread as a demolished board washed onto shore. We saw the boardless surfer waving for help, then go under. The sun was going down and 20 foot waves were coming in. We were all fearing the worst. Minutes later, everyone on the beach helped push a Sea-Doo offshore and one of the lifeguards found and brought him in, shook but healthy. 30-40 foot waves were pumping all day yesterday. It's hard to tell how big they are until you see the speck of a surfing riding down the face, and you get the idea. 

There are plenty of beaches along the coast that offer more manageable waves. A few of us went to Agua Blanca, where we managed to get some good rides, and I managed to shred my left leg over some hidden rocks. I don't mind the scars, as long as there's a good story to go with it.

Oggy heading out for a few hours of salty snacks

Before.

After.

Surely I jest. I saw that board on the beach yesterday as I walked down to get some coffee, toes in the sand and radioactive wind ruffling my hair. 

Reflections on Getting Caught In The Rain Without Proper Getting Caught In The Rain Attire

Rain streaming against my face. A plastic bag full of plantains, papaya, incense and apples tucked between my knees. A soaked service dress, a satchel full of literature, and a bouquet of flowers precariously wedged behind my seat. I am wearing a helmet. I shift from second to third gear. The motorcycle shifts as I head down Oaxaca Avenue. An almost familiar Mexican pop song races through the air as I pass and wave at a sister from the congregation. A single thought drifts through my mind. "I love Mexico."

Shift gears.

Hours earlier. I stumble out of bed, throw on assorted finery, and hop on my motorcycle. Heading out to the Kingdom Hall, I steer to avoid many a pothole and pedestrian. Stall. Start. Stall. Start. A taxi driver cuts me off and a truck full of hombres hollers and honks. I grit my teeth. A single declaration rolls involuntarily off my tongue. "I hate Mexico!" I yell into the wind. I look around to see who has overheard this galvanic eruption. A stray dog looks at me with mild curiosity.

The passing of a few hours, a hearty lunch, and an amazing Bible study takes the edge of off anything, and so it did. Now I'm home, strangely and perfectly content, listening to Abbey Road and googling "What Type of Parasite Do I Have?" as if for a frivolous personality test. I am bruised, and burnt, and altogether beat. The crickets outside chirp with unparalled passion. Tonight, they love Mexico, and I am powerless to disagree. 

Sundays Are For Volleyball Lovers

Vince, Jared (Oggy), Joseus, Jared, Little Kid*, Freddy, Ben, Mike, Chelsea, The Mom*, Holly, The Dad*, Little Girl*, Nathan, Ruth, Keiko, Chiaki

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. 

(In other words, I can't remember.)

Vanity & Striving After Wind

I'm going to get so busted for posting this. Enjoy it while it lasts.

In the Oaxacan heat, makeup is optional, hairstyles impossible. You choose your clothes based on armpit breatheability and sweatproofocity. Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. However, being intrinsically female, I do enjoy a little sprucing up here and there. After encountering Holly's mutant detached doll head I decided what I've been missing all these years was a head-full of multicolored hair braids. 

My original prototype.

Upon further consideration, Bronnie and I agreed that one tastefully placed hair braid would be enough for us. (We've challenged each other to see who can keep theirs longer. Unfortunately, you can't just unwrap them; you have to cut them out. So I guess it's really more of a contest to see who's the first one brave enough to cut themselves a bald patch.)

Though feeling rather glamorous, we realized more had to be done. The combination of sun, salt-water, and ages of walking had taken a toll on our hair, skin, and feet. With no spa in sight, we realized we would have to invent our own. Holly, Bronnie and I put our heads and refrigerators together and created a Natural Beauty Night for the ages.

What was originally going to be the three of us escalated rapidly. Suddenly, we had candles, incense, ambient lighting and music, a pot of Moroccan mint tea on the stove, and more than a few friends (yes, male and female alike) laying on the floor awaiting their 'treatments'. Avocado and tea tree oil masks for the face, banana and egg treatments for the hair, and assorted other food products were smeared on everyone and everything in sight. In the middle of everything, an epic thunderstorm rolled into town. You can't pay for that kind of luxury!

Sandra & Yanira, glowing anew!

Surprisingly, the questionable beauty treatments worked wonders. We all went home buffed and polished, with bits of banana stuck to our necks and smelling faintly of guacamole. All in all, a smashing success.