Whenever I see the statue, I marvel at its intracies, little of which, I'm sorry to say, can be seen in this photo because of the massing storm clouds behind him. We drove by on our way home after a day of boogie boarding and swimming (topped with rum-filled lunch) at the Vallarta Yacht Club.
Well, it was run-filled for me. Admiral Fox and son Dustin remained sober, letting me stock up on anti-flu medication. It's a dangerous time of the year for colds.
The beach area at the Paradise Village Resort is quite crowded at this time of the year, filled with vacationers mostly from the U.S. and Canada.
Every morning at 6 a.m. (just about dawn here), people rush out of their hotel rooms, grab lawn chairs and create little family/group compounds around the shady palapas. They (the arranger/creators), of course, don't stay out from 6 a.m. until around noon; they simply leave a few towels (owned by the hotel) and a stray tennis shoe or shirt to mark their territory. Some really awful novels are usually placed on these chairs, too.
The Admiral and I erroneously got too close to one fellow's staked-out territory when we tried to sit in the shade of the palapa nearby at about 11 a.m. It seemed he had arranged the 24 or so lounges just so, and our dragging in two chairs (10 feet off to one side) was going to crimp the family style, when the balance of the people arrived, later that day.
How do I know this? He told us in excellent, slightly accented New York City English. It might not have been New York City, actually. But I suspect you've heard the dialect.
Here's a photo of the compound:
The beach compound
The surfing, however, was better than the company (which we abandoned for a spot closer to the surf), with great waves and clear water, making the day overall a 9.9999999999.
After we go to the Cafe Tacuba for dinner in a few hours (where the owner, Victor, drinks tequila at the table with you), well, I think I will be able to change that 9.9999999999 to a 10.
If I can type.
More manana.
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