I’m sitting in the dark at 6:45a.m., Sunday, January 26 in the Baughan’s living room in Puerto Vallarta, waiting to talk on Skype with Jay. I’ve been moving around so much lately that I can’t figure out exactly what time it is in Korea at this moment, but I think I’m early. As I typed the above, I realized that I didn’t have to remain ignorant when I had Google. I now know that the time in Incheon is 10:00p.m., so Jay is 15 hours ahead of here and probably not home yet.
It was a noisy Saturday night in P.V. Caroline made a good salmon dinner after which we sat around, finished our wine and chatted over the booming music that roared up from the outdoor theatre at the S. end of the Malecon. The female singer’s voice, at first irritating, became increasingly attractive, conjuring up images of Shania Twain and Tina Turner. Ken, Danbrook and I were finally unable to resist. We left the house to see her but were only half way down the steps to the main square when all went as close to silent as it ever does in P.V. By the time we got there, the stage was back to being the domain of the regulars, a big stocky man and a short stocky man, semi-mimes, kind of costumed, whose act manages to be frenetic and laid back at the same time. They have a cheap sound system, which they sometimes turn on, and as both have good rhythm they move well to it as they joke with and heckle the audience. At other times they attempt gymnastic tricks, which aside from some passable juggling usually fail, to the laughing delight of the mostly Mexican audience, who also understand their verbal jokes most of which we gringos miss. We watched and laughed for a while and then walked along the Malecon and back again to the comfort, if not peace, of the condo. Sleep was interrupted by sporadic loud music and the odd irritating car alarm, but it finally “knit up the raveled sleeve of care.”
Tomorrow I will rise even earlier than I did today to catch the bus for Manzanillo to visit with Danny and Rita. The bus leaves the main station at the extreme north end of Vallarta at 7:45a.m.. After asking 3 different ticket agents, I now know as much as I ever will about the schedule. It appears that the bus does pass and might stop at a church close to where I’m now staying with the Baughans, but I would have to be there as it arrived and flag it down. This being too iffy for a person who requires the degree of certainty that I do, I will have all my gear packed the night before in the small suitcase Caroline is lending me, rise well before six, wash, grab the Yop-type drink and nuts I bought yesterday, take the suitcase,put on the pack and leave to catch a rickety city bus for the main station, about a 20 min. ride at breathtaking speed over rough streets. Once there, I will relax and submit to their schedule, which is usually very prompt and convenient because you choose your seat when you buy the ticket so there’s no need to stand in line as you do for a bus in Canada. If I’m lucky I might even get a Bimbo bread and ham sandwich and a box of heavily sugared juice. They always used to give us a little bag lunch like that when we took a bus in Mexico. Then I will sit back and ride in air- conditioned comfort through the city again and on for 4 to 5 hours to Manzanillo. I’m looking forward to seeing what Manzanillo is like and to watching the countryside and shore south of Vallarta rush past me.
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