Second time around. Memories of my 2nd trip to Mexico and more. Part 1 of 3

We had decided to marry and spend our honeymoon in Mexico. The year was 1993 and Keith and I had met just 2 months prior on New Years Eve. It was a blind date.

Not sure of what we wanted in a marriage, we definitely knew what we didn’t want.

8 months would give us plenty of time to plan a trip, a wedding and get to know each other. I had read books on Mexico, not marriage. I studied the maps on Mexico, not the road to a happy marriage. I asked everyone I knew that had been to Mexico all of the questions, about Mexico, not marriage.

I tried to recall my High School Spanish. My teacher, Mrs. Josie Esau, graduate of Rice University, had little command of the Spanish language and less control over the class. She spoke Spanish with a heavy Texan accent. They can’t help it - Texans. We mostly cooked tacos and listened to Mexican music in Josie’s class.

I prepared little for the trip and even less so for a marriage. I was perfect in my oversight of the obvious. I would not allow prudent thinking stand in my way. Keith was such a nice guy. And I really needed a nice guy.


We finally arrive in San Jose del Cabo. It is our 4th airport of the day. I am in a sassy short dress and high heals. I broadcast “American Tourist” like a Vegas billboard. I am 31 years old. I had (past tense) a great body and an underdeveloped sense of self awareness. I was the original Deadliest Catch.

Pollo Loco. Hey! I can read Spanish!!! “Crazy Chicken” Keith! That sign says Crazy Chicken… I am so smart… I can rule this Nation. I can live here and speak this simple language and remain tanned indefinitely. I also noticed to smell of burning trash and the ratty condition of the van that we had just piled into with a bunch of drunken idiots going to the same resort as us.

It’s the typical ritzy resort. Swim up bar, billowing white gauze cabanas and English speaking wait staff. It was as far from being in Mexico is it could be. Except for the smell of burning trash, it always seemed to linger.

I experienced many firsts in Cabo San Lucas.

1. Ceviche- I loved it. Where had it been all my life?
2. Jet Skiing – wet and wild!!
3. Catching and releasing a huge Sail Fish.
4. Divorce


One of the details that I overlooked in my planning was the ability to legally marry Keith.

The paperwork dissolving my “practice” marriage had been filed for 11 months. The Judge went on sabbatical without assigning the case to another Judge. In July I am informed that this dissolution hearing is scheduled for the same date that Keith and I had planned to be wed. The honeymoon already paid for.

So, we didn't get to start our marriage that September in Mexico but I ended one there.

At a prearranged time I phoned the Kenai Court System to affirm that I did indeed still agree to dissolve the marriage. It was more difficult to arrange the international call than it was disarrange a marriage.


I sit on the edge of the bed with a stunning view of the shore. A warm ocean breeze blows in and leaves the floor tile as well as the drink in my hand weeping from the humidity. I am still in my wet bikini. Keith sits out on the balcony. He tries to be two places at the same time. Near me, yet not part of the proceedings. Finally the call is connected; I answer all the questions then hang up and take the hand of my supposed to be husband.

He leads me down to the swanky swim up bar and again, there is the ever present smell of burning trash. But this time it’s the smoldering garbage of my life past.

Burning trash has never smelled so sweet.

(Note; Keith and I married a few months later on New Years Eve a year to the date that we had first met. There is more to this story in Cabo that I will post in the future.We have traveled in Mexico over 30 times, long since passing up ritzy hotels and swim up bars)

Torture

Torture. This is what my first memories of Mexico were based upon. Well, torture and sea shells. I was 7 years old.

My parents, sister and I were living in Northern California at the time. They (the adults) thought that seeing the Baja 1000 would be a fun time. That race had just had its first run in October 1967.

Ensenada in 1969 was not a tourist town. I not sure if it was much of a town at all. Nevertheless, it was my first time in Mexico. We flew from Sacramento to San Diego and rented a car. It seems that we drove half the day, but it could have only been 2 hours. Maybe more as my father had probably had a few shots of tequila and had gotten us lost.

The booze improved his driving skills but did little to improve his personality or scruples.

Anyway, I have only flashes of memories. Cool Ocean breezes, a dead Sea Lion on the beach, my Mother trying to get her silk pillow case back from the non English speaking house keepers and an old gringo that was the first ex-pat that I had ever met. He was a stranger, yet my mom let me and my sister sit with him for hours (it was probably 20 minutes, see above where I thought we drove for ½ a day) while he showed us all about sea shells and how to clean the critters out. I don’t think I had ever spent that much time with a stranger before then.

The torture part comes in from my 17 year old uncle. My mothers kid brother. My parents brought my uncle on the trip to watch my sister and me while the adults went out doing adult things in Mexico and for him to experience Mexico. My uncle had different ideas of what those experiences should be. He teased me by keeping a ball away from me, had me leaping in the air to grab my toys and even went as far as putting me in those Mexican finger cuffs; behind my back. He had also gotten a bull whip at the market and a big sombrero. He chased me around with that stuff too. I know it all sounds innocent, but I was very upset at the time, and probably a bit nervous about being away from home to start with, and to have an angry uncle in charge really did scare me. My mother tells me that it could not have been so bad.

Fast forward 40 years. January 2009 found me back in Mexico again with that same uncle. All I said was “Hey, the last time we were in Mexico together was 40 years ago” and you know what he said? “Chrissy, I regret all those mean and terrible things I did and said on that trip”. So, my memory is not perfect, but my feelings were.

Of course I had long since forgiven him and it was interesting to hear his perspective on the whole thing. Come to find out, he had thought that he was brought on the trip more as a play date for my dad, not a “Manny”. A 17 year old red blooded American boy in Mexico could “experience” a lot. But his sister (my Mom) obviously had more boundaries than he had ideas. He took out is resentment on me.


We shared some excellent times and made new delightful memories in Guayabitos that January and lest you might think this was our first reunion in 40 years, it was not. We have been in each others lives and homes many, many times. It’s odd that this never came up until we were back together in Mexico.

Now the only torture I face concerning memories of Mexico is leaving her.
(Note; I got a new Daddy and he is the best ever!)

Desert to Dockside

I have been occupied with the visit from our 2 oldest Grand children and with Keith's absence while he took them back up to Juneau. I was left in charge of the house and animals. I have nothing witty to say in this blog, but I just wanted to share a few photos. This one above is a self shot of me on the salt river. It was an excellent trip. We got on the 2nd bus so there were only a few people ahead of us.

Korrianna, our 13 year old Granddaughter. She had a blast, worked on her tan and learned how the hydraulics of a river work.

Chase, our 11 year old Grandson. He was a bit reluctant to do this. Chased wanted us to all be lashed together. By then end of the trip his confidence had grown so much that he was floating on his tummy and taking on the small rapids by himself.

Keith in Juneau with the 2 youngest grandkiddos. Tyrel 5 and Tell 6 weeks old. They are standing in Fireweed.

Halibut. It is a lot of work to bring these guys up off the bottom. They are usually around 300 feet and if there is any size to them at all, it is like pulling a mattress up from the deep.

Keith with our daughters Breehia (Mom of Tyrel and Tell. And Step Mom to Korrianna and Chase) and Kally, the one with the stunning blue eyes.