It’s nearly September.
Can you believe it? Of course I’m still grieving for my two-month Mexican sabbatical, still grieving the landscape, the heat, the tacos, the blue.
You know that blue, that Mexican color omnipresent in everything from paints to walls to cars to sky to sea. Sherwin Williams calls these shades aquarium, marina, spa — but I call it Cozumel blue. See what I mean?
The students have returned to Boston, and I’m at my office desk most days, dreaming of faraway places and remembering the segments of the trip that made an impact, but that I didn’t necessarily get to blog about. Like, for instance, having a lovers’ spat in public.
Never a good thing, but all the more dramatic that it was in Mexico. I can check international romance off my bucket list.
Then there was the dreary Saturday afternoon I got a mani/pedi and the shop owner recognized me from my blog!
Or how I sneaked into an all-inclusive over a period of multiple days and used their facilities, all day, without detection. Stealth was always my strong suit. Maybe because my teenage years were spent stalking teachers and rock stars, but I digress …
I witnessed and lived through the Mexican national election.
I learned a lot about the role of sexuality in Mexico, even a went on research visit to Cozumel’s only sex shop. But this blog strives for a PG rating …
But most obscene of all? This. I ate at Domino’s Pizza. In Mexico.
There’s a story behind everyone of these events, and whose memories I’ll preserve for my Mexican memoir. Until then, I’m knee-deep in my Mexican period poetry-wise, and the verse is coming fast and furious, full of bougainvillea and that blue I talked about and triumph but not without a good amount of sadness and sexuality, too.
Most of all, I learned a lot about myself on this trip.
I follow my heart and I live full-on, unafraid of risk. I laugh louder and longer than the rest, and I’m not for the faint of heart.
I fell in love.
And then I had my heart broken. But I won’t let heartache thwart all that was good about my sojourn. And all was good, even when it was less than perfect.
On my last week in Cozumel, someone snatched my purse. I heaved my flip-flops at the guy as he fled via scooter, and shouted English obscenities. I lost everything except my passport.
But that’s living. And that was the purpose of this trip. I did it.
Sobbing through two international airports on my return trip home, I did it.
And more: I became a scuba diver. I climbed Coba. I swam with the whale sharks in Isla Mujeres. I wrote a blog about Cozumel for a hotel in Playa Del Carmen, and made new friends along the way. Hell, I almost took a job and moved to Playa Del Carmen!
Too bad I never got around to:
Tanning my tetas
Getting a tattoo
But good things are in the works. I’m:
applying for a Fulbright for an independent research/creative project in the Yucatan;
working on several writing projects at once, for work and for me;
… undertaking multiple freelance gigs;
I have two months until I turn the big 3-0!
Can you guess where I’ll be?
That’s right. I’m going back.
Did I mention I’m unsinkable?
The ride is far from over.