Beating the Doldrums in Paradise

December 2009

Yes, even on the beach with the sun shining and the ocean waves crushing the sand to smithereens, the doldrums can hit. Maybe it was the come down of the Beaver loss to the dreaded Ducks the evening before. So much anticipation, so much disappointment. Nunez and I did behave ridiculously at the sports bar. Every time the Beavs scored a touchdown we jumped up and screamed out OOOOOO SSSSSSS UUUUU, OREGON STATE FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT. Yes we did the hand signals, the whole asinine bit. Shocked some sedate snowbirds I’ll tell you. One woman wanting to watch the Jets game walked out shaking her head at our behavior. The next day at the palapa word was out that the Reid’s are whacko. Si. If the Giants ever won a World Series, they would define whacko differently.
So Friday early evening we had little to look forward to. TGIF means so much less when you don’t work. We wondered down to the palapa and Jaime asked us if we had eaten dinner. We hadn’t.
“No problema, I’ll take you to my favorite restaurant.”
If Jaime wants to take you to his favorite anything, you don’t ask, you just go. But I did ask the name of the restaurant.
“It doesn’t have a name.”
David Walker, my favorite liberal Canuck, and his son Craig, Nunez and I followed Jaime through several neighborhoods until we parked in an unassuming residential area. Residential areas in Mazatlan usually have many in home businesses. The city codes here are what you might say loosely regulated or nonexistent.
Jaime led us into a house that has a large room open to the street. Nothing adorns any of the walls. Two rows of three plastic tables pushed together with plastic chairs constitute the dining area. A thirteen inch TV plays a Mexican soap opera. A family at one end of a row of tables and a couple at the other end make room for us to sit in the middle. Everyone there knows Jaime. He orders for us. Three carne enchiladas covered with lettuce, radishes, and cucumbers for each of us soon appears. We each receive a four ounce brownish liquid to pour over our enchiladas. We follow Jaime’s lead. Our one eating utensil is a long neck spoon. We dive in. Jaime smiles. “This is my favorite place to eat todo del mundo.” Who’s to argue? Empanadas, a sugary pastry filled with fruit, are passed around. No mas doldrums.

* * *

Sunday rolled around. Nicole and Sharon had told the orphanage that they would like to take some of the kids to a movie Sunday afternoon. I can’t tell you to the degree that I wasn’t looking forward to this. Movies in Mexico can be Mexican films with no English subtitles. They can be English speaking movies that are dubbed into Spanish; all animated movies fall into this category. Or they can be English with Spanish subtitles. So I was looking at attending a G rated animated movie, Plant 51, with three 7-8 year old girls, Nicole and my wife while the 49’ers were on my TV. Can you imagine my enthusiasm?
Nicole and I buzz are way into the orfanato while Nunez waits in the car because she doesn’t want to see the disappointed faces of those who can’t attend. The women who run the place anticipate this and no other kids are to be seen in the courtyard while Paola, Marta, and Alejandra bound up to Nicole and me with their Sunday best on, hair styled, and beaming smiles. We each receive hugs and then watch them dance up and down until they can be escorted out the door. This wouldn’t have been all that remarkable unless you knew that I have called Alejandra, the morose child, because I have never seen her smile or show enthusiasm or anger or anything. Her face looked broken she smiled so much, and except for fear walking in the dark to el bano, she smiled the entire afternoon.
I had to child proof the locks on the car. They were beside themselves. None of them had ever been to a movie theater. We danced into the lobby after purchasing tickets and spent twenty minutes at the concession stand. Each had to buy the exact same items. One of them, a Mexican lolly pop like treat that requires the top to be pulled off before finding a mouth, needed the manager to help take the top off. It took easily fifteen minutes for all three to come off. By then, we had missed the previews, and we had to bring these dancers into a pitch black theater. I held a plastic tray with two mongo sized diet cokes, and two mongo sized popcorns. Sharon held Paola, and Nicole held Marta. Alejandra was too excited to be held.
In an hour and a half movie, they consumed everything in their midst. They each made one trip to el bano. And when the movie ended they danced to the credits. They skipped to the car. On the way home we saw an elaborate playground and pulled over. They raced in and around and through and every other preposition I can think off for an hour. Now this playground is new and must have twenty stations of varying age appropriateness. I counted over twenty-five children and almost as many parents. Sunday nights are family nights, and Mexicans are all about families. We three chaperones definitely received some stares, but not because the kids weren’t having the time of their lives. And, more importantly, not because our kids misbehaved. They took turns. They helped younger children onto slides. They have been sharing all of their lives and know how to do it and do it well.
After we dropped these bubbling girls off at their home, we headed off for a drink at an ocean side cantina with another sunset splashed grinning at us. Except for the waiters, everyone else in the place was a tourist. Whatever gleefulness they had experienced this day could not match how the three of us felt. We made a pledge that we had a new way to spend a Sunday.