Oooops!

It's been a while since I posted anything, but this time I had a good reason -- or it sure felt like a good reason: I was away on a long-awaited holiday, an extended time for lazy relaxing, seaside in Mexico.

It was two weeks by the beach, with perfect weather every day. The breakfasts were amazing, with mounds of fresh fruit every day. Today, when I went shopping at my local produce store, the papayas (which I ate every morning during our vacation) clocked in at eight dollars a pound. Needless to say, I walked on by and settled for less expensive toppings for my morning yogourt. 

Lunches and dinners were every bit as fantastic, with such a range of flavours and ingredients, there was no getting bored. I even lucked out, finding two of my favourites: rellenos and tamales now and then. 

People were friendly, and very patient with my dreadful grasp of Spanish. As for the above situation at the pool, it had been a matter of striking up a conversation with people who were attending a wedding. The men were all dressed in white shirts and when I asked permission to take a photo, they jumped up from where they'd been sitting poolside to pose. Only thing was that one of the fellows stood much too close to the edge. Last view of his falling into the deep end was his hand trying valiantly to keep his phone dry. He emerged, safe but soaked. All I could do was apologize...

The only less-than-perfect aspect of the time there was the LOUD music provided by the local banda musicians. These groups wandered along the beach, stopping to play as often as invited (with 'donations' from would-be listeners). I'll admit that I wasn't one of the generous types who contributed to their cause. I guess it's something you need to be used to...either that or be deaf enough that the high-volume of the brass instruments (trumpets and tuba) doesn't bother you, and also that the thumping bass drum doesn't shake you to your core. Pretty intense on the decibel level, especially at 2 am. 

If nothing else, memories of the bandas make me appreciate the quiet of being home, where 2 am might only be disturbed by the sound of my own snoring.