… and I am Somebody male. in my thirties. recovering alcoholic. live in minneapolis. work in progress. gay. serenity please.

Vallarta Day 15 & 16

I drop off a last load of laundry on my way to Dee’s in the morning, where I get the breakfast bagel with my Grande Americana. Both Dee and one of the regular ex-pats make a comment about how my sunburn looks much better today. Dee goes on about how the Vichy product alters the genetic makeup of your skin cells or some such scientific technobabble. I have no doubt it helped, but I can’t be sure, since this burn wasn’t all that bad – it may have just gotten better on its own.

Some of the Kansas City guys were planning on meeting me at Dee’s so I could show them where the gym was, but I get an email from Garrett saying that they’re going to take advantage of the weather and enjoy the sun on the beach. He extends the invitation to join them, but I’m fearful that my sunburn is still a bit too fresh. That, and I’ve already had my piece of chocolate cake for Breakfast Dessert and need to burn it off at the gym!

I head over to the gym, taking the “secret shortcut” that Aaron told me about. Walking up the staircase next to The Swedes restaurant I hear something move on a step up ahead. I pause to see if I can find the source of the noise and there it is, three steps up – a GIANT iguana! Ok, maybe not giant, but probably 15 – 20 inches from head to tail. I pull out my iPhone and snap a photo of it. Then I step up a bit closer and it takes a leap off the edge of the staircase – a good 10 feet down onto a bed of rocks. I hear a solid thump and some more scurrying.

Anxious little fucker.

My heart has settled down a bit after initially being amped up upon seeing the monster. I continue up the stairs, over the hill and then down the second set of steps to the bottom of the hill. I’m about 30 feet into the second staircase when I see another one clinging to the wall of the staircase! It’s not moving, but it’s watching me. I pull out my iPhone again and begin to inch closer, but it’s watching me and sees me coming. It suddenly disappears, crawling into a drain pipe built into the wall. I approach the drain pipe, armed with my camera, and as I come into view of the pipe I can see the iguana’s tail inside. It’s not moving so I begin talking to him, “Come out, come out, Mister Iguana!”

Nothing.

I conclude that should the monster actually decide to come out, I’d likely scream and run. I decide not to find out if I can succeed it maddening it and carry on.

At the gym I tell Aaron of my encounter with the two iguanas and how these are the first iguanas I’ve ever seen outside of the zoo! He responds with simply, “Welcome to Vallarta – land of reptiles.” He goes on to tell me that he sees snakes and iguanas on that trail every day.

“EVERY DAY?! And you told me to take that path?!” I’m alarmed he never warned me of the trail’s hazards, but I figure he’s probably so accustomed to them that he didn’t think to mention it.

I make a mental note that I won’t be taking that trail for the remainder of my stay.

Aaron takes off I say goodbye and thank him for his hospitality. He invites me to dinner again in the evening, but I’ve got plans to go out with some folks from the Alano club.

Rikard, the owner of The Swedes stops into the gym and we chat a bit. I plan on asking the Alano crew to hit up his restaurant for dinner that night, but I can’t be sure I’ll get a consensus so I don’t mention it.

After finishing my workout, David makes me a shake and acts as if he’s crying and how he misses me already. I laugh at him for at least making the effort to look like he’ll miss me. He and Aaron have been a joy to see every day.

I stop by the laundry on my way home and pick it up. 55 pesos and it’s all folded nicely. I could really get used to this – now if they only delivered…

I shower, read a little and take a nap, getting up in time to make the AA meeting. On my way over to the club I stop in at The Coffee Cup and say good bye to Angel. He’s such a sweetie. We chat a bit and I give him a hug.

While at The Coffee Cup I see Jose – the cute vodka-loving timeshare sales guy, walk by with an older gringo. The last couple of times I’ve seen him has been at one of the bars on Olas Altus in the company of older drunken fellows. I suspect he won’t stop into the rooms of AA for some time … or at least until his looks begin to fail him.

The meeting is really nice. A lady, D, received her 3 year medallion and told her story. There were some really unique parts of her story, and she shared very genuinely and openly. She and her husband are new residents in Vallarta and new to the club, but they’ve been very welcoming to me and seem to have adjusted quickly.

Bob isn’t at the meeting, but Art, Dudley and myself head over to The Swede with a new guy, David, in tow. David is actually a part-time resident of Vallarta and known to the club, but new to me. He’s a nice enough fellow, but spends much of his time during the dinner texting his lover back in Vancouver who’s been recently diagnosed with MS.

Dinner is wonderful. I ordered the meatballs again and enjoyed them just as much as the first time. Rikard and the staff are wonderful hosts. Its so nice to eat at these small restaurants and be greeted by the owners and the people who actually make the food.

After dinner I head home and make it an early night. I encounter the whiny prostitute on my way home, but he’s learned to look the other way when I come by. I’m in bed and reading by 10:30 pm.

Day 16 begins back at Coco’s. I decide to treat myself to an order of her apple-cinnamon pancakes and they are just as wonderful as I remember them from 7 months prior. While enjoying my breakfast I watch the farmers’ market getting setup across the street. One of the lesbians who runs the chocolate store next to Dee’s seems to be directing traffic, parking, unloading and general ordering about of things while she looks a bit harried running around smoking a cigarette, pointing and yelling at everyone with her short spiky hair and glasses. I am a bit amused.

I stop in at Dee’s next and ask her to use her printer to print out my boarding passes. She says she doesn’t normally, but she makes an exception for me. I thank her and order an Americana and piece of Carrot Cake, deciding I can be doubly bad and reward myself ahead of time for the long day of travel awaiting me.

Boarding passes in hand, I head back home. I shower and pack everything up, saying goodbye to the small, poorly decorated condo at Brassia Del Mar – my home of the last two weeks. I hope I never see another pastel yellow, green or blue again.

I’m at the airport my normal two hours in advance, avoiding the anxiety-inducing rush I see as the alternative. Of course, this gives me time to write again and take in a little piece of Vallarta before I leave, as they offer massages here in the airport – right at your gate.

My major take-aways from my time in Guatemala and Vallarta:

1. Love more
2. Live simply
3. Lessen my consumerism

Vallarta Day 14

It occurred to me the other day that I forgot to mark my Mayan Calendar birthday of July 24th with a special meditation or ritual of some sort. Damnit! I guess I’ll be stuck in the same cycle I’ve been on … but who knows, maybe that’s where I’m supposed to be anyhow.

I’m up and out the door by 8:30. I decide to be a little bad and stop at Choco Banana to get the banana pancakes from Marcello. Fewer mosquitos, though more flies than Coco’s, but those cakes are so hard to pass up! Marcello is his normal charming self, making a production out of the simplest tasks in an effort to make you laugh. He is nice, but he tries too hard. I just want the damned pancakes, already, Marcello!

Next stop is Dee’s, as per usual, for coffee and blogging. And a piece of carrot cake – but not until it’s time to leave for the gym, as I think of it as my own personal kind of energy drink to pump me up prior to my workout. That counts, right?

Dee’s is its normal self. Before blogging I attend to emails, which are growing in frequency, as if anticipating my return. I had planned on easing back into normal life back at home, but I’ve already been booked up for full-time contract work beginning Monday morning at 8:30, after returning on Saturday evening. It’s a good feeling to be wanted, and feels nice to know I’ll have some income, but I hope the abrupt jolt back to working life goes smoothly.

Here I am whining about being on vacation for so long and returning to work …. poor me. My life is sooo hard, if you only knew!

Speaking of returning to normal life, I’ve sneaked a peak at some of the headlines. It seems Lindsay Lohan monopolized them for a short while with her trip to jail. Though now the big thing seems to be the GLBT community’s backlash over Corporation X’s campaign contributions to the organization supporting Tom Emmer in Minnesota. Emmer is anti-GLBT rights and the GLBT community has called attention to this. Some calling for a boycott, some want Corporation X to fund a pro-GLBT candidate as well.

I’m not sure what I feel. I have several friends who work for Corporation X. I’ve done work for Corporation X and always had a good experience with them. I enjoy shopping at their stores. I recognize that they do a lot for the local Minneapolis / St. Paul community – both in community giving, but also in fostering the local creative talent. And this is all on top of their sponsorship of the Twin Cities Pride celebration and public pro-GLBT stance and policies. In short, they’ve given back to the community they’ve grown up in, and always been kind to us GLBT folks.

That’s why this campaign contribution is so strange. Certainly it makes sense from one point of view – they are a big business. Big business generally supports republican candidates because of their fiscal stance and support of laws that benefit big business.

It makes me wonder – has Corporation X only been pro-GLBT because it’s good for business, too?

Why give $150k to this organization / candidate? They must have foreseen some bad press around ANY campaign contribution, but especially a contribution to a right-winger who’s anti-GLBT rights – the same community that Corporation X has invested so much into developing.

The bad press could result in a loss of sales far beyond $150k. Of course, the contribution may get the candidate elected, which may help to keep and create laws benefiting big business, in which case their contribution may pay off much more in the end.

Aside from the societal and business ethics arguments around corporate campaign contributions, I’d love to see a cost-to-benefit analysis of Corporation X’s recent campaign contribution from their own point of view. Weigh the possible loss of sales due to bad PR against the potential savings Emmer may provide via tax and law benefits, should he be elected. Is it really worth it for Corporation X to do this?

I really WANT to side with Corporation X on this, but this practice of corporate giving to right-wing candidates is troubling to me.

Back to blogging at Dee’s on the patio, enjoying my Americana. My sunburn from yesterday’s time at the beach is readily apparent to anyone here. Dee makes mention of it and brings out some fabulous product she promises will dial-back the burn and take away the pain. I apply it and she seems happy to have helped. The burn wasn’t super bad to begin with, but I think the cream actually helps. Some product from a company called Vichy Laboratories. I googled them and found their site, but wasn’t able to find the same product Dee had for sun burn.

My burn is much better today. I’m sure I’ll be back to stark-white by a week’s time, as my skin is prone to do.

Nothing much new at Acqua. There are a handful of people working out again, which is nice to see. The two Sunset Party Cruise boys are there again and give me head nods, to which I return. Aaron and David are their usual, happy selves. I’ve translated my usual greeting of more than one person – “Hey, Ladies!” to “Hola, Chicas” and they object, wanting to correct my Spanish. I inform them I know very well what I said, and they object under different circumstances – this time more forcefully, aghast I would call them Chicas. I just smile and continue around the corner to drop off my bag in the locker room.

My workout is good and I get 20 minutes in on the elliptical afterwards, as both of the bikes I usually use were occupied by the Sunset Party Cruise guys.

I walk home and take a shower and a siesta, waking in time to make it to the 5:00 NA meeting at the Alano club to be there for Carlos’ 90 days. He shares about his clean time and it’s so genuine and authentic – very refreshing and nice to hear a newcomer working a solid program and seeing the benefits of it.

The meeting gets out and some of the AA meeting attendees arrive a bit early – and that’s when the shit hits the fan! Apparently one of the guys in the NA meeting had been banned from the clubhouse for stealing. He was caught by the police and the Alano club said they wouldn’t press charges if he stayed away. Apparently they’ve been constantly trying to keep him out – he just keeps coming back. It’s a bit of a contentious issue because there’s really no way to “kick somebody out” of AA or NA, yet at the same time this guy steals people’s belongings.

I stay out of it, but there are some highly raised voices between some of the NAers and AAers. This issue seems to go back a ways, and I am guessing there have been other disagreements in the past as well.

I stay for the start of the AA meeting, but have to leave early to attend a dinner at my friend Garrett’s place. I met Garrett through Facebook a long time ago and we’ve been social networking pals since. I recently joined TripIt, a social network for travelers, and was notified that Garrett was also taking a trip to Vallarta that overlapped with mine for a couple of days. He’s here with a dozen or so friends renting a floor at one of the beachside hotels – complete with chef service for two meals a day!

Garrett invites me to join them for the chef’s dinner. Three courses, ending with fish tacos, and it was delicious! Their room has a large open terrace area where we eat, and a pool of its own – it’s all very fancy! I spend some time chatting with them and get to know a couple of them a bit. They’re all from Kansas City. At least one pair was a couple, but I believe the rest were just friends.

They are all getting ready to go out to the bars and I take my leave. Dinner neglected dessert, so I stop in at Cafe San Angel for a piece of cake and coffee before heading home for the night. I fall asleep reading my Mayan Calendar ebook.

Vallarta Day 13

I’m out the door to Dee’s by 8:30 this morning. As I walk in, one of the ladies is bringing out somebody’s breakfast – eggs and bacon. I can’t resist and order the same thing. I can’t remember the last strip of bacon I had, which actually isn’t a bad thing.

Aside from the local regulars, there’s a crew of about 10 – 12 people that have been gathering here in the mornings for the last couple of days. They remind me of the group I traveled here with over New Year’s. We would come here every morning and get coffee and some yummy baked goods. Often we’d head over to the Bite Me Beach Club for breakfast afterwards, but they’re not open during this visit – my guess is they don’t have enough business during the low season. I always liked that joint, though, so I hope they’re not down and out for good.

Before leaving Dee’s for the morning, I stop in the back to use the restroom and end up chatting with Dee for a while. She’s originally from Calgary, Alberta and moved here 9 years ago. She sold vacation packages for two years, averaging a 50% closing rate between herself and a partner. Then she got a new boss and decided to leave – which mirrors my own experience. After bumming it for a little while she decided to go into business for herself, also mirroring my own experience, opening the coffee shop here on Gomez.

I asked her if she had a hard time opening a business as a foreigner. None at all, she said. Between the day the landlord showed her the space and the day she opened up, only 18 days elapsed. She says that she does everything by the book, no funny accounting, and has an attorney and a lawyer to help her navigate the bureaucracy of obtaining licenses, permits, paying taxes, applying for this or that, etc., that trips up many business owners. She’s heard stories from other people having a hard time and guesses that doing everything by the book has paid off for her in this regard.

During her first year in business the way taxes are calculated changed seven times – within ONE year. I don’t ask for specifics, but damn – that does sound complicated.

Dee asks where I work out and I tell her about Acqua. She’s aware of the place, but says that most of her friends work out at Golds, up near the hotel zone. I tell her that Acqua recently expanded a bit and how their customer service is so great. After using the gym for a week and returning 7 months later to have them remember my name is pretty impressive. It’s the small-community feeling, too, like Cheers – everybody knows your name. That, and I like to support small and locally-owned businesses.

Plus, that whole bus system is a bit intimidating – with their antiquated 30 / 10 air conditioning. One of the expats from the Alano club explained to me that you get the bus going 30 mph down the road, and roll down 10 of the windows to get the air conditioning on.

I depart and head over to the gym. Aaron told me about an easier way to get to the gym using a staircase next to The Swede restaurant, taking you to the top of the hill. Then you walk a block down the street to the entrance to another staircase down the backside of the hill, which comes out just down the block from the gym. I take this route and am reminded of some of the path explorations I went on in San Marcos through the jungle. I’m not sure I would have ever discovered this path, though, as I assumed the staircase led up to an apartment building. That and I didn’t realize the geography placed the gym just over the hill. I’m directionally challenged.

Again the gym is busy today. I chat with David and Aaron for a bit. It seems their attempt to improve their reputation in the community is working. I hope this keeps up for them.

After lifting I usually ride the bike for 20 – 30 minutes and sweat off a few pounds. There is a guy on the bike next to me today. I introduce myself but we discover that neither of us speak the others’ language, though he does manage to tell me he works on the Sunset Party Cruise – a weekly run tour on Saturdays that cruises the bay with an all-you-can-drink bar.

The guy’s friend comes over and says hello. It looks like he works in a bar as well – dark circles under his eyes and a belly. I think back to when I was drinking. I would go to the gym in the early evening and then to the bar afterwards, then sleep and go to work the next day (if I was lucky), just to repeat the cycle again. It was an impossible feat for me – keeping in shape while drinking the way I was. Needless to say, going to the gym without drinking every day produces better results.

I finish up and head home, deciding to take the scenic route – my old path down Basilla Badilla. There are many more people to look at and shops to peer into. The path over the hill, while quick and quiet, is a bit boring.

It’s still early in the afternoon and sunny out, so I for the beach to catch some sun. Dee asked me earlier why I wasn’t brown yet, and I explain that I’m a bit paranoid about burning, so I’m liberal with the SPF 30.

I decide to try going sans sun block today and see what happens. I lay out for a short while and then retreat under the palapa with a fruit salad from Blue Chairs. The server is straight, but clearly has a lot of fun serving the gay guys who flirt with him. I complain a bit about the small size of my fruit salad and he jokes, “Look around – there’s plenty of fruit on this beach!”

A younger couple come and take up an umbrella near me. I think this is their first time on the beach, or at least in Vallarta. They order daiquiris from the bar and are amazed at the size when they come. Later one of the jewelry vendors on the beach comes by, being waved off by everyone, but the youngster stops him and begins trying on various bracelets, finally settling on two or three.

After this, you could have sworn the guy was, as my friend F is fond of saying, “A used tampon in a piranha pool.” All the various vendors swooped in, having discovered a naive american with a free-flowing wallet. He did purchase a few more items. The bad part of all this was that the vendors all came to bother me when they were through with their victim.

During this vendor charade, another couple came and sat down at the umbrella in front of me. These were clearly members of the “A Crowd Gays”. Expensive glasses and swimwear, tan, muscular and sculpted bodies. They smoked cigarettes and downed drinks like kool-aid. I can’t figure out how these guys have such great bodies while drinking and smoking like they do. They’re either very genetically gifted or they have help in the gym with some extra testosterone.

Having read another few chapters of my Mayan book, I decide I’ve had enough of the beach scenery and head back up the hill.

I shower and take a quick nap, getting up in time to head over to the Alano club, with time to spare to stop in at the Coffee Cup for a protein shake from Angel. He’s sitting outside the cafe when I come up the sidewalk. He greets me and we chat for a while. We’re becoming more friendly and he’s an adorably cute and sweet guy. I hope he finds somebody good. He makes me a shake, the ingredients from memory now, and I depart for the Alano club.

I arrive at the end of the NA meeting and run into Carlos, the newcomer. He’s got that pink-cloud thing going on with tons of gratitude and happiness for his newfound freedom. He’s working steps with a sponsor and seems to be on a good path. He tells me he is celebrating his 90 days clean tomorrow and asks if I’ll be at the meeting. I tell him yes, I’ll be there – wouldn’t miss it.

The AA meeting starts inside with Bob as the trusted servant. He announces it’s a speaker meeting format this evening, after which we open up for individual sharing, and introduces the speaker, H.

We all clap and welcome H to the front of the room. She’s very blonde, very tan, and speaks with a fast pace in a loud voice. She talks about AA saving her life, and giving her 24 years of continuous sobriety, but then goes on to tell the group that in Feb she used ecstasy. She didn’t know why she used it, she just did. She didn’t elaborate on what caused that one-time use, or whether she’d been lax with her program, or stopped going to meetings, or didn’t talk to a sponsor … none of that was mentioned, but I found myself wanting to know – what causes somebody with 24 years of sobriety to relapse?

I’m glad she’s back in the rooms and it was only one time, but that’s not the case with everyone. The biggest worry about somebody relapsing is not the one-time use, it’s that they may not be able to stop again, and go on for the rest of their life in drug or alcohol-induced misery. I want to learn from those that have this experience, so that hopefully I can avoid the pitfalls they fell victim to.

Next to me is A. She introduced herself to me early on and is quite the personality. She’s got twenty-some, maybe 30-some years of sobriety. One-on-one she’s quite charming and has lots to talk about. She was a reporter for the local English-print newspaper for 10 years until she suffered a stroke and retired. She’s a hard-core AA old-timer, the kind of person who holds the meetings and attendees up to the highest standards – her own.

I’ve learned in my own life, that when I hold certain standards for myself, I tend to think others should meet those same standards. Whether they’re good, bad or indifferent standards, I tend to judge people when they don’t meet them. My sponsor, or some other older AA’er pointed out to me that I’m probably too hard on myself, which translates into being too hard on others – so I continue to work on this. I’m a work in progress.

Anyhow, back to A. When somebody mentions an addiction other than alcohol, she visibly cringes. If they talk about a mental condition she sighs. If someone speaks out of turn or cross-talks she’ll gasp out loud and then reel it in. If somebody talks about exercise helping them in their recovery, or seeing a therapist, she’ll fidget in her seat and cross her legs in the opposite direction.

Some old-timers share A’s views. They want to keep the meetings focused solely on the program of Alcoholics Anonymous and the 12 steps. No outside issues, no room for talk of drug addiction, etc. These are the principles that have kept AA going for so long without disbanding completely.

Personally, I’m pretty liberal with the idea of recovery. I got sober going to both AA and NA meetings and consider myself an alcoholic and addict, though I believe they have the same meaning. Both groups utilize the 12 steps and the fellowships are very similar. So when somebody mentions something outside the confines of AA in an AA meeting, I’m inclined to let it slide. Usually.

But A, and many old-timers get upset by it. I think it’s fine that they have these beliefs and express them, I even find some of the chair-twitching antics a bit amusing. I just hope they keep coming back

After the meeting, Art, Bob and myself go to Maxamilian’s for dinner. They’re running a special menu featuring some Greek dishes at a heavily discounted price. Art opts for one of the special dishes, but Bob and I each select a fish from the standard menu. All of our dishes are very good and we enjoy desserts afterwards as well.

The dinner conversation is always a hoot with these two. Between them they’ve got about 75 years sobriety, and all of the stories that come along with that. As I’ve mentioned before, they’re both talkers, too. En route to the restaurant, Bob ran across somebody he hadn’t seen in a while and stopped to talk to them. Art starts to tell me that he’s been called a gabber, but that he pales in comparison to Bob.

I laugh, as I’ve noticed they’re both gabbers and tell him I think they’re both roughly the same. I point out that I watch at the dinner table, as each of them waits for the other to pause in a sentence to take a breath and will jump into the conversation. I compare it to fencing, just waiting for the opponent to let their guard down and reveal a vulnerability, lurching forward with their sword. Art was hoping for some sympathy, but gets a kick out of my analysis nonetheless.

Heading home, it’s barely sprinkling. The second no-rain evening in a row. Arriving home, I disrobe and go to the bathroom, flicking on the light to discover I should have used the SPF 30 today.

Vallarta Day 12

I venture out of the rental around 10:00 AM and head directly to Dee’s. I feel like I’m starting to get a bit lazy, as I’m sleeping in later. All-day coffee intake is likely the culprit, as I got up 4 times to use the bathroom during the night – a personal record.

I can also feel myself getting antsy to return home. I try not to think about “real life” and enjoy my time away, but with each “real world” email I read I hunger for more news to consume. I begin reading my google feed reader to catch up on the news and checking Facebook for the latest happenings.

So here I sit, at Dee’s checking Facebook.

I pound out my shortest blog entry to date. I didn’t set out to write a shorter entry, it just turned out that way – perhaps, in part, because my days are becoming more uneventful as my trip winds down.

After Dee’s I make way for Acqua and get in my workout. Again there are a new few faces there, so I’m happy the business seems to be doing well. David is out of Bananas and makes a big deal out of needing to run to the market when I ask for a shake. I tell him it’s okay – I can get a shake elsewhere, but he runs out the door anyhow, exaggerating my request, as if I’m the neediest customer he’s ever had. Aaron and I discuss where to go for dinner and he quizzes me on what kind of food I like. My only request is that they have something healthy. He has to think about it and tells me he’ll email me later.

Heading home I run into Jerry on the street. He’s the one who stopped me on my first day in Vallarta, yelling out from across the street, “I like your shorts!” and then urging me to come over. As it turns out, he’s selling timeshares and the compliment was simply a ploy. I notice him today because he’s yelling across the street at somebody, “I like your hat! Where did you get it?” He’s a genius sales person – great initial hook with a bounding personality that’ll talk you into anything.

Though I see him several times a day, he seems to have given up on me. He’ll smile and wave, but he knows I’m not interested in what he’s selling. It almost seems like a game among the various storefronts this operation runs. If its a new guy working, or somebody I haven’t seen before, they try to grab my attention, but Jerry’s smarter than that and knows he can’t make a sale with me.

Seeing him pull the same trick on another guy with the compliment, using the exact words, the same facial expression, speaking at the same volume, with that same big ear-to-ear grin, ending with a the same question that forces the guy to give some sort of response. I stop and tell him, “You’re terrible! I thought you were genuinely complimenting me, and here you are using the same tricks on everyone who passes by!”

I say it all in a manner half joking, half serious, but from Jerry’s reaction, silence, I am worried that he thinks I am 100% serious.

I continue walking and think back to C, the guy in the AA meeting who talked about how he couldn’t be honest with himself and try to sell timeshares at the same time. How it’s all a racket. They’ll promise you the world but what you receive varies widely from your expectations. I think about what it must take for somebody to be in this line of work. Are they in denial themselves? Do they realize what they’re doing is ethically questionable? Or do they do it with the full knowledge of what’s going to happen to the people they successfully sell to?

Jerry tells me that he’s been in the business for 7 years and it’s been very good to him. Beyond his smiling face and bubbling personality, I wonder if he’s happy.

I stop by the laundry and pick up my clothes, neatly folded in a plastic bag and charged only half the cost as the previous provider on Gomez. Score!

At home I shower and check my email to find Aaron has set a time and place to meet – Cafe San Angel at 7:00. I take an hour siesta and then head out to meet up with him.

He is 10 – 15 minutes late. Normally I’d be offended, but I cut him some slack because this seems commonplace in Mexico. We have a coffee at the cafe, and set out on foot in the light rain to the Malecon (boardwalk), taking it north towards the town center. I’m ashamed that I haven’t come this far north during my entire stay thus far. It’s a beautiful walk and you get to see the city and the locals socializing and kids playing. I have grown too content in my little Amapas bubble.

Aaron points out a couple of restaurants and homes he’s designed. He’s apparently been very busy in his 2 and a half years in Vallarta.

We walk just past the Our Lady of Guadalupe Cathedral and the night is just turning a little dark – enough that the lit display inside the church glows. The open-air church is beautiful and an air of magic seems to surround it.

Just down the block we step into La Cigale Bistro where we’re immediately greeted by the proprietors, Catalina and Christophe. They are friends of Aaron and freely show their affection with smiles, kisses and hugs. Christophe is French, by way of New York City and Catalina is Panamanian.

The restaurant is in a two story building situated on a corner, with Christophe and Catalina residing in the apartment upstairs. The ceilings are roughly 12 feet, with tall, rather narrow windows. The floor is a beautiful tile. WIndows are open and a few ceiling fans enhance the crosswind coming through either side of the restaurant. There is a full bar with an large and elaborate brass light fixture. The kitchen is visible from the restaurant, though not in an intentional, presented format – just off to the side, towards the rear and visible. I find the restaurant beautiful, but Christophe tells us that he’s closing for the month of October to remodel.

Christophe pulls the slate chalkboard from the front door to show us the menu at our table. Aaron gets the French Onion Soup and Flank Steak with Bernaise sauce. I get the Warm Goat Cheese Salad and Tuna Steak. For dessert we split a traditional French item, though I forget it’s name – small baked items served with ice cream and mint leaves. It’s all wonderful, and the prices were so reasonable. The entire dinner came to only $50 with lemonade and then coffee with dessert.

Aaron told me a bit about himself, having gone to graduate school in Milan, he moved around a bit but settled back in Chihuahua, where he’s from. He and a partner owned a furniture factory where he designed many of the products produced. He tells me that he often designs furniture custom for each job he works on.

Three years ago he fell asleep at the wheel and woke up in the hospital 24 days later. He decided to slow down and try to appreciate life more, so he sold his share of the factory and his home, purchasing a home in Vallarta and moving his business here.

We talk a bit about how his experience with his accident mirrored my experience getting into recovery, as both took a significant event to create change in our lives, and both involve a sense of spirituality.

We walk back down the Malecon and take our separate ways home, happy to have gotten to know each other better.

Vallarta Day 11

I wake up around 10:00 and Jamie’s already got coffee made. The condo is beautiful. Part of a smaller complex of several buildings, he’s up off the ground about a half floor, looking out over the city from about 1/3 up the mountain. The street out front leads directly onto the pier on Los Muertos Beach, and one block down on Olas Altus there are plenty of cafes, shops and restaurants – it’s a great location. The unit was remodeled this past year with all the finest finishes and furniture. 2 bedrooms and 2 baths, I’d guess its about 1,000 sq ft in size. I could live here.

Jamie rambles off a number of places we could go to for breakfast. He settles on Daiquiri Dicks. The name makes it sound like some third-rate chain restaurant from the States, but I’m too hungry to come up with an alternative.

We walk the couple of blocks and are seated. We’re the only ones in the beachfront open-air restaurant. I’m actually surprised with the place. Instead of the laminated menu experience I was expecting, the server pulled out my chair and laid the cotton napkin on my lap, regaling us with the specials.

I ordered a breakfast burrito and it’s arguably the best I’ve ever had. Eggs with chorizo sausage, jalapeno bits and cilantro – hmmm, hmmm, good! Jamie ordered Chilaquiles that he was excited for, but was disappointed with the Daiquiri Dicks variety.

We split up from there and I head to Dee’s for my daily writing and better coffee. The traffic along Gomez leading to Amapas is backed-up, as it has a tendency to do, and brings out the Chicago in Vallarta as people begin to honk their horns incessantly until the single-lane, one-way traffic begins moving again. It’s unpleasant for those of us sitting outside at the local businesses, and it’s always a bit surprising to me as Vallarta is usually so laid back and slow-moving. But I’ll be damned – if one bread truck stops for a moment to unload a delivery, or a Taxi drops off some passengers at the San Marino Hotel, those horns start honking quickly! The problem is there’s no room to pull over and let traffic by. If you have to stop, you’re stopping everyone behind you. And sometimes that laid-back, slow-moving attitude can show up as inconsideration – for those who have to wait for you.

I head back to my place to prep for the gym. On the way I stop in at the grocer and pick up some bananas. I change clothes and gather my dirty laundry to drop off with the launders. I head out the door and make an initial stop in at the salon I visited when I first arrived in Vallarta. They were closed – it was Monday, after all. I head down to the launder’s place and they’re closed, too! I pout a bit to myself – ugh, now I need to carry this laundry back home.

There’s another salon next door to the launders, so I stop in there. They get me all trimmed up and they’re half the price as the other salon! I ask about the launders next door, wondering if maybe they’re just out to lunch, and they tell me they’re closed for the day, but there’s another place a block over. I head over to the other laundry place, a block closer to my rental, and find that they’re just as nice, and also half the price. This day is turning out well!

Arriving at the gym I find it a bit busy again today. I like that, as hopefully it means Aaron’s making some money and can sustain the business to keep it open. A couple of the construction guys are there finishing up the cabinetry work, and there are a handful of folks working out. David and Aaron greet me on my way back to the locker room. On my way back to the gym floor, Aaron stops me and asks me out to dinner before I leave town. He promises to show me another side of Vallarta. We agree tomorrow works well.

I tell him about the other Mexican architect I met on the beach – the hulking man with the tiny pink speedo inviting me to move to his house in Guadalajara. He vows to show me that not all architects are like that.

The workout is nice and David makes me a shake when I head out. For the life of me, I cannot get him to buy peanut butter for my shakes. I ask every day I’m there, and each time he tells me they’re out. It’s more of a joke now than a request – he’s clearly not going to be getting any peanut butter any time soon.

At home I shower and change and head out to the Alano Club. I pass the Coffee Cup and the cutie is working again, so I stop in. I tell him I forget his name and he reminds me it’s Angel. Embarrassingly, he remembers my name. As he makes me another protein shake I notice Facebook up on his laptop. I add myself as his friend and tell him that we’re “real amigos” now. He laughs and we joke around for a few minutes before I head to the meeting.

The meeting is okay, but I’m not feeling it today and leave at the half-point smoke break. I go home and settle in on the couch and flip on the tube. There are only a few English channels to choose from and I settle on some movie about the Emperor of China. While I never did figure out the name of the film, it seemed to be historically accurate and really interesting.

I’m in bed reading my book by 10:00 PM.

Vallarta Day 10

I decide to tough it out amongst the mosquitos at Coco’s as I just can’t resist her breakfast. It’s Sunday morning and in addition to the occasional occupied table of other singles and couples, there’s a large table occupied of 8 guys still out partying from the previous night – some of which I find quite attractive.

Just as my food is served, one of the boys comes and sits with me. His name is Oscar or Oliver, or some O name I can’t recall. Appears to be around 20. He is not one of the guys I find attractive.

Crossing his legs, he leans in closer to me and says in his Mexican-laced English, “Do you want me to feed you that omelette?”

“Are you kidding me?” I respond.

“No, it would make me very happy” with his best seductive smile.

“No gracias.”

I’ve got to wonder – has this guy been at it all night long? He still has energy for this at 8:30 in the morning? I hear a couple of his friends chuckling at his audacity from the next table as I eat the omelette. On my own.

“Where you from?” He inquires?

“Minnesota.”

“Minnesotttuuhhh, huh?” He’s clearly aware of the accent.

“Yes.”

“I’m from San Diego,” he reports in a flirtatious, yet somehow condescending tone – as if he’s from a better place.

“That’s nice. I’m going to eat my breakfast now. You can go.” I don’t want to be a part of this game.

“Are you asking me to leave?” Astonished I’d suggest it.

“Yes.”

“Okay, I just have to stay a little longer to make it look good to my friends.”

I continue eating.

“Are you sure you want me to leave?”

I swallow, and then, “Yes.”

“Okay, bye.” He finally leaves.

I finish my breakfast and ask for the bill. Before it comes, they all leave and pile into a Jeep, circus clown style. Considering most of the cars here are smaller than American cars, it’s amazing how many people they can cram into them.

The Jeep’s windows are rolled down as it drives up the hill. Oscar, or Oliver, or whatever his name is, hanging from the window and waving, “Bye, Dan!”

Dee’s is rather uneventful. I get my morning coffee and blogging in. It’s Sunday and the gym is closed, but that’s okay, because it’s sunny and beautiful out – perfect for the beach!

It’s only around 11:30 when I get to the beach – the earliest I’ve been down here. I find a palapa and hunker in. I order a mineral water and fruit plate, soaking up the sun on my front. My rear is a bit red after laying out the the day, so after I get warm on the front, I retreat to the cover of the palapa.

I’m reading a book on my iPad and catch a Jack Russell out of the corner of my eye. It’s Alfredo from the other day with Canica. We chat a bit and he sets up camp at the palapa next to mine. A few friends join him minutes later and I return to reading my book.

I see a large man walk onto the beach with a couple of companions and set his belongings down. He appears to be about 40 or 45 years old, and large – probably 6’4″, very tan, beefy and muscular, but with the tiniest little pink speedo you ever did see. It barely covers the anatomy not suited for public appearance. I chuckle to myself a bit – you just don’t see these types of scenes back in Minnesota.

He gazes around and his eyes catch mine. Shit, I look back to my book.

Please don’t come over here. Please don’t come over here.

I look up without looking up and see his feet approaching.

Damnit.

I look up and he greets me, asking about my iPad. This damned iPad has given more strangers permission to come up and talk to me! I knew I should have just gotten a standard net book.

“I’m Ricky” he says at he plops into the chair next to mine.

“Hi, Ricky – I’m Dan.” I try not to look very interested, because I’m not.

“Are you a top or a bottom?”

Good lord, I think – it’s just noon and already I’ve had two very forward Mexicans ask me inappropriate questions. I feel my head – double-checking I don’t have a sign stuck on me.

“That’s a personal question.” I say back to him, smiling a bit, as if he should know better.

“I don’t think it’s a personal question. Americans seem to think it’s a personal question, but I don’t.” he says matter-of-faculty, in his broken English.

I look back at my iPad, ignoring him.

“I have a bottle of tequila. Do you want some tequila?” He asks.

Not looking up, “I don’t drink.”

“Oh, that’s good – I don’t drink either,” he reports with some feigned relief.

“Then why do you have a bottle of tequila?!?!” I ask, this time looking up.

“Oh, well, I only drink on the weekends. And I need it for sex. I cannot have sex without tequila.” he says, as if what he’s just told me makes any sense.

My patience is wearing thin. “You only want sex,” I declare, making it clear that I’m not interested in sex with him.

“You think I only want sex. I do not only want sex.” He’s trying to backtrack and redeem himself a bit. “Do you know where Guadalajara is?”

“No.” My gaze returns to the eBook.

I wonder what this looks like to an outsider. Me, pale white, in my little skin-tight bathing suit and sunglasses, sitting next to this huge bulky man, tan, in his tiny little pink speedo. My body language displaying my displeasure, and his, showing his machoism, regardless of the speedo, confident in himself.

He continues narrating his story to me, “I am an architect in Guadalajara. I have only been living alone for two weeks. It’s the first time I’ve lived alone. My boyfriend kicked me out two weeks ago. Suspecting ahead of time, I prepared another house, where I now live alone.”

“You could come live with me there.” He states, posing a question.

“So you’re not only looking for sex, you want rebound sex, and you’re trying to ply me with tequila to get it.” I state my case.

“No gracias.” I declare judgement.

“Well then how about a visit? It’s not far and it’s a very beautiful place. You would like it very much. I am a wealthy man.”

I’ve had it at this point.

“No. I’m not interested. I’ve tried to be nice to you, but you continue. Leave. Go. Get away from me.”

He finally departs and I enjoy the rest of my time on the beach alone, with my book.

Later at home I shower and take a nap, getting up to head over to the Alano club. I stop by the Coffee Cup to get a protein shake, but their closed. DIsappointed I head across the street to the Cyber Smoothie internet cafe. Their product isn’t as good and I was looking forward to chatting with the cute guy at the Coffee Cup.

The guy working at the Cyber Smoothie cafe says he recognizes me from sitting at Dee’s. We chat for a bit. He seems nice enough, but his shake isn’t that great and he doesn’t have a lid, so I have to take extra care not to spill it on my way over to the Alano club.

En route to the Alano I run into Jose, the cute time-share salesman guy with the drinking problem. He smells a bit like booze, but reports to me that he’s “taken a step” and not drank for today. I’m not sure what he means in regards to the step, but I guess it’s just a translation blip in regards to the 12 steps. He goes on to tell me that he got in a fight at the bar the previous night. Some jealous boyfriend drama on the dance floor.

Thank god I’ve been given the blessing of not having to deal with that crap any more.

I continue onto the club. The NA meeting has a couple of the same folks, and a couple of people who weren’t there yesterday. One of the guys, a very nervous fellow with a severe speech impediment, shares. I’m guessing he is about 40 years old. He talks about how he was raped as a boy. As a result he became a mute, not speaking one word from the age of 4 to 19. Wow, I think, I’ve got a lot to be grateful for.

Carlos, the nearly 90 days clean guy, is there again. He’s got a lot of gratitude for being clean and good energy – I like him and he greets me again as if we’re old friends.

The meeting concludes and there is a 30 minutes break before the AA meeting starts. The crew starts to trickle in. I am getting a bit sleepy, but I promised Dudley that I would be in attendance for his 10 year sobriety anniversary. Besides, he’s bringing a carrot cake.

As it turns out, I’m not the only one determined to make this meeting, as the room quickly fills and Dudley’s cake proved much too small.

After the meeting I meet up with Jamie for dinner at La Palapa down on the beachfront. He gets the pork and I get a beat salad and the filet. Everything is delicious and the setting on the beach is unbeatable. A man performs in the bar, and I could swear Sting was with us – his voice was a perfect match. Undoubtedly aware of this, he sang a couple of Sting hits as well.

We head up to Cafe de Angels for dessert and to see Jamie’s “Boyfriend” – a guy who frequently sings and plays guitar at the cafe. This guy’s talent is truly amazing that it’s almost a shame he’s playing on a street-side cafe in Vallarta. We share a piece of the tre-leche cake. It’s very yummy.

The rain has created a river in the street by this time, coming down so hard that it actually penetrates my umbrella. I stay at Jamie’s place up the street and we watch reruns of Glee, finally falling asleep on Episode 4, featuring the football team performing Beyonce’s Should Have Put a Ring On It.

Vallarta Day 9

The garden at Coco’s harbors a lot of mosquitos and my legs can’t take many more bites, so I opt to go directly to Dee’s and order the breakfast bagel sandwich with egg, cheese and tomato. It’s okay, but Dee’s specialty is really in her drinks and desserts.

A man on the patio is chewing Dee’s ear off, but she’s a good listener. From the sounds of it, he owns a handful of restaurants and bars. He seems like an unhappy person – angry, blaming others for his problems, laughing at his own jokes. He’s funny enough at first – asking me about my iPad and the keyboard dock.

“Does it give blowjobs?” He asks.

“I haven’t found an app for that yet.”

“I don’t want one then,” taking a drag off his cigarette.

Charmed. I look away and continue typing.

One of the men who took my picture with my iPad yesterday, comes in today with a friend. He’s got his own iPad – I guess he was delighted with the keyboard.

I head to the gym. It’s Saturday and they operate on a reduced schedule from 8:00 – 4:00. David isn’t working, nor is Aaron around – just the non-English speaking lady who usually does the cleaning. She’s smiles at me, I at her. Surprisingly, a number of people come in – including three new people. I haven’t seen it this busy since I was here over New Years.

I head out and it is still cloudy from the overnight rain. A bummer, since I was hoping to go to the beach. Instead I head home and shower up. Maybe I can get a haircut or a massage.

I head down to the Choco Banana corner where Angel works. I met him on the beach on one of my first days. He’s a young kid who does massage. He gave me a bit of a taste on my shoulders and he’s got surprisingly strong hands, as well as gives strong hugs so I’ve been on the lookout for him, but it seems my schedule doesn’t coincide with his.

My previous attempts at massage in Vallarta over New Years was less than pleasant. One guy wanted to get in my pants and the other guy wouldn’t push hard enough, even after several pleadings of “Mas pressure, por favor.”

Perhaps the sky was cloudy for a reason, because as luck should have it, Angel was working and available. He took me over two blocks and up one. I was under the assumption his place of business was right next to Choco Banana, but it’s not – that’s just where they market themselves for better visibility.

I’m a little leery of the business. It seems there are 7 or 8 staff milling about the spa and I see no other customers. And while Angel seems like a sweet guy, I can’t help but wonder if his name is made up. Is it normal for people in Mexico to name their children Angel?

Angel leads me to an air-conditioned room in the rear of the building and instructs me to disrobe and lay over the table on my stomach. He leaves and I place my clothes on a small rack in the corner and hop on the table. I stare down through the face-rest and think I should have placed my clothes (with wallet inside) where I could see them. Then it occurs to me that I can always hear if somebody enters the room, so I’ll be fine. Then I start to think – what if they have a secret door?

I am a sick one …

Angel returns and starts off with some aromatherapy I’ve never experienced before. It’s quite nice and opens up my sinuses it a refreshing way. I enjoy the massage and my fears were unfounded. Nothing went missing and Angel was completely professional – though he did end the session with a little kiss on my forehead. I can’t imagine that was in the training, but this is Mexico.

I get dressed, pay, tip Angel, and head out. I haven’t eaten since before the gym and I’m starving. Walking down the block I notice an army of ants – quite literally an army. There are thousands of them, marching up and down the block on the corner of the sidewalk. Walking in one direction they are empty-handed, but in the other direction, they all have fragments of leaves on their back. Aside from a PBS special or National Geographic, I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Near the end of the block I see a pile of sand and a hole dug into a retaining wall. There’s a bit of a traffic jam at the entrance, but still things appear to be working in an orderly fashion. Images of the PC game, Lemmings appear in my head and I wonder, do these ants perform all this work based on instinct? Instruction? Are they trained? How do they know how to go all the way up the block and return with the leaf fragments?

I head over to The Coffee Cup. They’re up the block from Dee’s and make smoothies and protein shakes as well as espresso drinks. They’re never as busy as Dee’s. I think the lack of a patio has something to do with it, but Dee’s charm and menu probably keeps people on her end of the block.

The guy working behind the counter was here the other day when I stopped in. I forget his name, but he’s a cute little guy fond of smiling and always flirting a bit. He speaks well enough English and we get to chatting a bit. He tells me he lives about 10 minutes north of here – too many temptations to party all of the time here. He doesn’t drink and likes to go to the gym. And he’s a sweetie. I like this one! Turns out he’s 30 years old, but looks like he’s 19. Not really my type, but he’s a doll. I’ll stop back again.

I peruse a couple of shops but don’t find anything I like. I stop in at home to pick up my backpack, iPad and umbrella in tow and head to the Alano club. I’ve been hitting up the AA meetings at 6:30 regularly, but Robert had shared that he also goes to the NA meetings at 5:00 and they’re sorely lacking much long-term clean time, so I decide to stop in.

Sam is the trusted servant and is a familiar face from one of the AA meetings. In total there are only 6 or 7 people in the meeting. Sam announces that Saturdays are supposed to be reserved for a speaker, but being unable to find one, he reads the day’s reading from Just For Today instead.

The reading is about masks – a common topic in rehab, and also a good topic for newcomers in the meetings. After the reading, Sam opens the floor for comments on the topic or anything else pertaining to NA.

After a few moments of silence, I introduce myself, “Dan, addict.”

“Hi, Dan.”

I identified with the reading, as I found myself always wearing masks prior to entering recovery. Though I can still revert to a mask, I try to be true to myself without them. I talk about how prior to recovery, I would often play the jokester, or the token gay guy. For years I was “Sparkles” in the office and afterwards at the bars. I went so far as to get personalized plates on my car with the name and played the part at every opportunity. Many people in the industry knew me only as Sparkles, without knowing my real name.

Sparkles was both convenient and damaging for me. He allowed me to put up a false front that people might enjoy, at least for a bit. I could crack jokes and make people laugh. I thought I made friends and contacts, but the truth is I was usually drunk and remember only a handful of folks. To this day somebody will call out “Sparkles” to me, and I will have to search through my memory for any trace of who the person might be.

But Sparkles was also a defense. He held people at bay. Sparkles was only so deep, and once you hit that depth, the personality went no further. People didn’t get to know the real me because I wouldn’t let them. This was out of fear that if you got to know the real me, you wouldn’t like me. This was rooted in a couple of things – I didn’t really know who I was, and I didn’t like me, so why would you?

As I said, Sparkles was both convenient, but damaging, in that it let me continue to put on the charade – never requiring me to figure out just who I was.

Others shared. Some said they still didn’t know who they were, some still wore masks. Some were just trying to stay clean for 24 hours.

I chatted with Carlos, a local English-as-a-Second-Language guy. Some of the local Mexicans come to the English-speaking club like Carlos. Some to improve their English, some because that’s where they found recovery, and some because they think it’s safer than going to the Mexican meetings.

I’m not sure why Carlos was there, but he has nearly 90 days. This is his first time at the rodeo and hasn’t relapsed. He’s about 28 and was recently deported from the states, where he was arrested for transporting drugs. He has a kid there, but the authorities told him he has to stay out of the country for 5 years, after which he can reapply if he likes. He told me that he’s met the most wonderful people in NA and has begun working the steps with a sponsor. He tells me he lives an hour north of the city and rides a bus here most days. That’s dedication!

Another man, Reggie, came in late and is clearly the happiest person in the room! He’s got over a year clean and is grateful with a capital G! He’s an energetic guy in middle age and has an uncanny ability to pull appropriate lyrics out of pop songs that fit within a conversation. He’s really quite a talent!

I decide to stick around for the AA meeting that begins shortly. It’s a speaker meeting and Dale, the trusted servant, has asked Jim, a visitor from San Antonio, share his experience, strength and hope. I’ve seen Jim in a couple of the meetings but I’ve never heard him talk. He appears to be in his 50s and walks very slowly. I do not have high hopes for his story.

But again, I am a poor judge of character. Jim’s share in really quite remarkable. He has just celebrated 30 years of sobriety and has lived a full life. He’s a little slow these days as a result of a couple of strokes, but he’s still very sharp. He tells us how he was born into a family of four brothers. His mother warned them at an early age that all of the men in her family died of alcoholism, and that they must be careful. Jim and two of his three brothers went on to earn Ph.D.s and of course none of the brothers heeded her warning. Jim’s three brothers went on to die of alcoholism, but Jim was blessed with finding recovery at a relatively young age.

He was working in academia at a university in the middle of Silicon Valley. When he finally did venture into a meeting, he was expecting to find homeless bums from the street. Instead he found a room full of successful people, starting computer companies out of their garages, Fortune 500 company CEOs and executives, and professors at his own university.

He talked about “misunderstanding the assignment” that first night and ended up getting a sponsor and going to his house right off the bat to begin reading the big book – all in one night!

Arriving at his new sponsor’s house he was impressed by the home’s size and the gated community it was located within. He was curious, “What do you do?”

“None of your business,” responded the sponsor.

“Oh, well, ummm ….”

“People will find anything they can to differentiate themselves from others in AA, when the important thing is that we help the newcomer identify. We focus on the solution to alcoholism in AA and one’s occupation has nothing to do with that. From now on, you don’t tell anyone in AA what you do.”

And Jim reports that from that time he never did tell people what he did at meetings. I got the feeling he had many friends who knew his business, but he never discussed his work at a meeting. What a great idea, I thought!

He went on with his story, telling us that he eventually left academia and started his own company, which had him traveling and living in foreign countries. He has attended meetings all over and has found comfort in the rooms wherever he is. He eventually sold his company and “retired” back to academia, where he teaches at a University in a Texas border town.

He told a fabulous story, and I need to learn not to be so quick to judge.

I opted to eat alone and skipped fellowship with the meeting. I had a sandwich at a small cafe and went over to A Page in The Sun cafe for a little dessert.

The prostitute from the bushes yesterday was perched on the steps to my building upon my return.

“You wanna massage?”

“No gracias.”

To which he pouted, “Why nooooot?”

I feel sorry for the man, but chuckle to myself a bit, as I’ve never heard a prostitute whine like that.

I ended the night in bed, reading an ebook and listening to the rain pour down outside.

Vallarta Day 8

Coco’s kitchen for the Vallarta Omelette, filled with avocado, topped with avocado. You can not take a bite of this meal without an avocado touching your lips. I love it. I prepared today, wearing my gym clothes to breakfast, with a beach towel in my bag. My everyday life here in Vallarta is becoming more efficient.

I’ve heard that Vallarta is slow-paced from the locals, so it’s not just my observation. People walk slower on the sidewalk. They drive slower. They talk slower. They eat slower. They prepare coffee slower. They build buildings slower. The bus comes when its good and ready. They take their time. One of the old-timers at the meeting tells me that this is part of the heritage of the town as a fishing port – as if waiting all day for a bite on your line has trickled down into the everyday culture of Vallarta. I don’t know if I buy it, but I suppose it’s plausible.

In any event, I’m fearful all of this slowness is rubbing off on me! My sponsor would say it’s a good thing – I need to slow down. When I was in Guatemala I noticed how Josh slowly made his way through town, showing patience and taking the time to speak with everyone. I struggle with that. While I love the guys at the Alano club, it often takes them 15 minutes after the meeting to decide on a venue. 15 minutes to walk there. 15 minutes to decide on and place their order. 15 minutes to divvy up the bill. 15 minutes to tell a story. 15 minutes to say our goodbyes.

That’s a lot of 15 minutes! I want to get moving onto the next thing and experience more life. Sometimes I express my anxiousness after withholding it for a period of time. The night draws to a close and I can feel myself getting more anxious as the time for departure comes. My hurriedness is perceived as rudeness, and that’s exactly what it is. Last night I tried to enter dinner with no expectations. I stayed afterwards to enjoy a little conversation and though I left before most of the others, I didn’t rush off after tossing extra pesos at the bill.

At Dee’s I order my usual Grande Americano and hammer out my writing. Coco, the stray dog about town, is sprawled out in the middle of the patio – forcing those entering or exiting Dee’s to step over her.

It’s funny how everybody in town knows this dog. I don’t know how he got his name; there’s no relation to Coco’s Kitchen that I’m aware of. He’s well-behaved and doesn’t beg for food, though everybody knows that’s what he’s looking for. He’s sufficiently plump, but I can’t tell if it’s a healthy plumpness, or maybe something akin to the swelled bellies you see on a Sally Struthers “Save the Children” TV spot. He never barks and other dogs are generally friendly with him – it’s just a shame that he has no home. The ladies at Dee’s will occasionally shoo him away if they think he’s bothering anyone, but he’ll sneak back in when they’re not looking.

A man walks by Dee’s and is staring at me as he continues down the sidewalk out of view. A few moments later he returns, his upright iPhone in hand; camera pointed my way. This is at least the second time this week that I’ve been photographed with my iPad. They’re just being released in Mexico, and other places around the world, today. People are enamored with it. One of the regulars at Dee’s suggests I offer photos for pesos.

At the gym there’s a crew installing another glass wall – this one with a couple of doors in it, on the other side of the juice bar. I suspect it’s going up to try to keep the loud dance music from penetrating into the massage rooms in the rear of the building. I don’t imagine a deep tissue massage to the sound of a remixed Lady GaGa single would be all that serenity-inducing.

From the gym I head to the beach. It’s still early in the afternoon – probably 2:00, and the sun is shining brightly. I find a little palapa for myself in the green chairs area of the beach and order a mineral water. The onslaught of beach vendors begins. Men and women. Most in white, and most with a hand towel laying over their shoulder to wipe the perspiration from their brow. It’s then that I notice many of them actually have some sort of license hanging from their bodies on a lanyard. I observe that the female vendors often sell jewelry or other hand-crafted items. If you decline them they go away. The men, however, try to sell you on the average tourist junk – the same t-shirts or blankets you find in umpteen shops up and down the beach. The exception are the henna tattoos. Many of the men, however, I’m convinced simply offer their wares as a front to offer you marijuana instead. When you tell them no, half of them are astonished that you say no. I can’t tell if their feigning the surprise, or if they’re truly taken aback when somebody turns them down. It must be an act, as they are almost always turned away.

I pull the beach towel from my bag, unfolding it to discover it’s the size of a bedspread suitable for a Queen. I didn’t think they made them this size – no wonder my bag was busting at the seems! Settling into my spot on the towel I close my eyes, roping my arm through my backpack strap and placing my sandals and sunglasses on top of it. If I fall asleep and somebody tries to take off with my bag, I’ll at least be alerted, if not able to get up and give chase.

An unknown amount of time later, I’m startled awake by the sound of a father and son mariachi band playing a guitar and a GIANT harp – right above my head, with the high-pitched yeeeaaaahhhhhhaaaaaaa drawled out with a rolling R at the onset of their song. They’re wearing bright aqua colored shirts with black cowboy hats and scarves tied in a feminine manner around their necks.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask aloud, though nobody can hear me over their music.

Only in Mexico.

I pack up my things and head up the hill towards home in my little speedo. For the second time this week there’s a man waiting, literally – in the bushes, at the top of the hill offering me a massage.

No gracias.

I get in the door and warm up the shower – this time trying the cold water knob for the heck of it. I hop in five minutes later and it’s scolding hot. Seriously!

I’ve been suffering through a week of cold showers because I’ve been turning the wrong knob? I should have figured this out sooner.

The Alano club is its usual self today, though there’s a new face in the meeting, C. The topic for the evening is picked out of Volume 2 of the Grapevine – a monthly periodical published with people’s written stories of recovery. This particular story is written by a woman who stops going to meetings and all of the reasons she finds not to attend.

It proves to be a bit of a controversial subject. After all, the topic of “not going to meetings” doesn’t often come up at a meeting, though as Art points out later, it’s obviously a subject people think about at some point or another because a large number of people who start coming to meetings stop coming at some time.

The shares are really heartfelt. I talk about how I’ve always gone to meetings since beginning my recovery – I don’t know how else to recover. At first I came to meetings to learn how to stay sober, but my reasons have changed over time. It’s still about learning, but meeting attendance has become more of a social thing and an opportunity to pass along what I’ve learned to newcomers.

I also talk about my feeling of gratitude for the gifts my sobriety has given me, and how I don’t want to let those blessings keep me from the rooms.

C, the guy I hadn’t recognized, shares about his recent relapse. About how he seems to have a cycle where he comes to meetings for a while, after which his life seems to get better. Once things are smoother he figures that he doesn’t need meetings anymore so he begins to stop going as frequently until they slip off the radar completely. Then his cycle of destruction begins again.

C also talks about how he’s come to realize that honesty is important to his recovery.

NA and AA refer to three spiritual principals one must be open to: honesty, open-mindendness and willingness. “With these, we are well on our way …”

C had been attending meetings and his life was getting better until he got into selling timeshares. He learned there that he had to slant the truth, skirt around it, or omit pieces of it, in order to sell timeshares. It reached a point where he was no longer being honest with himself or his clients, and it ate him up inside, leading him to drink. It was a good share.

Afterwards eight of us went to dinner – Art, Bob, Brooke, Dudley, Bill, Robert, Joe and myself. We hiked over to Cafe Bohemia in my neighborhood at Art’s suggestion. The sky was a bit cloudy, but there had been no rain yet in the day. Bob suggested we sit outside, away from the covered patio. At first I objected, but decided to let it go and try not to control the situation.

I ordered another steak. A few ordered the special – parmesan chicken. Art and Bob both liked the cafe, as it was family run and they offered good food at good prices. I was unimpressed, though. My steak was grisly and tough and my baked potato was small and covered with a layer of butter and cheese so thick you couldn’t separate any nutritional material from the bad.

Halfway through dinner, the rain came. Hard. We had to move our tables indoors. I was grumpy about it, but I got over it and didn’t utter one, “I told you so,” though I was certainly thinking it. Before long we were sitting under the awning, but the ground was quickly flooding – a river threatening to take your flip-flops from you as you ate. It was kind of comical. I stuck around for a while after the bill was paid and enjoyed the conversation with the old-timers and newcomers alike.

Heading home the rain was really coming down. At some points I thought it was actually coming through my umbrella, but I couldn’t tell. My shorts were soaked and my flip-flops slippery – squeaking with each step. I arrived at the bottom of the staircase leading up to my building to find a waterfall rushing towards me. Each step another step in the fall, creating white-capped waves lurching out at you every 8 inches up. I mounted the first couple of flights, but then departed for an internal staircase for the remainder of the ascent.

I fell asleep from the safety of a tall bed, the rain coming down in sheets outside.

Vallarta Day 7

Thursday here is nice and low-key for me.

Coco’s Kitchen is open for breakfast again – thank gawd! I decide to switch it up a bit and order the Greek omelette instead of the Vallarta variety. It was a mistake – I like the Vallarta better.

Coffee and blogging at Dee’s is next. I get a piece of chocolate cake, but it’s been in the display case a bit too long and it’s sort of dry. Serves me right for having a piece of chocolate cake as a mid-day snack!

I pick up my laundry down the block and fork over $120 pesos. $10 is not so bad, I suppose – everything is folded precisely and smells nice and clean. Much better than the laundry in Guatemala, where there were fabric fibers of every color all over everything, the clothes were still a bit damp, folded half-hazzardly and tossed into a tote. Of course, they charged roughly half.

I drop my laundry off at home and find the cleaning lady there changing the sheets and disinfecting everything. Despite my efforts to communicate that she take the tip I left for her during the last visits, it was still there when I came home. This time I put the money into her hand and she thanked me.

Acqua is next. The manager, David, and Aaron, the new owner, were both there. After my workout we chat for a bit. David is curious about one of my fancy exercises Kyle at the Firm has me do. I am flattered that he’s interested and I demonstrate it for him. David makes me a protein shake from their decreasing fruit supply, leaving me little options and I complain, “go shopping!” My gym at home charges all purchases to my account, so when I order them here, I forget to pay every time and David jokingly makes fun of me for trying to run off without paying – which, from his point of view, is exactly what I’m doing.

Walking towards the beach I pass the “Bon Dom” guy and I’m surprised that he remembers the reference considering how drunk he appeared yesterday. “Hey, Bon Dom – you wanna tour?”

“No gracias.”

I walk up and down the beach a bit, sipping on my protein shake. Waving off the regular beach vendors selling wooden carvings, children’s toys, sarongs, hats, sunglasses, t-shirts, and hits off a pipe, I’m cornered by a guy who really wants to give me a massage. I’ve actually been trying to track down a guy I met the other night who does them, but he’s been unavailable – apparently he’s really good. So when this guy asks me, I sort of second guess myself. He immediately picks up on it and starts giving me a sample. I get a bit creeped out and continue down the beach, “No gracias.”

Returning home I’m greeted with a fresh-smelling apartment and a newly-made bed. The cold showers are getting a bit old, but given the heat and humidity, the cold water is almost a bit refreshing.

I nap and wake in time for the 6:30 AA meeting and head over to the Alano club. The usuals are all there. I meet another gay man named Dudley. He tells me he saw me at the coffee shop the other day and invites me to the meeting on Sunday, when they’ll be celebrating his anniversary. Here they often celebrate with chocolate cake, so I oblige

A man I’ve seen at the meetings since I’ve been in town, Robert, shares about how he’s been attending at least three meetings a day for the last 30 days and continues to relapse. He drank last night and is at a loss of what to do.

I intend to ask him to join us for dinner, but he’s surrounded by others before I can get a chance. These are good AAers.

Myself, Art, the 40 year sobriety guy, and Tommy, the med student, head over to Joe Jack’s Fish Shack for dinner. I’ve passed the place a few times, but never stopped. Art tells us that they have a great fish and chips entree, but he comes for the steak.

We’re seated on the rooftop terrace in the corner table, giving a slightly elevated view of the neighborhood. I observe the nearby buildings. Some vacant, some missing walls, some walls in disrepair, some holes in roofs, others with rusted corrugated steel roofs, some with the Spanish tile roofs, open-air rooms, lots of little balconies. I ask Art what the black tanks are that I see atop many of the buildings. He’s unsure and makes a crack about not being an engineer. They’re either water or gas, he guesses.

Art begins to tell me about how the locals get natural gas, but I’ve seen it – large trucks with industrial-sized gas tanks come up the street, with a worker yelling, “GAS!!!!” and you have to wave them over. They have a large cherry-picker type of platform with a hose attached with which they’ll fill your tank.

We all order the steak. I’m a bit leery of the smashed-like steaks with grisly meat I’ve experienced in Vallarta before, but Art assures me that this is a thick, tender piece of meat – for only $150 pesos, to boot. It arrives with a side of fried potatoes and it’s MARVELOUS. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been so long without a steak or if it’s actually that good, but either way – we all agree, it’s spectacular.

I head home and stop in at Apache’s, a local gay bar and restaurant on Los Altus. Both of the regular patio-servers there have been flirting with me for days so I decide to to get a nightcap coffee and see what they have for dessert. I’m delighted with a fruit and ice cream bowl drizzled with caramel and chocolate, topped with whipped cream. It’s a pleasant ending to a nice day.

WIthin moments I’m surrounded by a fresh crowd of people on the patio. All gringos. All drunk. A couple of old ladies with a gaggle of middle-aged gays. One of the old ladies reminds me a lot of Joan Rivers – she’s got that raspy voice with the plastic surgery, make-up and quick wit.

Somebody orders shots for the entire patio and when I decline, they start getting on my case. I finally tell them I don’t drink, but they assure me its only got a little bit of alcohol – a “light shot”, they call it. Riiiiiight, I think. I leave some cash on the table and make haste for the street.

I arrive home just in time, as it starts raining outside – the perfect sleeping weather.

Vallarta Day 6

Got up around my Vallarta-usual 8:30 and head over to Coco’s for breakfast to find they are closed on Wednesdays. I’ve grown accustomed to spoiling myself in the mornings at Coco’s with her Vallarta omelette and have a mini hissyfit before heading down the block to Choco Banana to get Marcello’s inferior dish. He’s a great guy, but he just can’t compete on a quality level with Coco.

Sitting at Coco’s, Aaron, the new owner at the Acqua gym walks by. He introduces himself. We met on the beach a day or so ago, but I haven’t made the connection to Acqua until now. I ask him if he lives in the neighborhood, but he’s just here working on a construction project. Turns out he’s an architect. (I’ve now met two architects in Vallarta in 4 days!) He wants to make sure I’m happy with the gym. I tell him it’s great – I like a smaller gym and David remembered me after I visited over New Years for a few days. He also like’s David, saying he loves to work with him and citing his humility. The humility word sets off an alarm in my head and think Aaron must have some level of spirituality in his life – others don’t tend to notice that quality.

Dee’s is up next. I answer some emails and do my blogging. It seems that each additional day I’m here, I get more and more questions about my iPad. They’re not available here yet, so people are either curious about what it is, or they’re gringos wondering about getting one or opting for a more traditional netbook or small laptop. While the iPad is a nice toy, in retrospect, I think I would have been happier with a traditional netbook – and much happier with a MacBook Air, but that would have been much more money.

Pepé, the ass and pec implant “masseuse” is arguing with somebody across the street, yelling curses back and forth in Spanish as they both walk in separate directions. Perhaps a massage went bad?

Jamie and I had discussed going to Golds Gym today, but sadly I’m out of gym shorts and need to have some laundry done. After finishing up at Dee’s I check out the laundry shop down the block and see that they’ve expanded since I remember them from my New Year’s trip 7 months ago. At that time I remember them operating with only one washer and dryer and it appears now they’ve got three of each!

I feel as if I’m writing about the same neighborhood over and over again and I should be exploring the city, but I’m so content here next to the beach in the old town. I’ve heard Yelapa, a beach south of here, accessed only by boat, is fabulous. The botanical gardens a short bus ride south of here is also supposed to be very nice, and especially lush during the rainy season. I might make a trip out there with some of the AA folks. In the meantime, this small little area is my home.

I pack up my dirty laundry back at home and head back to the launderer. They perform the full service wash, dry and fold for very cheap. I’ll get the bill today, but I don’t anticipate it’ll be much more than if I were using coin-operated machines back in the States.

After three weeks in Guatemala and now Puerto Vallarta, both in their rainy season, I decide it’s time to buy an umbrella. I’d been making due with a raincoat, but the downpours we’ve been experiencing in Vallarta have penetrated my raincoat and make getting anywhere after around 6:00 or 7:00 nearly impossible. Art from the AA meetings recommended checking at Freddy’s Farmacia on Olas Atlus, so I stop in there and find a small travel-sized one for $160 pesos.

Continuing down Olas Atlus, I stop into a beachwear shop and find some shorts I wouldn’t be embarrassed wearing and seem suitable for the gym. They’re marked at $395 pesos, working to roughly $30, which I think is expensive. The man assures me the shorts are made of the highest quality materials and will complement my shape nicely. I can tell they’re the same clothes on the rack at Walmart, look at him and say “$395 is too much.”

“$350.” he offers, sighing, as if I’m stealing his children’s Christmas presents out from under the tree.

“Fine” and I head to Acqua.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of doing this with Jamie and Gold’s, but my gym habits here are hard to break!

It’s getting a bit cloudy after the gym, and it’d surely be a waste of effort to attempt any beach time today, so I decide just to walk up and down the Malceon a bit before heading home.

I’m still showering without hot water, even though Alicia, the front-desk lady, assures me the maintenance man has double-checked all of the plumbing. In some respects its a bit refreshing, considering the weather outside is much like the inside of a steam room.

After a shower and a siesta, I head out for the Alano club, where I’m to share my story at tonight’s 6:30 meeting. En route I pass a man selling time-shares and booking tours who appears a bit drunk. These guys will often say anything to grab your attention and start a conversation. He turns around from taking a swig of something and says to me, pointing, barely able to hold his finger up in my direction and says, “Bon Dom. You look jus like Bon Dom.”

I realize he’s referring to Jean Claude Van Damme, and though I have been hitting the gym, this man is clearly not seeing straight. I’m flattered by the compliment and continue my walk up Basila Badio.

Art, Bob, Bill, the three local gay old-timers are at the Alano club. Brooke, also visiting from Minneapolis, is in attendance. There are some other local regulars I recognize, including Rodrigo – a guy who just celebrated 90 days after coming back from another relapse.

After the initial AA Preamble and How It Works readings, Bob, the evening’s trusted servant introduces me and I’m invited to the front of the room to speak. I’m delighted that this evening the room seems a bit cooler than the norm – an intolerable humidity level with a couple of unbalanced fans knocking back and forth hanging from the ceiling and producing no noticeable benefit.

I introduce myself and let them know that I’ve been sober for 6 years. I talk about being gay, but not to set me apart, but rather convey a question I’ve always had about feeling different. Most of the AA stories I’ve heard begin with people growing up and always feeling different than others. That’s also the case with my story, but I never knew if it was as a result of being gay, or being an alcoholic. I used to assume it was because I was gay, but the more stories I hear, the more I think I should attribute to the alcoholic part.

I talk about my childhood experience and how fear ruled my life. Fear of being found out (gay), fear of being left out or behind, fear of not being liked, fear of not achieving, fear of failure, fear of consequences, fear of people, fear of speaking in front of groups, fear of being judged, and on and on and on.

I explain that when I first began drinking in college at 18, alcohol released me from those feelings of fear. I wasn’t afraid of anything while I was drinking. I felt comfortable in my own skin. It gave me something I’d never felt before – freedom to be myself, or what I thought was myself. Over time the alcohol became something I depended on to feel good. I wasn’t having fun unless I was drinking. Work and drinking became my life, and work was only a part of the mix to support my drinking. I had become a different person and he wasn’t pretty.

I talk about what happened, how I trashed my boss’ office as a part of a dare to pull a prank on him. How I realized what I had done, came to some hard decisions about myself, and went into treatment – which did a couple of things for me. It gave me a dose of reality, helped me identify within a community and most importantly, introduced me to AA and the 12 steps, which is where my recovery began to take shape and transform my life.

I continue with talk about what my life is like today, operating two sober houses and being given opportunities left and right to be of service to the newcomer. I tell them how gratitude plays a large part in my life today and how the many blessings that I’ve been given to don’t go unnoticed.

There is a 10 minute break after my story and the remainder of the meeting people gave me feedback and told me how they identified with what I talked about. Everyone is very appreciative and kind. Its a nice experience overall. While I had some initial nervousness, it quickly subsided and my babbling took on a mind of its own.

After the meeting, Art, Bob, Brooke and myself head to The Swedes for dinner. It’s over in my neighborhood, a block from Dee’s and just up the block from Coco’s Kitchen. A gay couple from Sweden started the restaurant after one of them lost their job in the recession a year ago. The restaurant is beautiful, perched atop a hill with a fantastic view down Olas Altus in one direction, and the neighborhood and ocean in another.

Richard, one of the couple, chats us up for a bit. His accent is classic Scandinavian and I’ve got to believe that this is the root of the Minnesota accent.

Tommy, another guy in attendance at the meeting, joins is a few minutes later. Four of us order the Swedish Meatballs, while Tommy opts for a burger. I find it somewhat comical that I’m getting Swedish Meatballs in Mexico – a dish that’s hard to find in Minnesota, let alone south of the border. All of our dishes are wonderful, and the meatballs are quite good – right up there with my Finish grandmother’s variety!

The Swedes' Swedish Meatballs in Puerto Vallarta

Tommy tells us about his travel plans. He’s finished his first year in medical school at USC Irvine and will be spending a month just north of the Guatemalan border, in the south of Mexico, working on a public health project. He is unsure if he’s traveling to Mexico City or not, after spending time in Mazetlan and here in Vallarta. It seems the girl he went to Mazetlan to spend time with neglected to tell him she had a boyfriend, necessitating his rapid departure from there. The Mexico City stop is also in question, as the girl he’s to see there is also taken.

I realize that girl problems affect Southern California AAers just as much as they do Minnesotans.

Art and Bob tell stories of their past in DC. In a somewhat comical fashion, they compete for the floor. They’re both big talkers – telling long stories, and what I would consider “Hostage takers”. If one is wrapping up a story, the other is ready to pounce on the open spot in the conversation to tell their own story. I’ve only known them for five days and I’ve already started to hear some of the stories over again – I’ve got to believe they have more than 5 days worth.

Andrew, the Dark Room guy in San Marcos, and also a hostage taker, used to joke that he only had 25 things to talk about. He would cycle through them, and once he finished with the 25th topic, he’d return to number 1. Part of the joke was that people were so transient in San Marcos, so most people never heard the same story twice, but those who befriended Andrew and spent any considerable time there were susceptible to hearing the same stories more than once.

After a chocolate cake dessert and a cafe, I head home. The rain pouring by this time, I am grateful I’ve finally purchased an umbrella.