When I Was Young and My Heart Was an Open Book....

My Friend Dan has talked a couple of times as of late that he has had these dreams where he finds true love only to wake up to find the cold blue light of dawn and an empty space beside him. I tend to keep quiet on the subject myself, preferring the house of smoke and mirrors I choose to live in. But he is right, there are those of us who have those dreams. Pretty honest statement for me.

I think it would be fascinating to have a group discussion with people who live their adult lives essentially single. I would bet that there are more excuses than names in a phone book. We are all hiding behind something, or leaning on some pathetic crutch. I don't trust anyone. I don't want to be hurt again. I don't have a good enough job. I don't like my living situation. She/he is just not the same as so and so, and on and on and on.

Yet we all crave it. It is living there in our subconscious. Sometimes like an unwelcome guest that has shown up for dinner it reminds us of what we don't have and what we have lost. Other times it comforts us in moments of need. One of my favorite Annie Lennox lyrics is "Love love love is a dangerous drug....you have to receive it and still can't get enough of the stuff."

It was funny for me growing up. Our house was not one where love was invited to live. It actually became a very foreign concept for me as I got older, and is something that I have struggled with for years. Miley has asked me a few times before if I loved Lisa when we were together. An honest answer is yes, but it has an asterisk beside it like some personal record that is not supposed to be recognized. I loved her without realizing what love actually was. I was just some stupid 20 year old kid, no matter how open my thoughts, how inquisitive my nature, I could not wrap my head around what love actually was.

I did find it years later, it was like walking into a hurricane. The butterflies in my stomach, the sleepless nights, the racing heart. The inability to even finish a sentence because I was....well, gushing. I could soar, I could sing, I could move mountains, I could achieve anything....and then it was gone. I didn't know how all of these things could be turned off with the ease of a light switch. How could this feeling be taken away from me? This isn't fair!! This isn't what I deserve!! What did I do?? How do I get it back?? Please don't leave me....but just as the switch takes the light from the room, so did the light leave my life. It suddenly felt like everyday had hundreds of hours, the butterflies in my stomach had turned into this nauseous knot of desperate pain and failure to understand. I couldn't eat, I couldn't leave bed. I didn't care to see the sun, even a bird sitting on my windowsill would fill me with anguish. I walked around lost for months, it was as if I could no longer see in colour. For the only time in my life, I couldn't even find solace in music. It was as if I was robbed of all that was me. Love to me now equated emotional hi-jacking.

It took months, but I eventually emerged from the fog. It was more of a chrysalis moment of my life, for I was forever changed. I had walls now, my skin was like steel. And my heart that had been racing months earlier was now more of a metronome. I had become cold and mechanical. I might as well have worn a sign around my neck that said "sorry, we're closed". I went to a place where no one was allowed in. And there I stayed for many years, crossing days off the calendar as if I was somehow imprisoned. In hindsight, I was.

I have obviously stumbled onto a subject I could write about for hours, but that was not my intent. I have found myself, and I have healed as we all can. I don't throw around the L word, and even point out to people a lot of the time that it is a very big word and they better know how to use it. Love is a very powerful thing, stronger than the oceans or the winds. It can't be tamed, we have to learn to deal with it as it is. Now that I've typed that I realize that love is accepting somebody for who they are. Taking that free fall and letting the love and warmth that they have ignite our soul. I'm sorry, I'm actually laughing out loud at the irony of those last couple of sentences. Inside joke I guess.

So I will get out of here before this becomes a 5 pager. But all of you dreamers out there, never surrender. One day you will wake up and that spot won't be empty. Hopefully before the metronome stops.

Under the Weather

I'll be posting soon, the Toronto trip has left me tuckered and sick as a dog, not that i've ever really seen a sick dog. The sun is out and soon I'll return to my happy ways. I threw in a song that always picks me up, directed by Spike Jonze no less.

Nothing In the World is More Dangerous Than a Sincere Ignorance and Conscientious Stupidity

I really wish I had the time to fully expose the happenings of my weekend, but alas, I am packing for a trip to Toronto tomorrow. It is a shame than my moment of content was so brief (I'm kidding, I'm still content just mildly ticked).

It was a weekend where the ignorance was so large and the people so small you would almost think you were in Oz. But I guess that sprouts from where you choose to hang up your hat outside of your home. Alcohol can be the great unveiler, and it never seems to disappoint. All these lessons I'm learning at 40 and here I thought I was done.

Anyhow, I'll get into it later. As I said I'm in Hogtown for a few days, so more than likely I'll be off the air. Can't really say I'm going to be a fan of 10 o'clock hockey games, but I can never sleep so it doesn't really matter. Looks like the Canucks will go through so lets put a shout out to Tonia and her team the Flames. Let's keep those Canadian teams in. You can follow her playoff angst at http://theawayjerseys.blogspot.com

All Great Art Comes From a Sense of Outrage

I was in Victoria this week and found that I wrapped up business a little early. I called the hotel, but at that point my suite wasn't ready yet. I decided to park the car for a while and go for a stroll. There are many great little galleries around Victoria so I decided to take in as many as I could.

I have always thought highly of the arts. Not just paintings, everything. Photos, statues, writing, poetry, lyrics, singing, architecture, film, acting, and so on. Art to me shows what the human is truly capable of, I don't care what our cellphones are capable of, I don't care if my refrigerator has a TV on it, I want to see how high the imagination can fly. If it wasn't for our imaginations, if it wasn't for art, we wouldn't have many of the modern conveniences we have today. We also wouldn't have that song that can take us back so briefly to a moment, or a movie that can hit so close to home it can have a grown man cry uncontrollably.


The funny thing with art, is that its greatest forms normally come from some sense of outrage. Art really took a modern form during the High Renaissance/Baroque period, take the masters like Michelangelo, or Bernini. Both men were known to create art not just out of a sense of outrage from within, but also something so controversial it would create outrage in others as well. When pressured by the Pope to complete the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel (Sixteenth Chapel according to most of my friends) , Michelangelo painted the Pope's face onto the image of the devil on the ceiling. As for Bernini...well let's just say his Ecstasy of Beata Ludovica is less than angelic.



Let's take one of Canada's own, Yousuf Karsh, one of the greatest photographers the world has ever known. When faced with a tough subject, in this case Winston Churchill, Karsh had to battle one of the strongest of wills. Churchill as always would not surrender his cigar, Karsh didn't want the cigar in the photo and grew increasingly frustrated. In what would soon be a shared sense of outrage he walked over to Churchill hiding the remote for his camera in his palm. He ripped the cigar out of Churchill's hand and walked back toward his camera snapping the photo while Churchill wasn't expecting it. It caught Churchill's personal moment of outrage and also captured one of the finest portraits ever taken.

The thing with outrage is that it takes us to a place, a place we can normally only find in a loved ones arms. It makes us vulnerable. It makes us speak in tongues. We are truthful when in outrage, but it is like it knocks the faucet off of our emotional tap, it all comes out uncontrollably like a waterfall from our mouths, or our pens, our cameras, or our paintbrushes. It leaves us standing there naked in the wilderness, and it's beautiful.

There is so much art in the world, and so much of it passes us by. Like I always talk about at Christmas of my long walk looking at the twinkling lights and wondering what all of the families are doing inside their homes. Take a walk down your street this weekend, look at all the houses on your street.They are full of so many stories, so many triumphs and tragedies. And all we ever see in the end are yards and driveways.



And of course Dali blows my entire theory.

Now I'm Walking Again, to the Beat of the Drum

I never get the deal with Easter long weekend. There is something about having the Friday off that just seems to accelerate the process. The time vanishes like a handful of sand on those wind battered days I've spent over at Long Beach.

I don't really recognize Easter. I don't know if it's the absence of children, or the absence of religion itself. Don't get the wrong idea, there is no lack of spirituality.

I don't recall it even having a lot of meaning around our house. As I said over the weekend, Easter at our house normally meant that my father would hit me with a bible instead of a newspaper. Other than that it was a normal day. We would occasionally do a big dinner if my grandparents or uncle came around. Typically a nice big ham, another thing that struck me as odd because so many people were telling me yesterday that they were having turkey. I've really never heard of turkey at Easter before. I don't think I've made a ham in 15 years, I actually really like it, but I wouldn't want to think of the implications of me having to attack an entire ham to myself. Those miniature hams are useless, it has to be as David Letterman would "a big ass ham." I make a cherry sauce for ham that is to die for, but if I ever told you what was in it you probably would die. Hmmm...I love my comfort food.

Sorry, once I start talking about food it's hard for me to stop. To me there is a lot of passion and romance involved in the culinary arts, and I haven't devoted enough to it in some time.

I'll get back on track now. I had lunch with a friend last week that I hadn't seen in a while, and being one that tends to holds his cards close to his chest, I took the moment to vent for some time about the recent events of my life and where I am at this point. It was odd because I hadn't talked about it, so I hadn't really thought about it. And the words just kinda slipped out, as they did a couple of times over the weekend. I'm content. That's right, you just read it right here, right now. John C. Hartwick is content. There are a couple of pieces missing, but I know what they are and that is half the battle. It is like having the combination to the safety deposit box of a passed love one. You know you can get in there. But are you ready to yet? I'm not. For now I will float in the winds of time, and I will know when the time is right.

I look so forward to the summer, and long warm nights with the people I am proud to call friends. I long for the road, and that too will return to me again. And most importantly I look forward to all of my tomorrows for I can't wait to see what they hold.

And the lesson for today? "It doesn't take a lot of strength to hang on. It takes a lot of strength to let go."

Gods Behaving Badly

Having finished my Clapton book in Mexico, it is time for me to form my summer reading list. I tend to go through books like a combine through corn in the summer due to my many solo jaunts to Spanish Banks, Dundarave, and White Pine. Every couple of years, John Irving will have a new tome out that can encompass a couple of months. He doesn't have one due this year, so I will have to fill in the blanks with smaller books.

Steve tossed me one he finished in Mex. It is called "Gods Behaving Badly" by Marie Phillips. Here is the setting. The Greek gods are still around in the 21st century, they are all still living together in a town house in North London. They have been living there together since the 1660's. Phillips has taken the root that many philosophers have offered before that the gods had many more human traits than were displayed through mythology.

Being the 21st century, the gods must carry on with modern careers, while at the same time carrying the baggage that no one will believe they are gods anymore. So you have a cast of characters that includes Artemis (goddess of hunting/professional dog walker), Aphrodite (goddess of love/phone sex operator), Apollo (god of the sun/TV psychic), Dionysus (god of wine/nightclub manager), and of course Zeus, who has developed Alzheimer's. Add to this the fact that a London subway station is actually the gateway to Hades.

I've always thought it would be fun to assign your friends Greek god names representative of their behaviors, and I think it will be a good read. I guess being immortal isn't all it's cracked up to be. The rumor is that Ben Stiller is making a TV series based on it. I think if they do it right, they could have a pretty big hit on their hands.

Now I must pause as I long for my days at the beach as I look out at the rain from my desk.

Did You Pack Enough Bud Light??

So we finally headed for Ixtapa Island. It's a small island that mostly acts as barrier to the fury of the open sea, at least at the resort I was at. We wandered down to the pier that is about 400 yards from the resort. The hucksters were already waiting for us, as Ixtapa Island has three different beaches that are speckled with what some would call "restaurants". It is really more of a collection of shantytowns. Kind of like the boroughs of New York, minus the usable restrooms.

One of the chaps jumped in the boat with us and quickly started plugging what his facility had to offer. I just sort of played along for I knew the boat ride wasn't long. We soon docked and he tried to guide us to his place, but I deferred for the time being (we were actually trying to find the one that Chrissy normally goes to). We wandered up Veradero Beach on the front side, and soon crossed over to the back. We couldn't find Chrissy's place anywhere (she gave us more details when we got back). We finally relented to the insistent charge of our boat mate.

It was a beautiful spot on Coral Beach. There was a little drama with the beach furniture due to it's dilapidated state. Steve actually had to double up chairs because one had broken legs and the other had a broken seat. I found out later that on the same day, Tim, a fellow we met from Calgary sat in his chair right on a sinkhole and just kind of disappeared into the sand in front of his family. THAT I would have liked to see. No harm, no foul.

I was mesmerized with the fish playing in the surf. There were literally thousands, and every time my ankles would get washed by the waves the fish would gently bump into them. I couldn't stay away from the sea that day. Despite the mafia implications, I had always longed to swim with fishes. I grabbed a scuba mask and some flippers and headed for the surf sharks be damned. Being on the back side of the island we were exposed to the open ocean side. It was as if the sea had decided to bitch slap me for my screw up with the shark net or lack thereof the other day. All the scuba lessons I had taken as a boy were quickly thrown aside, and me trying to enter the ocean with flippers soon turned into what could only be described as something Chaplin would have loved to do in one of his silent films. I felt like a complete oaf, but I did eventually make it in.



It was amazing. Army's of fish surrounded me. The big, the small, the silver, and the ones that looked hand painted. The surf was swaying me back and forth, and most of my skin was being removed by coral. I didn't remain in long, but it is something I will always remember.

I removed my flippers in the water to avoid any further embarrassment, and made my way back to my beach chair. Our host from the boat asked if we would like to see a menu, I was a little apprehensive, but I was hungry so I agreed. He soon returned with a tray with a dead fish on it, and a pile of whole dead prawns. "You can either have this or this." he said. I took the pass and soon we headed back to the resort for an afternoon pool and daiquiri session.



The next day we headed back to Zihuatanejo itself. It is such a quaint, beautiful little town. Steve wanted to buy some silver, so I just sort of tagged along to take a look around. I really wished I could have taken in one of the restaurants, there were so many cool looking spots. But it was early still, and to some extent, I was still "percolating." Once we headed back to the resort we were there to stay until the end of our journey.

Our damned flight was at 2 in the morning. Thankfully the resort agreed that we didn't have

to check out until 6 that evening instead of the noon they had previously said. This essentially meant a bar session that would start around 5 and carry on through the night. The buses were pciking us up at 10:15. We met up with Tim and Leslie and their family, and then Jackie and her crew from Calgary also joined us. We were making a final attempt to squeeze everything we could out of the all inclusive side. Judging by the gentle sways everyone displayed as we were getting on the bus, it appeared as if we succeeded.

We stopped to have a smoke when we got of the bus at the airport, and Tim and Leslie insisted that you could still smoke at the bar inside the airport. So we all agreed to check in and go through the gate. The check-in line was huge. Thankfully, or so I thought, Steve and I were in first class so we have our own line that was only 3 deep rather than the 250 deep on the other side. Didn't matter as they had Captain Incompetence himself running the first class line. 200 people got through coach before we got checked in.

I went to the gate and inquired about the smoking. They said they had just changed the rules and you could no longer do it. I went back to the check-in line to find Tim and Leslie. I got there right as they were opening Tim's suitcase. Security flipped the lid open. From my view I could only see 5 six packs of Bud Light, a bathing suit, 2 shirts, and a shaving kit. Tim, Tim, Tim. Even the security guard was laughing. You come all the way to Mexico only to smuggle out Bud Light? Thanks to the lax Mexican laws we were able to take the beer out to the sidewalk and drink and have cigarettes until the flight. We offered a beer to anyone who walked by and soon had our own little bar going.

We finally made our way to the gate about 30 minutes before the flight was supposed to take off. Almost instantly they just dropped the rope and said "EVERYBODY ON THE PLANE." No organization or anything, just a free for all. It was like the running of the bulls. We all loaded in and got ready for the long journey home. Luckily I slept (passed out) for a good portion of it, and we seemed to get to Calgary fairly quickly.

We landed in Calgary in a blizzard and I happily poked fun at everyone I knew as they got off the plane as I knew it was a sunny day in Vancouver. Before we knew it were we off the ground again and heading home.

It seemed just as quickly as we had left the ground we were walking the maze that is YVR. The customs side was a breeze, and I thought with our "Priority Baggage" in first class we would be out of there lickity split. Unfortunately their idea of priority baggage was giving us our own luggage carousel and not informing us. So we waited around while everyone else grabbed their bags and then someone decided to inform us that ours were across the hall.

I always have to have one final faux pas on a trip, and I soon made it as I raced outside for a cigarette. There was a couple outside having one that had joined us for the beers at the Zihua airport. I swore they sitting behind me on the plane. I said to them "pretty brutal flight eh?" They were like oh god that was horrible. I said " think about those poor bastards back in coach." Ahhh, there's that awkward pause. " We were in coach." I tried to dig out, but to no avail. I decided to zip in and grab coffee's to get away from the moment. The fellow joined me in line and said how hungry he was. He said "could you believe those frozen egg Mcmuffins they served us?? Yuck!!" I didn't have the heart to tell him about the omelet I had them prepare me, so I simply agreed. Damn, I was home now, I didn't care.

Montezuma, Zane Grey, and Ixtapa Island

I was getting settled in now, and had basically become resigned to the fact that I wouldn't be eating much on this trip. We had another lazy day by the pool, again plying through my Clapton book.

I ventured down to the ocean on this day. For those of you who read this blog on occasion you are well aware of my "general hesitation" when it comes to the ocean, and never in my life have I been deeper than my ankles when it comes to conquering the ocean blue. I stepped in and was amazed at the warmth, it had to be 10 degrees warmer than the pool. I surveyed the area and noticed the shark net surrounding about a one acre spot of water. I also noticed the fat babies floating in their water wings in the surf and made the quick deduction that a shark would far prefer the veal like texture of a child than my toxified flesh. I sparked a smoke, and with my plastic cup of courage (daiquiri) I waded out to my waist as the rolling waves splashed off of my chest. I was quite enjoying the moment when another member of our group waded out to where I was. It was the typical small talk type thing. How nice the weather was, how warm the water was, etc. etc.. I offered my shark affliction to him, and noted how I felt better with the shark net around me. He gave me a puzzled look for a moment, and then asked what I meant. I pointed to the rope a few feet away and restated how comfortable I felt behind the net. He walked over and picked the rope up, showing me that it wasn't a net at all but rather a barrier for keeping dumb tourist away from the rocks. I exited the water cartoon like, surrendering both my cup of courage and my cigarette to the surf.

I figured something else out on this day as well. While I am in no way fluent at Spanish, I am able to get by in simple day to day conversations. But for some reason when the staff at the resort started talking to me, I started replying in french. This carried on for the entire week. It was as if my wiring had been crossed at some point. I would consciously have the proper word in my mind, but once my lips parted...french it was. Odd.

We took it fairly easy that night as we had to be up for the fishing charter at 5:30 in the morning. I decided that I would try to force myself to eat, so we ventured to an "Italian" restaurant they had in the resort. I knew I couldn't be adventurous, so I simply got a Caesar salad I made myself, and had them make me some Pasta Alfredo at the pasta bar. The Alfredo sauce had the consistency of water, and could have only been made with milk and butter. Apparently garlic and cream had not been introduced to this part of the world. I ate about half of it and shoved it aside. It looked like I was going to have to fill up on fruits again (Daiquiri's).

I was feeling a little "iffy" later and decided to retreat to my room to await the fate that was my 40th birthday. The midnight hour passed and the day was finally upon me. I had always had this thought that when I got to this point I would be visited in my dreams by someone like my Grandfather, or my old mentor Roger Bowman, who would provide me with the secrets I would need to complete this ride. It wasn't to be, I did get visited, but it was by Montezuma himself. I spent my birthday night the sickest I had ever been in my life. I wanted to die. The morning came cruelly fast. I had no idea how I was going to make the charter.

I called Steve's room to wake him up, and tried to get myself sorted. This was going to take everything I had. I went down to the lobby and outside where even the sun wasn't foolish enough to be up yet. We caught a crazy cab ride down to the fishing village that is Zihuatanejo. We made our path through the various fishermen offering their boats, and the heavily armed Federalies whose purpose I wasn't quite sure of. We walked down the pier until I saw the stern of the Elva II running a few feet off the pier. I gave the captain a nod and he slowly backed the boat up until we were able to jump on. The captains name was Issac, and his deckhand was Jeronimo. Issac spoke really good English, Jeronimo...hmm, not so much. Unfortunately, neither of them spoke french.

We shoved off and made our way out to sea. It was sunrise now, and it was beautiful. The sun cracked over the mountains and spilled out over the hillsides and ocean below. The water was the most amazing shade of blue. Jeronimo immediately set to task, readying the bait and poles. I just sat back being taken by the beauty that developing before my eyes. My stomach wasn't letting me forget it, but the picture of nature was overpowering it to the best of its abilities.

By the time we got out of the harbour we already had two very strong bites from Mahi mahi's, but they got away before the hooks could set. Jeronimo seemed more disappointed than me. He definitely earned his money that day, even though ultimately we would return empty handed. We ended up about 30 miles off shore. It seemed we were almost in the horse latitudes, even under power there wasn't any wind. And the heat was building to its crescendo. Issac called me up to the flying bridge and explained how the currents were just not working today, they actually hadn't been working all week. I was enjoying the cruise so much, I really didn't mind going home empty handed. The dolphins were cresting the wake off the bow, and even a Right Whale decided to peek it's head up to see what we were doing. I was suddenly aware of what had drawn Zane Grey and Hemingway to this spot. It was far more than fishing, it was inspiration.



My stomach was going crazy, I had to eat something so I decided to take a peek at the box lunches the resort had made for us. I quickly realized that the resort must have had Jenny Craig running their kitchen. I pictured Kristy Alley needed to eat 10 of these just for a snack. But it was food, and for the most part it seemed like I was able to keep it down for which I am thankful.






After about 8 hours we made our way back in. The ocean won that day, but I too returned feeling like a winner. I got to spend my 40th birthday with a smile on face, albeit with a pain in my stomach. The pain in the stomach is gone, but the smile will always return when I think of that day.


To be continued....

Paradise and the Pelican Air Force

So leaving Vancouver wasn't the easiest in the first place. That Saturday turned out to be the nicest day we have had all year. I think it was around 15-16C out at the airport. Besides, I'm not a good traveller at the best of times. I did get to kill some time slamming some heaters out in the sun before getting on the plane though.

One thing I have to hand Air Transat though is that when they say a plane is leaving...it's damn leaving. Our departure time was 3:55pm. We weren't leaving the gate at that time, we were leaving the ground. It was something I just wasn't used to after years of torture at the hands of Air Canada.

It was a quick spin to Calgary on a mostly empty plane. The wait on the ground in Calgary was a pain, but again we left 10 minutes before schedule. This time with a full load. The quiet space of our first class cabin that we enjoyed from Vancouver to Calgary was shot to hell as we seemed to be joined by the Chatty Cathy club once we departed Calgary. James Bond like I reached into my bag and pulled out my noise cancelling headphones (best x-mas gift I ever got, the things are a miracle), I zoned completely zoned out of what was obviously gossip that could only be born of an oil town like Calgary. It was time to take in a movie. Being Transat we didn't have our own individual screens, so I was subjected to the movies du jour. First up...Wall-E.

The movie was quite visually stunning, although I don't really understand why people were saying it should be up for a best picture Oscar. After about 40 minutes I turned to Steve and said the movie wasn't making any sense to me. Now bear in mind there isn't a lot of talking in the first half of this movie, just a lot of beeps and boops like that Twickie character from Buck Rogers, or R2D2. Well, it turns out I was watching the movie in french, something that would become a recurring theme on this trip. I'll get to that later. Overall, not a bad movie. Whatever the second movie was, it escapes me right now.


It was finally dinner time. Being in first class we had our options of course. Steve in his passive aggressive style basically told the flight attendant that he didn't care what they gave him. I am of course far more attentive as to what is introduced to my body (no fungus, no lamb). So I ordered the chicken teriyaki. When it came down to it, Steve took my chicken teriyaki and I got the slop that they served up because he didn't care. Funny how that works, and yet hmmm, he didn't say anything about the fact that what he was eating was obviously chicken teriyaki.

We finally reached the destination and the warm, moist air filled the plane like a collective sigh as the door to the plane opened. We filed out onto the tarmac. It was about 1am at this point. It seemed quite surreal at that point, the Zihuatanejo airport is so small and it just seemed like we placed down in the middle of nowhere. We had the first two seats on the plane so we were the first through the doors. They had that entire zig zag made up out of velvet ropes that snakes through the customs area. I tried my best to bypass it, but the customs people guided me back to the opening point ensuring I had to walk the entire maze before they let me into the country. The people on the other side of the glass were splitting their sides as they watched me carve my way through the empty zig zag. They had obviously been subjected to the same treatment the week before and were now exacting their revenge.

It was pretty painless once I got through. It was just waiting for the damn luggage. Apparently "priority baggage" in spanish translates to "make sure they are the last bags on the conveyor." We finally scooped them up and made our way outside where I could search for my cigarettes like a junkie trying to find his needle. The buses were all waiting for us, and there were a lot of kids with their Corona filled coolers trying to make a buck. Everybody was bagged, we just wanted to make it to the hotel.




It was about a 30 minute ride into the resort, where 50 people had to check in at the same time. I was resigned to the fact, who cared? I was there, and I was warm, and the humid ocean breeze was tossling my hair like the hand of god itself. We got our keys and went to our respective rooms and met in the lobby for a walk to check the place out. It was oddly quiet, only the waves reaching out for the land broke the silence. It was only then that I realized it was almost 3:30 in the morning. It was bedtime.

In the morning I whipped the drapes apart in anticipation, and I wasn't disappointed. It was beautiful out. I hadn't really seen the resort in the darkness and now it bathed in the sunlight before me almost like an inviting playground of my youth. We made simple plans for the first day, pool and drinks. Nothing more, nothing less. We did have a little orientation meeting to attend first, and I had got up quite late so I missed breakfast. It was painless enough, and quite helpful. And they did have the coffee I was so craving. I quickly arranged my Marlin charter after the meeting and zipped up to the room to do my Superman change into my swim shorts. I scored us a couple of chaise lounges beside I pool and dove into my autobiography of Eric Clapton. An amazing book and an amazing life. I was well medicated within a few hours, and decided I should grab something to eat. If you haven't been to an all inclusive before, you don't really understand the dynamics of the food. It's as if they hired some cook from an orphanage in a Charles Dickens novel. The food is horrible. But I needed a "base" so I wolfed it down. I found it was better if I didn't look at it directly.

I headed up to the room for a nap, and to be close to the facilities in case the food decided to lash out at me. I had told Steve I would meet him in the bar around 6, but seat envy always gets the best of me so I was there before 5.



It was such a breathtaking spot. Ixtapa Island laid out before us, and the sun was poised to make a dash for the ocean. The amazing thing was the Pelican Air Force. They gathered in groups of 20 to 60 and made their approach from the north. They don't flap their wings but rather float and jockey for position on the warm thermals as they rise. It is quite a site, over and over again for hours as they slowly sail past the patio. It is truly a moment you want to share with somebody.

I was done with beers after about 4, and the daiquiris soon started flowing like the waterfall that surrounded the pool. I was getting used to this. I was getting used to this fast!!

To be continued.