"When we can no longer dream, we die" -Emma Goldman

Friday, March 19, 2010

Puerto Vallarta

I'm glad that I'm not going back this year. As paradise-y as it is, I need to purge myself of that place. Yes, there are a multitude of good memories there, but there are just as many bad. I have been there so many times that I can tell you exactly what the top step of the dark blue pool feels like about a week and a half in when a pocket of sand begins to form in the corner. I can tell you what the palapa feels like right before everyone is called to dinner. I can tell you what the kitchen smells like after breakfast when everybody is cleaning. I can even tell you what it feels like to jump in the light blue pool after being in the dark blue one. I can hear the waves from my room and taste the strawberry smoothies. I can hear the laughter as we run to the kitchen (from the back entrance of course) to get a late night snack of Zucaritas y leche or, if they have them, coconut ice cream in the coconut shells. I can taste the bread they put out at dinner and the AMAZING pancakes they make. I can feel the tiles of the dark blue pool under my feet. I can smell the sunscreen/pina colada smell that forms in the bedrooms during midday. I can hear the fiesta from the palapa and smell the grilled lobster. I can feel the excitement that you get when driving from the airport to the house and how every turn on that road feels like, THIS one must be it. I'm glad to not be going, but sad that I'm not at the same time. I might even miss the gritty sand that you can't find anywhere else that ends up everywhere; luggage, bathroom, shower, pool, kitchen, palapa, bed, sunscreen. As long as my parents bring me back some blueberry Trident that CANNOT be found anywhere else and some Bubbaloo. And some bracelets. Then I'll be happy.

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