I had been anticipating our arrival in Guanajuato for what seemed like forever. The years spent preparing often meant hours, generally in my cubicle (shhh) poring over others trips. Hours reading of others adventures, beyond anxious for the time when I would be the one living out my dreams on the road.
I listened to the rain pattering on the roof, and took another sip of wine. We had planned to stay a couple of days. But, Patzcuaro proved to be pure magic. Yes, the town is literally one of Mexico’s pueblo magicos, but more importantly, the vibe is right. That couple of days turned into four and then six and then eight. The plan to see the town, buy some coffee, maybe take a boat ride to the island in the lake, morphed into simply enjoying the simple pleasures.
We miss our people, our tribe. Especially now, during in what is low season in central Mexico (although why that is I am baffled), among empty campgrounds, we are missing those we love. With no new overlanders to connect with, our thoughts turn, even more, to friends back home.
Lesson learned. Do not, and I repeat, do not, rent an apartment prior to arriving in town. Our three months in Puerto Vallarta was wonderful.. until it wasn’t. So much of our time was great; We got a lot of work done, writing for me and the launch of Jim’s first amazon product. We had visitors in the form of Jim’s parents and friends Dave and Anne. We swam and practiced yoga nearly daily. We enjoyed an extended time in one of our favorite cities in the world.
“Uno burrito pollo, por favor… para llevar”. I take a seat at the counter, placing my order in halting Spanish, knowing that in mere days I will once again be leaving the tourist hot spot of Puerto Vallarta to head away from the land of the gringo. Luckily, I have been here before, and the nice waitress takes pity on me and responds in English , “we have no chicken. You want pork?”. Si, I will take pork.
Time, that most fairydust of qualities, tends to fly or drag; all dependent, upon your inner happiness. I remember with startling vividness the endless, mind-numbing hours spent watching the clock from the inside of my cubicle. Willing those last hours and minutes to go faster. Just as I have tried to slow down time throughout my life; on vacations, amazing nights out, those great moments in time you never wanted to end. What I’ve learned in 120+ days on the road is that time, once the enemy, now a friend, still can fly by in an instant.
We are, of course, always “home”. When you live in a tiny house on wheels, home is, literally, wherever you park it. However, among all of the amazing places we have visited around the world, Puerto Vallarta is our most often visited, and one place we really feel like we are coming home to.
Well, I’m going home, back to the place where I belong
And where your love has always been enough for me
I’m not running from, no, I think you got me all wrong
I don’t regret this life I chose for me
But these places and these faces are getting old
So I’m going home, well I’m going home
Yesterday someone commented on a blog post I did, telling me, in effect, that I was a whiner. I spammed his comment, not even bothering to engage in any sort of dialogue with such nonsense, but it was actually a perfect setup for this post, which I’ve had in mind for sometime. The fact of the matter is, life on the road is just that. LIFE. There are good days and bad days and cranky days and ecstatic days. As we have gone along we have shared so many stories of wonderful times and pictures of magical beaches and exciting adventures. While all we’ve shared is absolutely accurate, there is another side to overlanding…. the other reality.