The airline cancelled our flight. The choice was on the beach in Zipolite, or cooped up in a hotel in Mexico City.
We’ve got an extra day in Zipolite! We weren’t ready yet, so says the cosmos. The lesson to learn is about surrender to what is and trusting in the divine hand of grace doing whatever it will. Well, through rearranging a slew of reservations on a phone/internet system that wouldn’t cooperate in my Spanish and dashing the class that DF was to take that Sunday, it was figured out that accepting was the best tactic. I’ve been stranded in much worse places than this paradise.
The extra time, well spent, is sure to work out correctly.
In the afternoon, after life calms in a warm sea of salty foam and we succumb to heavy goblets of naturally fruited mineral water, a peace overtakes our sense of propriety. We figured the extent of our expenses and the associated left over pesos and resolve to make the best of the last of this retreat. We head barefoot across town in sarong wraps, then down an alley to an office to arrange reservations for our cab ride the next morning.
That same alley leads to the beach. We quickly strip off our coverings at the edge of the sand. It is a ceremonial end to the hassles caused by the airline. From here on, we have only to enjoy ourselves. Even the bags were packed yesterday.
The heat of the day is on, so we have to dash through the thick dry sand before our feet blister. Just around the corner, we arrive under the shady shelter of someone else’s umbrella. We then leapfrog, shade to shade, across to the bar that we had …