I wrote a big long post about why I don’t like Puerto Escondido and then deleted it. Why waste a thousand words when one word sums the place up—lame.
Cold showers, horrible internet, absolutely nothing to do, no beach, and a forty dollar round-trip taxi trip to town. Actually Puerto Escondido wouldn’t be half bad if it were two miles or less from town, but as it is twenty or so miles—lame.
Coughed up the dough and made it into town for the Sunday market. Forty bucks worth of taxi for a hundred bucks worth of groceries. The ice cold horchata makes up for it though. Man that drink is good. Gets the kids bouncing off the wall, but what are you going to do.
We happened to arrive during Loreto Fest, a three day event here with hot dogs, beer, and apparently some nightly entertainment. We perused the list of activities: How to Cook on a Boat seminar, Mexican Weather seminar, How to Dye Your Gray Hair Orange in Case Your Boat Capsizes and You Need Rescue seminar, Face Painting…
Oooooh! Face painting!
Last month Ouest saw a girl in La Paz with her face painted and she immediately wanted that done. We told her over and over that we didn’t know where the girl got it done, but that if we saw face painting she could get it. So when we saw that we were all excited and did the stupid parent thing again by getting her all excited too.
So anyway Sunday came with face painting slated for eleven until one o’clock. Sunday is also market day, so we had to get to town, stock up at the market, then go to the grocery store for whatever else we needed, race home to unload the groceries, get Lowe down for his nap, and finally race over to face painting before it closed.
Somehow we managed all of that and I walked into the line of tents at Loreto Fest at 12:15. We walked along scanning the tents for the lady with the paints, but didn’t spot her. We walked hand-in-hand to the information booth and asked the small gathering there where we could find the face painting. The look on their faces said it all. “Oh, no kids showed up so whatshername left.” No kids showed up? I thought the sign said Face Painting from 11:00 until 1:00, not, Face Painting, If You’re Not Here at 11:00 I’m Going Home.
I deflated, we’d run around like crazies all morning for this and Ouest was excited, “Me want a pink butterfly, Papa.”
Ouest wasn’t following our conversation very well—she was too busy looking around for the paint lady—so thankfully we didn’t have tears. Somebody said, “All the paints are in the back room. I’m sure we can find an artist for you.” I told Ouest we were going to eat our tamales, have some lemonade, and then we’d get her face painted.
So we sat down and had a picnic—one of my favorite things to do with her—and I tried to buy time. I spotted one of those throw the sandbag through the hole in the piece of wood games and got her to play that with me for a while, but eventually she blurted out, “I want to get my face painted now.”
With no artist forthcoming, and no other alternatives, I took her by the hand and led her to the back room where we found the container full of old paints. We carried it back outside to a table under a tent and set up shop. I am about the least crafty/artistic person around so I had no idea how I was going to pull this off, but Ouest was sitting in her chair with a smile on her face and her head tilted up—she was ready for her pink butterfly.
And by god a pink butterfly is what she got. She beamed the rest of the day every time a cruiser complimented on her pretty butterfly. And so did I.
A while back while in La Paz an injured sealion was swimming around by the docks. By the time I got into the marina office to ask if the girl could call somebody to help it she was already hanging up the phone. Five minutes later four animal rescue personnel were on the scene. Today a pelican was sitting in the sun near the dinghy dock with a busted wing. Ali and the kids were awwwwing, and so I figured I’d try to find some help for it. We told Ouest we’d get a doctor for it. First I asked the firemen/EMTs that were at Loreto Fest. After some discussion they seemed to think of somebody and got on a phone. A couple hours later the pelican was still there so I went into the marina office. Surely they’d know of an animal rescue type agency in Loreto. “Hmmmm, no, sorry.” Bummer for Loreto, and surely for that pelican.
I honestly have no idea where Ouest learned how to talk on a phone. I’m certain that she has no memory of either Ali or me on an actual telephone. We skype now and again, but never talk on an actual phone. In fact I can’t even think of the last time we might have done so. Anyway, here she is on her little Spanish Leapfrog phone talking to grandma and asking her to bring some yoghurt raisins when they come down to visit.