We checked into the hotel, and got our belongings up to room #7 at the far end of the third floor. Ritsuko began to unpack in a methodical, organized fashion. I dumped my clothes onto the shelf in the closet, set up the coffee maker on the bathroom counter, put our valuables in the safe, and set out to find cerveza, promising to return shortly with the spoils of my hunt.
No beer was available at Secreto. I found this to be a little disappointing, but I was told that it was available next door at Media Luna. Barefoot, I set out to Media Luna, the shortest distance being from front door to front door. I had gone about ten feet when the pain from the sharp crushed limestone was too much to endure. Gathering all my concentration, likening it to Zen meditation, I tried to go on, but I weakened from the pain, and had to turn back. Paola had witnessed my aborted attempt from behind the hotel desk, and suggested that I go via the beach. Good advice it was. I walked by several people lounging about the pool, hoping that I did not seem rude, but I really wanted a cold beer. My throat was parched, and somewhere in the distance the cold foamy brew beckoned me. Down to the beach and over to Media Luna, I purchased two Modelo and made my way back to Secreto. I did stop at the pool and met a very charming lady from Seattle, who has posted on the board under the name “Seattle Pale”. She and her husband looked so relaxed. We chatted briefly, musing over the fact that she was hardly pale at all, and regretting the fact that they were to leave Isla the following day. I couldn’t stop for long, because I knew that Ritsuko was expecting a cold beer soon. So I returned to the room, the proud provider of sustenance, bringing back my fresh kill of a cold bottle of cerveza to my awaiting bride.
With the exception of the sleep we got on the plane, we had been up since 1AM. Food had consisted of an egg McMuffin and a small bag of honey roasted peanuts at O’Hare, and a bag of some awful, salty, chemical laden semblance of snack food in a foil pack on the plane. Donning beach attire, and packing sunscreen, sandals, and enough dinero for food and drink in my backpack, we set out on foot to find more beer, food, sunshine, sand, and sea.
We walked out onto Media Luna beach and headed north. Stopping at the Media Luna hotel bar for another cerveza, I felt that we could make it to the beach bar/restaurant at Na Balaam before we became intolerably thirsty again. Walking over the rocks, we saw five or six of the dreaded wild dogs. They were much more interested in snoozing in the shade than they were in anything that we were doing. One dog barely lifted his head in acknowledgment of our passing. Ritsuko was talking about how cute the dogs were, but I asked her to exercise some caution and not try to pet them, at least for now.
Finally, now, places about which I had read were coming into view. The Avalon was on our right as we walked along the beach. From the Avalon bridge, it looked as though we were entering an area of soft powdery sand, so we stopped to take off our sandals and put them in my backpack. Ritsuko had gone to the water’s edge as I secured my backpack. A man approached, babbling something about free something or other. It sounded like some pretty lame “excremento del toro”. I had just slugged down two beers after being starved for the past fourteen hours, so I was entering a somewhat exalted state of mind. A big stupid grin came over my face, and I was about to ask him if he had been here for the UFO landing last night; but Ritsuko took me by the hand, and led me away.
We walked up to the point and turned left. There it was. A wide expanse of powdery white sand extending into calm turquoise water. Gentle waves lapping at the edge of the beach, a calm steady breeze, barely perceptible, but soothing, palm trees lining the upper edge......it was Playa Norte. Playa Norte.....no, let me say it again...PLAYA NORTE!!!! DO YOU BELIEVE, BROTHERS AND SISTERS...AH SAY D O Y O U B E L I E E E E V E ! ! ! that this is one of the finest places on the face of the earth? I stood in awe, but I was about ready to pass out from hunger, and Ritsuko had handed me her half full beer bottle to finish off, holding her stomach, expressing an urgent desire to eat.
How convenient that Na Balaam was only a few steps away. We sat down under a palapa, and ordered more beer and food. I loved the chips and salsa, hell I would have loved anything at that point, I was so hungry. The chips had been fried in coconut oil. I sat back, closed my eyes, and remembered eating street food in the Philippines 30 years ago with that same coconut oil taste. Now I was drinking Superior, which was much better than the Modelo that we had bought at Media Luna. Perhaps I am a beer bigot, but I just don’t trust any beer in a clear bottle. In my mind, beer is in brown bottles and soda pop is in clear bottles. Superior has a substantial beer taste and a very pleasant after taste. It also has enough texture to wash down the grease from the mediocre food I was having. I don’t remember exactly what I had, but I do remember wishing that I had ordered the seafood fajitas as I looked at Ritsuko’s plate. There was a cornucopia of fish, shrimp, octopus, and conch mixed with grilled veggies. I finally got a rhythm down where I could sneak some food from her plate without getting stabbed by a fork. What I had was filling, and OK, but I swore that if we came back to this restaurant, that is what I would order.
Our stomachs full, and the bill (whew, those folks are mighty proud of that food) paid, we were off to the next bar. Making a brief detour to the water, we walked up to Buho’s. We sat in the swings, and had another beer, looking out at the beach. Looking at the sky, I told Ritsuko that somewhere down the beach, there was a bar called Playa Sol. I wanted to have a beer at every bar down the beach, and make it to Playa Sol for the sunset. We have been married for 27 years, and by now she knows that when I go on some mythical quest, it is damn near impossible to talk me out of it, so off we went.
“How do you know where this place is?” she asked as we trudged, half drunk through the sand.
“I don’t” I replied with finality and conviction, “but it will come to us”.
“It isn’t coming to us, we are going to it.” Ritsuko gave a smirk and a wide grin, her eyes sparkling behind her shades, content with the knowledge that she had me in verbal check.
“How can you be sure of that if we don’t know where it is?” I posed what seemed a logical question as we ordered a beer at the Sunset bar and grill.
I don’t really think that she bought that, but I think she just got weary of the verbal joust, we went on around the bend. There it was, the place that I had read so much about, Playa Sol. We pulled up to the bar as the sun sat low in the western sky. That had been my goal, to get to Playa Sol by for the sunset. After that, there were no plans. Only eight days of pleasure, doing what we felt like doing at the time. We sat, and watched the sun, talking to some of the people at the bar, enjoying more beer, at least I did; Ritsuko had switched to non alcoholic fruit smoothies. This was the perfect ending to our arrival day on Isla.
We walked back to our hotel in the dark, greeting the dozen or so sleeping dogs as we walked up the road past the convention center. It was about 8PM when we got to the room. We were exhausted; fell into the bed and went right to sleep. In the distant reaches of consciousness, the rhythmic crashing waves sang to us.