Wit and Wisdom
by Beth Broderick
First of all, “idiota” is not a word. The direct Spanish translation for female idiot is “estúpida,” but that feels a tad harsh. Fair or no, it’s an indictment that I would prefer to avoid. Idiota has a nice ring to it and perfectly describes the many mishaps that occurred during my fantastic time in the great country below our Southern border.
The grand villa that we found on Airbnb was said to be centrally located in San Miguel de Allende and walking distance to many of the experiences that lovely joint has to offer. It also featured a lap pool, which seemed a bit too good to be true given the wild temperature swings that occur there this time of year. As in many of our southernmost states, a balmy 75-degree day in Mexico can give way to a bone-chilling 40 in the evening. This made packing a bit of an oddness. We needed sun-protective gear as well as sturdy winter coats. I suspected (rightly) that the pool would not be heated but decided to invest in some new swimwear just in case.
Like so many of the things I have taken temporary possession of, the bathing suits I am sure I used to own have re-located. One at my sister’s house, another at a friend’s, yet another seems to have found its way into the ether, and lives somewhere else now. I have no idea where that might be.
There is an outlet store quite near me on Robertson Blvd. called “Eclipse.” They’re a clearing house for designer items that have gone unsold. Every other week or so, giant trucks pull up and crates of clothing are deposited just inside the entrance. The merchandise is quickly sorted, and the doors swing open as soon as humanly possible, inviting the public to come have a look-see. I do not need anything. Well--mostly I don’t, but I admit to surrendering to the siren call of discounts and peeking in on a fairly regular basis.
I just happened to be browsing about when I found a perfect little black one-piece bathing suit. It was my size and deeply discounted, and I snapped that baby up, satisfied that my swimwear needs had been solved. I put it in a drawer and did not think about it until I was really getting ready to pack for our ten-day adventure. I am not sure what possessed me to try it on before throwing it in my suitcase. I never try things on. After a lifetime in costume shops and fitting rooms, I just cannot be bothered to do it anymore. If a garment is a poor fit or it turns out to be a dud, it will be given to a niece or a neighbor.
The suit was cute from the front. A nice shape accentuating my bust-line, decent cinching at the waist-- but something felt off. I had failed to notice that the garment had no backside. Zero. I did not know there was such a thing as a one-piece thong suit. That is just an oddness. The thing covers one’s tummy but leaves the posterior exposed. Hmmm. Maybe it’s a “designer” thing?
No. Just No. It’s a ridiculous garment. I put it back in the drawer. Definitely a Goodwill donation. I don’t want anyone I know or love stepping on the sand in that thing.
Idiota.
I then made a mad dash for Nordstrom Rack and picked up a replacement, making sure to examine it for fabric in all of the appropriate places. This completed the packing portion of my preparation and set me free to settle in for an early night.
Ike, my favorite driver, picked me up at 4:30 a.m., and we made our way to Jeff’s. He was deeply unenthusiastic about a 4:45 pick-up time. Not a morning guy, Jeffrey, but he was game. He peered out at us with sleepy eyes when we arrived, but he was packed and ready to go.
The flight was uneventful. My good friend Jeff, aka “Boobs” and I both got a bit of shuteye, and I was truly excited to meet up with Russell and Andrew, aka “Stinks and Hacks.” They were coming in from the East Coast and had arranged for a car to pick us up and take us to our destination. The boys have been picking me up at airports (a terrible job, an act of true friendship) for years. I used to arrive in NYC to find them at baggage claim holding signs that said “Welcome Bomby!” They are the dearest of pals.
The information I gave them regarding our arrival was just a teensy bit incomplete. Flight number was AO 5152 or some such thing, which, due to my lack of clarity caused Stinks to think we were coming in on American Airlines. Oops. This put us in entirely different terminals and meant I would have to use my not-great Spanish to negotiate an extra stop with the driver. He scowled and made a call but conceded to the new arrangement.
¡VIVA LA VIDA!
We arrived in San Miguel in the pouring rain and found the majestic old villa to be gorgeous, a welcoming vision. Marcela, who runs the house for the owners, was there to greet us and help us figure out some of the basics. The place was not heated, but she showed us where extra blankets could be found and helped with a suggestion of a nearby restaurant.
It was a magical trip celebrating our four birthdays. We were all born within one month of one another and all interested in seeing that part of the world. I had made not one plan, done not one minute of research on where we were headed. So, it was mostly up to Stinks and Hacks, who deftly navigated our way through a host of adventures. We got first-hand knowledge of the town from the handful of friends and friends of friends we were put in touch with. Boobs arranged for us to meet up with a couple in their eighties who are long-time residents. They dazzled us with charm and goodwill. The days flew by.
The city of San Miguel revealed itself over the course of our stay. There are endless mysteries to be explored. Almost every drab doorway leads to an expanse of elegant gardens framing majestic homes or gorgeous chandeliered restaurants with fancy dining rooms. Boobs and Hacks took beautiful pictures of it all as we stumbled down the cobblestoned laneways. The rooftops teemed with nightlife. We watched flamenco dancers, heard live music everywhere. There was even a saxophonist serenading our favorite breakfast spot. One evening, we watched as an elegant young woman poured fiery liquids back and forth between copper pitchers, then into a stream of flames that settled in over ice to make an elaborate after-dinner drink.
I forgot my entire wallet / phone thingy at a place called M. B. which we had gone to mistakenly. We were supposed to be at Bacociega next door. Once we had settled into the correct place, a breathless waiter from the restaurant we had abandoned raced in to hand me my belongings. I had not noticed them missing–my wallet credit cards and phone–things one is well advised to hang on to in a foreign country. I had just left them behind oblivious to my surroundings. The man who returned them to me didn’t say it but, I saw it in his eyes.
Idiota.
On the one morning when I decided to venture off on my own, I saw a woman selling beautiful roses on the street. I decided to pick them up for Jeff as it was his actual birthday but would need cash. I somehow made it to an ATM and put in my card. I could not tell if they meant pesos or dollars, so I took out $300.00 when I should have asked for $3,000.00. This meant that after a huge transaction fee, I had the equivalent of about ten bucks in my pocket. Arghhhh.
I consulted my phone and was heading back where a man tapped me on the shoulder. A woman walking alone, I ignored it as I always do. He could have been trying to sell me something or ask me for something or—well, who knows? I had thought it best to put my head down and keep walking, my stride accelerating. Then someone really tapped on my back with such urgency that I cried out. I finally turned around to see a tiny older woman, breathing hard and waving my bank card in the air. I thanked her profusely; she had run after me for a good ways. She rolled her eyes and waved to the heavens in exasperation.
Idiota.
I had just enough cash to purchase the flowers and stopped at the store for supplies, eager to try out my newly working knowledge of “Apple Pay.” I’ve had it on my phone for a year and had no idea what to do with it until Stinks and Hacks gave me a demonstration. Success. I put some potatoes and eggs in my bag and headed back to prepare breakfast.
Not so fast. The villa was close by. We had taken that route from the market several times, but I could not find the path. I knew I could call, and Hacks would come to the rescue. He is adept at using all of the navigation tools that today’s travelers are armed with. Needless to say, I am not, but I wanted to prove I could manage on my own. I am stubborn that way, like a mule, or a bulldog with a frisbee in its jaws.
I had, thank God, the presence of mind to have grabbed a business card with the address of our home away from home printed on it before I left. I waved it at countless people trying to get advice on how to get there. One by one, people with better things to do patiently tried to explain where I needed to go. Finally, a good citizen walked me all the way to our street and pointed to the left.
There have been voices raised in recent years about the suspect nature of the Mexican people. There is a current candidate for the highest office in the land who has used slurs and base rhetoric to defame their reputation. This is ridiculous. As a rule, they are big-hearted, generous, polite, and maintain a high code of honor.
Mexico is NOT a third world country … has not been for quite some time.
Mexico is a HUGE manufacturing hub and has a trade deal with China that puts ours to shame.
Mexico is enjoying the highest-ever rate of tourism in its history as a nation.
Mexico is known for its innovative cuisine and spectacular arts scene.
Mexico is beautiful and is home to a population with a vibrant spirit and admirable work ethic—people who return your wallet and chase you with your ATM card. It’s full of folks who will walk you all the way home if they have to in order to make sure you get there safely. Folks like that.
Mexico, like most all other industrialized nations, has its share of troubles. There are huge climate challenges, a shortage of water being prime among them. There is corruption, of course, and an illegal drug trade famous for its violent antics. The current president is said to be on the take, but I am betting he cannot compete with the shenanigans of “the Former guy” and his offspring in America. I am guessing he is shy of, say, the two billion the “Jared Kushner Fund” received from the Saudis.
With just a few days left, we decided to check out the mineral springs at the Grotto or La Gruta as it is known to locals. Boobs had injured his ear (which for the record was attended to by stellar medical professionals) and wanted a day off, so it was me (Bomby) and Stinks and Hacks who waded in to the fray. The first thing we noticed was that our fellow future swimmers all seemed to be locals, and all were toting their own towels. We never found the cave the place is famous for, but we waded into the warm waters and spoke quietly.
It is the opinion of the people that it is time for me to get another dog. It will be a rescue, of course, just a matter of which and when. The boys have plans to return to a strict Paleo diet and stricter forms of exercise. There are financial goals and all manner of ambitions among us, and soon it would be time to think of those again, but at that moment it was fun to just float. To just be.
ADIOS AMIGO.
I was wearing the bathing suit I had picked up at the last minute and, of course, failed to try on. I was a tad concerned as it began to expand in the water. The crotch was dropping away and threatening to reveal parts best kept from view. Every time I hiked it up to preserve some modesty, I began to quite literally “bust” out of the top.
“Mind the left one, honey,” Stinks said gently, pointing to the escapee breast which was threatening to break free as we swam. Yet another sartorial fail.
It was freezing when we finally got out and we had no way to dry off. I ran to the ladies' room trying to stay in the garment, which had expanded, stretching this way and that, and dabbed the water off with paper towels, grateful for the change of clothes I had somehow remembered to bring. The boys just stood in the sun until they warmed. We drank Mexican beer and rested on recliners for a good long while.
Once home, I discovered that I had left my bathing suit in the back of the Uber which had returned us to the villa. Hacks immediately sprang into action.
“I can get it back for you,” He said as he searched our ride history for the driver’s info.
“Nah,” I said. “I think we can let that go. Hopefully it will find its way to somebody who can fill it out.”
I left a few other pieces of myself in the gorgeous country of Mexico: a blue polka-dot skirt, a handful of beauty products, a parasol, and that too-big bathing suit among them…
and of course, a big ole hunk of my “estupida” heart.
Happy birthday Boobs and Stinks and Hacks!! Thanks for the thirty-plus years of friendship and a celebration to remember. Cheers to the next memories in the making.
On we go …
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LA Senora Idiota