my sleepy little Mexican beach village

We took Neighbor and Mrs. Neighbor Nelson up to the bus station in Colima for their trip back to California. Then we went to the Toyota agency to get the car looked at; the idiot light on the dash has come on and the notation in the owner's manual is "Go to Dealer." We have to take the car back this afternoon for a diagnostic check. We have to be sure Vincent is in good shape before we start the trek home.

A phone call to YNHH and my sister brought unhappy news. She had to have all the toes on her left foot amputated. Two were gangrenous, the other three were not getting any blood supply. On Friday she will have bypass surgery to etry to stimulate blood flow into her leg and foot. She was all doped up and really couldn't talk. I'll call again today.

I took a long walk up and down the malecon yesterday afternoon to soothe my sorrowing heart and to check on the health and welfare of my little town after the departure of the Easter revelers. It's in petty good shape, despite rough treatment. It's heart has slowed to its quiet, peaceful normal beat. All four discos shut down after a last gasp on Sunday. Stages have been dismantled, light standards removed, banners gone, speakers gone. It's as if they had never been here, although memory tells me they were! The beer tents that lined the southern end were empty although all the awnings have not been taken down. The Easter-only puestos had been packed up and taken away. Trash wasn't too bad; it will be picked up, piece by piece, by strollers such as I, and deposited in the at-hand badsura bins. The Indian ladies with their jewelry stalls were still there, but they are fairly ubiquitous now. The established puestos were doing a quiet but acceptable Tuesday afternoon business. I looked in at Dago's and saw a goodly number of folks sitting in sling chairs under the umbrellas on the shore. The very visible crowd control presence (local and federal police, army, marines, National Guard) is gone. I understand there were only a few fights, one shooting, and, unfortunately, four drownings. One of them was the nephew of the Governor of Colima. About average. The town hired more than 15 extra lifeguards for last week's crowd. This is always a fight among the hotel owners who are responsible for paying these daring and brave guys (and they're all guys. No Baywatch here.) They don't want their guests drowning but they don't want to fork out money to pay for their security. Ours is not a friendly-to-swimmers beach. And despite all the warning signs posted along the malecon and in the hotels, non-swimmers have too much beer and tequila, too much sun, wander into the surf and drown.

Last night I sat out on the front balcony - soon to be enclosed as a dining room - to listen to the lovely quiet. It was still and cool and very clear. I could hear, somewhere down the beach or in town, a wisp of faint music, Ranchero, I think. The dog next door had a few things to say but not much. The sea moaned and sighed on the shore. No traffic, no voices, no loud music, no disturbance of any kind. Bliss.

Three weeks from today we are leaving this wonderful place. I can only hope that Cuyutlán will pass a safe summer; no hurricanes to take out the beach and the puestos, no earthquakes to take down the houses.