She Said...

July 1st, 2007

It is 12:30 a.m. and I’ve just realized how glad I am to own a laptop.

I bought it mainly to use whenever I have to go out of town, but having a computer that functions without electricity, well, it’s a good back-up to have when there’s a power failure, like now.

The date is June 25^th, and Puerto Vallarta is enjoying its first true thunderstorm of the season (one day later than the traditional “due date”), complete with lightning bolts and the mighty thunder claps that reverberate throughout the valley, echoed and amplified by the mountains that surround us. I love it.

I was not quite so happy once I went up to my bedroom to find everything soaking wet, but I was relieved that the leak in my roof didn’t drip directly on top of my cordless phone – as it did last year, dealing that one its fatal blow.

I bet you’re thinking, “Why didn’t she fix her roof before the rainy season started?” Well, let me tell you: I tried. And none of the roofers I called have come, yet. The last one has been promising me for the last five weeks. I’m still waiting. He must be friends with my carpenter…

This week, I thought I would devote my space to what I will call “A 51-½ Hour Diary”.

It all began a little after 7 last Wednesday evening, after we had put the Tribune to bed.

I called the bus station to get information about the buses leaving for Colima the next day. Having driven there and back a few times in the past, I had promised myself never to do it again.

The young lady who answered my call informed me that there were no direct buses to Colima. Ok, so what about to Manzanillo? No problem. It left at 7:45 a.m. every day. Did I have to go out all the way to the bus station past the airport to get it? Yes. Did it not stop anywhere on the south side of town? Nope. Ok. No problem, I would get to Manzanillo, then get my friends to drive me to Colima and back.

I packed a little overnight case –with wheels- checked my laptop to make sure it worked (remembering the last time I went out of town when my old laptop suffered a stroke on the eve of my departure), and set my alarm clock for 6 a.m. the next day.

Thursday morning, the clock worked (thank goodness, there had been no power failure during the night.) I got up, showered and dressed, poured some strong, freshly brewed coffee into my pretty turquoise Starbucks thermos mug, and left for the bus station. I parked my car on the side of the road and went in to purchase my ticket. The passengers (there were two of us) received a little bag with a can of Coke right out of the fridge, plus some sweet breads, cookies, and instant coffee to mix with the hot water purportedly available on the bus itself. The bus left on time.

It was a beautiful vehicle – comfortable roomy seats, air conditioning, TV screens, and even a full knee-to-foot thingamajig that adjusted to the passenger’s favorite leg rest position.

When we reached the corner of Aguacate and Venustiano Carranza, guess what? You guessed it! The bus stopped to pick up passengers. One really short block from my house. It was 8:30 a.m. Was I upset? Yes, indeed, you might say so. I could have slept in an extra couple of hours and I would not have had to look like something one of my cats dragged in – if only I had listened to my friends instead of the little lady who answers the phone at the bus station. Now I would spend the rest of my trip thinking about the fact that upon my return to PV, I would have to go all the way back up north to the bus station, just to get my car, so that I could drive back south, all the way to my house… Geez!

The trip was a pleasure. They showed three movies, including one entitled “Thank you for smoking” - not Oscar material, but very interesting nonetheless. We arrived in Manzanillo at 1:15 p.m., exactly on time, and I took one of the taxis parked outside the very nice station, to get back to my friends’ house - a block away from where I could have gotten off way back, but was afraid to be mistaken... The driver and I chatted, mostly about the difference in rates charged there as compared to PV; they’re about 50 percent less in Manzanillo. I don’t know how those fellows manage, considering that they pay the same for gasoline and car maintenance as we do over here.

When we got to my friends’ place, I was so happy to finally get there that I forgot my little bag of leftover bus goodies - and my favorite Starbucks thermos mug - in the cab.

We went out for dinner that night and got a little sleep before setting out for Colima early next morning so as to be at the SRE (Mexico’s Department of Foreign Affairs) at 8:30 a.m. The trip takes about an hour and 15 minutes, traveling at the speed limit. We got there on time.

The SRE offices are located in one of the buildings on the main square. This is a typically Mexican feature, the zocalo, or main square, full of TREES, surrounded by shops set in front of wide sidewalks, and beautiful archways all around.

We entered the little waiting room, armed with all the required documents, and got in line with all the other people applying for passports. There’s a big sign on the wall there. It says that everyone is entitled to a series of things such as dignified treatment, etc. etc., …and that once all their documentation has been handed in in due form, to receive their passport within 45 minutes. Otherwise, they can report the delay to some higher up authority, I didn’t note who... (the President, perhaps?) When our turn came, photos and fingerprints were taken, we handed in our papers and were graciously told to return in one hour. It was 10:30 a.m.

We went out to have brunch at one of the lovely sidewalk eateries there, and we took our time.

At 12 noon, we walked back to the SRE office, and waited. Someone came down the stairs with a pile of passports, but not mine. My friend knew the receptionist quite well, so they began chatting. Then the young lady’s husband came in with their little 3-year old daughter. So we took turns playing with her - just to stop thinking about the time.

At this point I should mention that I had to get back to Manzanillo no later than 2:30 p.m. in order to catch the only bus returning to Puerto Vallarta that day. Should I miss it, I would have to take the first class bus that leaves at midnight, arriving in PV at 6 a.m. the following morning. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to sleep in my own bed, so I had opted for the “second class” bus, even though it would take a little longer.

1 p.m. Still no passport. The computer had suffered a glitch of some kind. Of course. Murphy must have been cackling at me again. By this time, I was really making a big effort not to lose my cool. It was hot, there was no air conditioning -or fans- at the SRE, and the hands on the big clock just kept on moving forward. Finally, at 1:15, someone came down with another handful of passports, including mine. I signed for it. My friend wanted to take a picture of “the event”. I nearly hit her.

We didn’t drive, we flew back to Manzanillo. Lucky for us that we weren’t stopped for speeding. We arrived at the bus station with approximately five minutes to spare. And my taxi driver was there too. We greeted one another, shook hands, and I asked him if he had found my little bag with my thermos mug in it. He said yes, but he had left it in the trunk of another cab …that should arrive within a few minutes. We agreed that he would bring it to my friend’s office when he got the chance. (She’ll be coming to PV soon.) I went in, paid for my ticket, and got on the …bus.

Well, it used to be a bus. Now it was but a shadow of its former self. The sliding windows didn’t …and some of them had bullet holes in them. Others were just cracked, looking as if they had spider webs on them. In Mexico, they call those vehicles chatarra, translated as “heap of scrap” in the Oxford Dictionary. Obviously, no air conditioning, and forget about TV screens …or movies! No radio either.

Around 3:30 or 4 p.m., we stopped at a little bus station in a village called Cihuatlan (coincidentally also the name of the bus line). I asked the bus driver if I had time to get off and go buy a drink at the station shop. He said yes. I got off, went into the shop, bought a Coke, came back out …and the bus was gone. With my little case on wheels and my laptop in it. I just stood there, my mouth gaping open. I must have looked like an idiot.

I walked over to the one and only wicket and asked the young man where the bus had gone. He said, “It’s gone.” I asked him what I should do now, as all my belongings (except for my new Mexican passport which I had put in my purse as soon as I had gotten it) were on it. He told me to go talk with the young girl at the “bus ticket office” across the street. I looked, couldn’t see anything that looked like an office, but I crossed the street anyway. There was a place there, three walls, one chair, one desk, a fan, and a nice young lady trying to keep cool in front of it. I told her about my situation. She said, “Don’t worry. I’ll put you on the Primera Plus bus that’s due in a few minutes, and you can catch up with your bus, number 116, in Melaque.”

The beautiful, shiny and new Primera Plus bus came, she explained my situation to the driver, he motioned me to get on, and off we went. Here I was again, in a comfy seat, with air conditioning, on a first class bus. Too bad it didn’t go all the way to PV.

In Melaque, I asked the driver which of the buses lined up there was mine. He pointed it out to me and wished me luck. I thanked him, got off, walked over to Cihuatlan bus No. 116, got on and walked down to my seat. No one had touched my case, and no one seemed to care that I had disappeared for a while. The driver never checked to see if I had left …or returned for that matter. I settled in for the rest of the drive back.

9:15 p.m. - We stop to let people off at the corner of Basilio Badillo and Aguacate, a block from my house.

10:00 p.m. - We arrive at the Central Camionera (bus station). I get off without thanking the bus driver who doesn’t even bother looking at the passengers disembarking, and walk through the station, onto the street. My little old Tracker is still there.

10:30 p.m. - I’m back home, tired and very hungry, but I’m with my kitties and my dogs …and my new Mexican passport. Viva Mexico!

The next day, our friends T. J. (a fellow contributor at the Tribune) and his lovely wife Helen invited me out to celebrate my new status. (T. J. got his Mexican citizenship a couple of years ago.) We went for pizza at the newest eatery in town, called “Eat Me”. Yes, you read right, and if you think that’s far out, wait till you see their menu - enough to make a sailor blush! But the food’s great! Check it out. It’s at

If you’ve gotten this far, I wish you a wonderful week, dear readers. Don’t leave any of your belongings in a taxi… And to all our American friends - a most Happy Independence Day! Hasta luego. pvmom04@yahoo.com

posted by Anna Reisman @ 4:45 PM