Last summer, after a couple of bottles of wine, and addled by the summer sun, a friend and I decided it would be a great idea to spend the winter in Mexico. She had spent six weeks the previous winter on the Caribbean side in Porto Morales, and I had spent several short vacations north of Puerto Vallarta over the last decade visiting my father in Rincon Guayabitos. We both knew we’d rather walk our dogs on the beaches than in the snow and rain.
Initially we thought we would drive my van down, meeting up in Austin (where I had spent November and December), and departing from there, winding our way to the Nayarit Riviera. Our friends and families, however, had strong opinions about why that might not be a good idea:
“That van would make a nice cartel drug van!” “Two old ladies alone in a nice van? Are you nuts?” And so on. I remained undeterred.
We scoured Airbnb for affordable places to stay and finally settled upon two that looked suitable. One in Sayulita for six weeks and one in a sweet little beach town up north called Chacala. We put our money down. But as the summer days dwindled into fall, my courage waned. I was mere days away from departing the Pacific Northwest for Texas, but I didn’t know how to tell my friend I was chickening out on driving. I didn’t want to get killed by the cartel. I didn’t want them to steal my van. I didn’t want to be a headline. And neither of us spoke Spanish which made the drive seem even more reckless.
It felt like chickening out, but I gathered my courage and confessed my fears. Turns out my friend was thinking the same things but was also afraid to tell me, sucking up her fears and putting on a brave face. After all, she had navigated around the world on her sailboat. Why would she be afraid of a little drive to Mexico? But, age does funny things to us. As does the news media.
We laughed and reconfigured our travel plans. My biggest challenge was figuring out how to get my dog, Bodhi, down there, but I didn’t have the bandwidth to worry about it yet. I still had over 2000 miles to drive, camping sites to secure, work to do, sites to see. I would have to fly now, and my dog, Bodhi, too big to travel under the seat, would have to fly in cargo. I’d figure it out, I told myself. Shouldn’t be too hard Dogs fly all the time.
I didn’t have the bandwidth to worry about it yet. I still had over 2000 miles to drive, my sweetie and a rental awaiting me in Austin, Texas, camping sites to secure, work to do, sights to see.
Pamela Helberg 