I am a lover of spontaneity.
If you’ve known me for any significant amount of time, you’ll know it- nothing gets me fired up quite like a burst of random. So, it was a welcome invitation extended by the Velarde’s to go to Kino Bay for a day. This weekend proved to be another mark on my spontaneity wall- the question had not even finalized and I was running off to pack a day worth of living into my backpack.
The drive there was uneventful- I thought about how long it’d been since I’d actually heard some real ocean (years!), and anticipated the slow embrace of the senses that comes from the beach itself.
There’s a strange relationship between the ocean and I- the sound, the scent; it all slows me down. I need slowing down. My body enters some sort of sacred reverie where it can actually appreciate the world. I feel spiritually in tune. I feel recharged, and alive and sincere.
I kept thinking, wondering if I could smell a trace of salt water, or hear a hushed wave- and we drove with me waiting, waiting, waiting.
And then it happened.
In a moment that rivals any movie that’s ever won an Oscar for best score, “At Last” by Etta James started playing on the radio as we entered Kino. I seriously wanted to melt in the perfection of that moment, to save it for some sad eyed future to look at and remind myself that life is made of minutes so perfect that they cannot be undone, and should not be forgotten. I smelled the salt, I heard the repetitive sighs of the water and I was home.
We unpacked. There were hammocks, and walks on the beach, chocolate and games of Domino that went late into the night- all while the waves danced and whispered their secrets, and asked us to talk.
Saturday morning I decided to be good and continue my running commitment, and so I ran, I ran so far away and noticed a few things- Kino, even during the day time is a supremely slow town. All beach towns are, but I’d forgotten this.
Also, holy American license plates Batman! There are so many Americans in New Kino- Colorado, Utah (whimper), Montana, Arizona and even Texas (double whimper) were represented. I ran and thought of how, maybe if I touched one of the cars hard enough and left a finger print that some part of me would then be back in the States, defying law makers everywhere. Then I reminded myself that politicians (for the most part) are not poetic or weird like that, and that it’d be a detail only I’d appreciate. Additionally, it’d be hard to explain to some stranger why exactly you were feeling up their car.
Upon returning we feasted on pan dulce (trust!), and then decided to make a visit to the small hill behind us and climb it. This seemed like a great idea up until we were climbing. Sonoran hills are deceptive- they look sturdy, but really, they’re just glorified lumps of loose rocks and dust. This could be said of all hills, but in this case I actually wondered if I was wearing my bad idea jeans (again) because I was acquiring some nice new scrapes to add to my collection.
When we made it to the top though, it was all worth it. The view was beautiful, the sea was sparkling, and the sun was warm and welcoming. You could see a good portion of the town from our humble little hill and so we sat and exchanged pleasantries while admiring the sight. Who gets to look at calm little places over a perfectly sunny day very often anyway?
While there we went to Serro Prieto where I greeted the ocean by dipping my bare feet into its waters (they were freezing, which I guess is ‘normal’ in November), Kino Viejo (where I channeled my inner Shelly and collected seashells by the seashore) and finally, back home.
I was very sad to leave, until I remembered that I would be visiting Cancun in about a month.
Which leads me to conclude that maybe my life is becoming a waiting period between one beach trip to another.
Maybe waiting is not that bad.