Coming back to Yelapa after more than a 10 year absence has been like experiencing an old dream with new characters. I recognize palapas although house names have been changed. I still know a palm tree or two and nod in recognition as I walk by. The rocks that are left on the paths still carry my name. I've either stubbed a toe, tripped while carrying groceries or fallen under the influence at one time or another. There aren't that many rocks on the path left that haven't been touched by new cement.
I thought I'd miss the kerosene lamps and washing my clothes by hand. I worried about TVs and extra noise now that electricity had arrived. By some enchanted miracle, progress has not ruined my beloved other home in the world. True, I hardly knew any gringos when I came back last year. New faces, new restaurants, ice cream, and home-made granola. I don't have to go to PV to get practically anything I want. Tomas brings fresh muffins. Massages are plentiful. I can even get my hair colored if I want. I want. A class for this, a group for that...there is no end of possibilities to be entertained.
I meet strangers on the trail that have come for the first time since the Sunset article. It feels like a boom town. I'm learning to love it all over again. When I returned home in early April, I found my slides from 1977-79. I spend hours scanning them into digital files to share. Yelapa seemed more quaint. Less people. We all knew each other. Funkier houses. Fewer chairs on the beach. We were the young hot bodies.
The heart of Yelapa has kept ticking without me. The Mexicans have produced new generations. Those generations have produced more generations. The pie girls pictured are abuelas now, but still recognizable and the pie tastes just as delicious as 30 years ago.
