Here are some things that many don’t know and are not aware of.
My father, Rick the stick, retired from the Army in 1959 and truly dropped out. He was very interested in moving somewhere quiet. You see, after WWII and Korean War and years of military school, I guess he’d had enough. He spoke many languages and he could be very quiet. He met my mother in Puerto Vallarta in 1960, I was born in 62, my brother in 63 and my mother was only 19 when she got pregnant. My father was much older, about 55 or so.
My mother had the idea that she’d married an American and that she’d be on her way to the States in no time. She also expected to have blue eyed, blond hair babies, clearly not what the plan was at all. When my mother realized that that she was not going to the US, she left us with my father, I was 3 and my brother was 2. When my father realized he’d be raising us alone, he moved to Yelapa. That would be 1965. I remember when we arrived, we’d have to gather wood at the beach for my father to cook each meal – it was an adventure. As we grew and more people arrived we had more friends.
My father did not allow us to play with the children in town much, I don’t know why. We were only allowed to play with the children of his friends – The Glumas kids were my first friends. They had a restaurant right near Avenida Fuchi at the bottom of the hill on the left. A small creek ran by their restaurant and house. The Elies kids were older and Daria was in school somewhere else so we never really saw her – Jeff was always fishing or making something. I spent a lot of time with Gloria – she’d let me look at her National Geographic's at her studio – she had a wall full of them. It was heaven and I saw many things that I never knew existed.
We went to the local school only when teachers would come to town and the rest of the time my father would hire the summer visitors to provide us with art, language and history lessons. It was a well rounded education. We learned in French, German and sometimes they tried us in English – we did not do so well in that language. We mostly spoke Spanish around town, French and German only with my father – my brother did not speak much – I was bashful to speak French around Daria and Jeff, they spoke it so much better and much faster.
My father would take us for outings up to one end of the point past Karen’s house – she was an artist that had the last house at one end of the bay – he’d also take us up the river for hikes. They were magical walks because he’d teach us about the plants, the animals and during the different seasons he’d explain how things worked in nature. We would get the same teachings about the ocean. We’d stay up a night just long enough to see the phosphorus in the ocean and see the fish that glowed in the dark come through in particular seasons. Once he hired someone to take us out in a canoe past the shit rock so we could see the whale migration up close.
When whales were ill and they’d come into the bay he’d find a teaching opportunity to go down and touch them, see what animals were attached to the whales and why they were in our bay – he’d explain that they were tired of living and that something must have happened to them so they were here to rest or to die. If one died, it was our responsibility to help them not be messy about their death – they’d be burned on the beach. What a mess that turned out to be, but I guess it was less stinky than keeping them in the water.
The first time I saw a manta ray come into the bay it scared me – it looked like a black school of fish in very strict formation. I got to see one up close once, and they were large. From where we lived, it was a great vantage point because one could see everything even the spotted ray that came through one day. During a particular season there were schools of sardines that would come through the bay and that was fun, because you got to see them shimmer in the water or you could get into the water and feel them swimming past you and between your legs, that was a very interesting experience. There was also jelly fish season, there were all kinds, round ones, blobs and some that were just clear others with black dots on them and tentacles. There were some that stung, some could kill you and others that were harmless – to this day I can not get them straight – best advise I ever got - “stay away from all of them”
There were particular people I remember the most – Peggy – the 20 dog woman. I used to think she had everything at her house, but most of all when we’d go to her house for dinner, we’d always stay the night. We’d sleep in the tapanco or in either the sewing room or the mask room. I loved the sewing room – She only wore huipiles – and native jewelry – I loved that about her. I remember that one day she called my father over because one of her dogs had a big gash and the gash had worms in it – maggots. My father took care of what ever it was that she was afraid of and the dog was fine. He was not a vet but he knew a thing or two about curing things I guess. My favorite memory of staying at Peggy’s house was when I’d stay in the sewing room and she’d come in and open the window for me – she’d say that the moon would cover me in calm rays and that the frogs in the river would put me to sleep. She was very kind.
Ruby near the lake was also someone I remember, she loved to laugh and have us over for dinner. Her house was the best – I loved the garden she had and how she had huts for her guests. She had a lemongrass plant that I loved to smell as a child. She was also a great cook. I remember when she was ill prior to dying. She’d come home from the hospital many helped her to be comfortable in her last days. Daria and I took turns taking care of her so that others who cared for her could rest. It was the least we could do for someone who through the years gave us such joy.
Then there was my father's favorite hang out buddy, Gloria. Gloria was like the mother I never had, she was always teaching me something. I remember sitting under a stump she used to chip away at a block of wood she was sculpting into something. The chips would fall on me while she talked to me in 1/2 Spanish and French as I paged through the newest National Geographic she’d received. I made sure I did not wrinkle the pages because she’d let me see it before she was done reading the articles. She’d sit and read out loud to me in English but I did not understand a word. She’d look at me and let out a laughter that brought out nothing but joy to your heart – she’d rub my head and pull me to her bosom, I just love her.
Then there was Rita, she had the large artifact store with her designs and native clothes. It was the only tourist shop in town and her children were a bit too good for the rest of us. I did work there for a bit, to practice my language skills but my joy was looking and learning about the statues and artifacts she had, you see, I’m an archeology and anthropology buff even to this day. Rita made batik material that she transformed into beautiful bathing suits, she named one after me – the Reyna – it had a front skirt like on the bottoms and a twisted sort of top – it was cute. I remember that I’d watch her when she’d color her hair, I always wondered why she’d do that to herself. She had a couple cats that my brother would sell her fish for, we’d both fish right in front of her house.
The Shapiro’s were another family in town that I thought were the life of all and every party they had. I never knew this until after I’d been here for many years but my father's mother was Jewish and he never knew her, she died giving birth to him. They’d invite us to all the parties they had and we always had a ball – I learned to eat all kinds of different things at their house and the most memorable was the pillow they had that was a “dick”, when you unzipped the zipper on the shaft, it also had a vagina. It was the strangest thing I’d ever seen but it was a pillow. They had the first waterbed in town – wow! Was that fun!!! Their house had a hanging bed that looked out to the river and bean bags that we’d never seen before. It was fun there. I did play with Tali but she was very reserved and maybe older than I, not sure really why we did not click. I remember her brothers and sisters, they had a large family and knew how to have fun.
As anyone in Yelapa knows, people seem to travel through the place. I met two young guys who’d come for a bit and then I never saw them again – Tony and Giles. I don’t remember their last names but they lived up the river a ways – their house had a waterfall in the back that practically ran through the house. The grass in their front area was tall, we’d play Marco Polo there and it was lots of fun. There was a large rock in the middle and if you climbed to the top of it you could see the grass move where people were walking through – it was heaven there.
We once had an American teacher who came with her son to town. She tried very hard to teach us English, I don’t think we did very well at all. Her son, Todd, was always bothered by some thing or another –another words (sic) - a cry baby.
In the evenings my father would play his classical music, listen to the radio news form the BBC and at times read to us in French or in German, only once in English, he had to translate a lot for us. Some seasons brought bugs that would eat his books, some seasons brought bats that would eat the banana raisimos that we had to cover in pillow cases, others brought ejejenes and well, there was always the beauty of the bay and the Macaws that flew around, the Iguanas that had their mating season and of course there was always the boa constrictor that lived above in the tree near our house – it would drop out of nowhere to get an iguana or some rodent on the ground. During army ant season my brother and I would fight bugs, yes – you hear right – we’d get red ants and fight them with black ones. There was always the random question if a cuichi could get away if a large crab grabbed it real quick... It was a child's mind at work in the simple times.
Who could forget the tourist that would wait all day for the boat that my father would tell them would come and pick them up if they waited – at the bottom of the hill in front of Rita’s place – you see they did not want to climb the hill and they wanted another way to get over it. He’d laugh and say how these stupid Americans will believe anything. We’d know when the Princes Cruise was in PV because the tourist would come with their white box lunches and litter the beach – my father always said one day they’d be turning with their trash in tow if he was in charge. He never really wanted to be in charge of anything, I think he’d had enough of being in charge after so many years in the Army - who would not understand.
Ah, the magical days of being at the beach in the morning for a little snorkeling, then a swim around the hotel side of the beach and then lay on the beach for a bit to finish the day around noon to go home, have lunch, a nap for 2 hours then go for a walk to visit friends or do a little grocery shopping.
Some may remember my father as the alcoholic that binged once a year – yes, it’s true – he was a drunk – he’d drink for one to two months out of the year and then be all well and functioning for the rest of the time – people in town would care for us – once we were staying with Don Rogelio’s family for a bit. Another time, a woman in town took us and of course when our caregiver Basi was in town she’d do it. People were incredibly kind and if I could remember everyone who took care of us, I’d say a large “Thank You” because I never really knew them well and too much time has gone by to remember their faces but they know who they are.
Faye – that’s all I have for now – there’s much more but that’s for my book. Thanks, Reyna
