20 March 2006
Playa Novillero
James awoke with a burning stiffness between his shoulder blades that stabbed him whenever a blossoming Huichola caught his eye. He had slept on the beach in his intrepid army surplus sleeping bag, alternately chilled by the rolling surfs sharp breeze and baked, as he zipped and unzipped seeking equilibrium.
The blue trim and khaki face of the Hotel Pacifico announced the center of hospitality in Playa Novillero. Huevos rancheros, hot coffee, and fresh corn tortillas revived his spirits, before wandering at low tide. The gooseflesh terrain seemed an alien landscape spied from an orbiter. Thousands of tiny volcanoes erupted with wet sandy lava as clams fed on the sea water just below the rippled surface.
In a few weeks the tiny fishing village would be overrun with city folks rushing to escape the clamor of modern living to grasp at the straws of a more bucolic way. A Latina Jill Hennessy strolled by, waist wrapped in a dark red beach towel splotched with immense black lilies. Her tight fuscia spandex top betrayed chilled pert nipples ripe with milk and longing. Her cascading chestnut waves, olive skin, and lilting gait, spoke of her native roots mixed with Spanish blood in colonial fervor, bent on conversion rather than extermination. The stiffness in his back shot sharp and hot as she floated by.
Playa Novillero
James awoke with a burning stiffness between his shoulder blades that stabbed him whenever a blossoming Huichola caught his eye. He had slept on the beach in his intrepid army surplus sleeping bag, alternately chilled by the rolling surfs sharp breeze and baked, as he zipped and unzipped seeking equilibrium.
The blue trim and khaki face of the Hotel Pacifico announced the center of hospitality in Playa Novillero. Huevos rancheros, hot coffee, and fresh corn tortillas revived his spirits, before wandering at low tide. The gooseflesh terrain seemed an alien landscape spied from an orbiter. Thousands of tiny volcanoes erupted with wet sandy lava as clams fed on the sea water just below the rippled surface.
In a few weeks the tiny fishing village would be overrun with city folks rushing to escape the clamor of modern living to grasp at the straws of a more bucolic way. A Latina Jill Hennessy strolled by, waist wrapped in a dark red beach towel splotched with immense black lilies. Her tight fuscia spandex top betrayed chilled pert nipples ripe with milk and longing. Her cascading chestnut waves, olive skin, and lilting gait, spoke of her native roots mixed with Spanish blood in colonial fervor, bent on conversion rather than extermination. The stiffness in his back shot sharp and hot as she floated by.