Countdown to W-Day: Tue., May 3

This is the story of the epic (if we may say so ourselves) Ixapa wedding of Edouard and Camelia, seen through the eyes of the latter, with (promised) ulterior posts from the groom.


Chapter 4: Thought by experts to be near extinct, the local gringo population is suddenly revived

Tuesday morning I wake up and try to coax mom into a walk on the beach but i'm met with stern refusal. She was up watching re-runs of  Sleepless in Seattle and is tired!

Prospects for a walk are not looking good...

I walk a little bit and return in a hurry to have breakfast, with the firm conviction that I need to  meet with the photographer in the lobby at 10:00 AM sharp to talk about the various sessions, poses and overall timing. I wait until 10:30, telling myself "Mexico time" and then decide to check my email, only to find out that i skipped a whole 45 minutes of morning sunbathing (the best), in vain! The photographer was scheduled for Wednesday, tomorrow, at 10:00 AM. Tomorrow will be busy: guests arriving, photographer, Ed coming back from Saladita and, on top of it all, a hair appointment at noon to take care of my neglected roots. I sigh and meet mom in the pool for a (very) early round of drinks. 

Generally I try to stay away from alcohol before 5:00 PM, but the circumstances are special and i need to catch up with her on some delicate topics that I've postponed broaching until now. So I wait until she's properly hydrated ( with Coladas) and then bring up the possibility of taking a year sabbatical from adult life to travel with Ed through Latin America. Two Coronas (moi) and another Pina later (her), we strike a deal that basically makes a compromise between mom's desire to see me save for my old days and my desire to break the office shackle. All is good and we are done just in time for lunch. 

As usual, mom has a tiny bit of salad and three deserts, to my complete disgust (feigned) and jealousy (real). I pile my plate up high with veggies and add a smattering of guacamole for desert, as I still harbor hopes to look less like a chipmunk and more like a mermaid in my white gown.

Still white, but working on it...

Upstairs, we call grandma to give and receive the report: no narcotraficantes attempted to kidnap us, but, alas, one of my mom's dogs ate one of her parrots. It's a sad moment that reminds us both that at the end of these two weeks we need to face some unpleasant facts of life. But not right now. I check my email and see that Ed wrote to me twice: once at 1:45 to say that he heard that Meghan and Kelly are getting in today (woo-hoo) and am I sure that I still want to join him in Saladita for a surfing session and overnight stay; and another email at 2:11, to say "OK, I'm leaving now!"  I reply as quickly as my vacation-mushed brain can manage to command my fingers to tell him that I have way too many appointments on Wed. to be able to go to Saladita and that he shouldn't come. I hit Send at 2:12. I don't hear anything back. 

I join mom upstairs and, sure enough, Ed and Wes show up 40 minutes later, sweaty, dusty and hot like two habaneros. I break the news that i can't go, but Ed, high on endorphins from surfing, takes it remarkably well. He jumps in the shower fully dressed (but that's not saying much - when in Mexico he generally wears nothing but board shorts.) They hop back in the car and they're gone, in a cloud of dust, like some vision from a Spaghetti Western. 

It's time to return to the beach and work some more on the tan. Mom somehow already managed to burn her cleavage a deep dark burgundy, but she bravely wraps herself into a towel and joins me on the beach chairs. Five-ten minutes later I hear two familiar voices and spy Meghan and Kelly, the first two guests from the cohort. We spend the rest of the evening talking, lying on the beach, occasionally dipping into the ocean. 

Thought by gringologists to be on the verge of extinction, the  gringo population in Ixtapa was suddenly revitalized by an unexpected migration from the North And although they were all females, scientists have observed in the past that gringo males soon follow suit. The gringologist community waited with bated breath...

After dinner, we walk to town, where I buy two bottles of champagne, one for the bridesmaids and one for the best men. Then we walk back to the hotel and talk until the wee hours about everything an anything, from neural pathways to sartorial makeovers. I take my leave from them around 1:00 AM and return to my room. The joyride is about to begin.