Is It Really Almost Time?

I can't believe I'm three days away from fulfilling one of my wildest dreams and all I can think of is, don't forget your underwear, do NOT forget your underwear. Okay, that one is my friend Mel's fault, but there you have it.

So yeah, Playa de los Muertos. Sayulita is peppered with small, isolated beaches that are surrounded by rocks and only accessible by kayak. But there is one, Playa de los Muertos, that you can reach from a small road. Playa de los Muertos is probably the best swimming beach in Sayulita. It's a stretch of sand that runs about the length of a football pitch, located in an isolated cove. It's on the southern end, just a short drive through town and up a narrow path where you have to pass through the graveyard (hence the name, Beach of the Dead). When we were there, we met a guy from Buenos Aires, his American wife and their beautiful little baby (baby was sleeping so I didn't get the chance to ask if it was a boy or girl). We spent a bit of time chatting with them about how they liked living in Sayulita. I hope to meet up with the wife again once we're settled (if I can find their house again, somewhere near the center of the village). Although she says she loves the life there, she seemed pleased with the possibility of having a new, English speaking neighbor.

Playa de los Muertos

I hope I get a chance to make another post before I leave, but if I don't, wish me luck and talk to you when I get there!

Sayulita, A History Lesson, Part One

Sayulita is a rather small village in the state of Nayarit, in the country of Mexico, on the planet of Earth (shut up, Sid, just because they don't have a Sizzler, doesn't mean it's on another planet). It's about a 20 minute drive up the coast from Puerto Vallarta, unless you get stuck behind a semi, a school bus, or someone herding goats. It can then be anywhere from 45 minutes to two days to reach the port city (depending on how hungry the goats are). The road looks like this:
So going around said semi, schoolbus, herd o' goats, really isn't an option. The village was founded by a small group of families migrating from the state of Jalisco in the eary 1940's, a huge surprise to the Cuyuteco indians, who had foundededed it centuries before that. Queue Eddie Izzard moment:

"You can't claim us, we live here!"
"Do you have flag?"
(curtsey)

Then the surfer dudes and stoners found the place in the 1960's and the rest is history. Now people from around the world call Sayulita home. When we first visited the village of about 4,000 residents, we met people from all over the U.S. and Mexico, as well as from Germany, Argentina and Canada. The Canadians really appreciate the fact that you can stop talking for a minute and your lips won't freeze shut, ay.

Next Post: History of Playa de los Muertos (Beach of the Dead)

Puppies and Kittehs Gone Wild

Okay, this is turning out to be an animal blog rather than an, I'm moving to Sayulita, blog, but I just had to share. Sorry they're a bit blurry, but the little buggers mill around a lot. This one's for you Mel.

The babies at 4 and a half weeks in the mosh pit at a System of a Down concert.


This is Rusty Shackelford, my son's puppy, the only male brown and the designated driver.



And this is one of the female brown and white ones. She looks like she's saying, "I smell butts."



And here's a couple pictures of kittehpalooza.

Puppies and Kittens and Moving, Oh My

Getting ready to move is a pain in the butt. In the beginning, I made lists, labeled boxes and packed everything with lots of TLC. Now I'm just tossing crap in the trash. I have a garage full of junk that I've always thought was so dear to me that I couldn't part with it. Well, it's been in the garage for years now, so dear to me that I have no idea what 90% of it is anymore. Hmm, not so dear I guess.

Tonight was first solid food extravaganza night for the puppies. We took them out one at a time and once the first one started eating we brought out another, and another, and another, until we had an unruly mob of seven chubby Boston Terrier puppies drenched from muzzle to paw in puppy formula soaked IAMs. Then they all spent about an hour tile skiing on their butts and trying to get enough traction going to beat each other up. So far, I've broken every rule I made to keep me from getting attached. First rule, don't name them, let their new owners do that. I've named them all. The runt is Pippin, there's one with a question mark shaped spot on his head, we call him Riddler. Frosty is the only one with white tipped ears. And then there's my son's puppy, whom he named Rusty Shackleford (don't ask, the boy's a bit off). Rusty is brain damaged. He has anger issues and runs into stuff, but omg, he is soooooo cute. Rule number two, don't pick them up. I pick them up, I cuddle them, I know all their character traits. How am I ever going to give any of them up? I've already decided to keep Pip.

And now, NOW, my husband, the cat hater, is insisting we keep one of the kittens. Help.

My First Time

I made a blog and I didn't break anything. Go me :)