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4:30 PM
I take a bottle of water from the refrigerator. It begins to drip before I get it to the patio, instantly sheathed in condensation as if it had been dipped in wax. It is eighty-eight degrees and the humidity is more than that. A storm is coming to Puerto Vallarta.
In the kitchen, Louise is preparing paella, boiling water for rice, frying things in a pan. She has the air conditioner on. Without it, she would wither in the kitchen like a stick of melted butter. We try not to use the air conditioner, preferring to acclimate to the tropical weather. But in the kitchen with a hot stove, acclimating is no more practical than breathing fire.
5:15 PM
I prepare our drinks: a Margarita for me, a Cape Codder for her. The glasses instantly sweat in the humid air. We take them to the beach, recline under a palapa. Severo, the basket vendor, comes by. Louise bought a basket from him yesterday (“My family make them here in Puerto Vallarta”) but she didn’t have enough cash to pay for it in full. Severo gave her the basket anyway and said he’d catch up with her later for the remainder. We talk for half an hour. Laugh a lot. The people here are like that: industrious, friendly, trusting, cheerful.
6:00 PM
It is time for another spectacular Puerto Vallarta sunset. We sit on the beach with our drinks nearly every night to watch the sunset, but tonight — given the density of the sky — it is not to be. The sky and the sea, both as gray and dense as used motor oil, confuse the horizon. Rather than a sunset, we go simply from light to dark in that unfamiliar way of the tropics, as suddenly as if we blew a fuse.
6:15 PM
Lightning, out at sea. I count the seconds, awaiting thunder. In air, sound travels about a mile every five seconds. It is eighteen seconds before we hear thunder. The storm is about three miles away.
6:30 PM
It’s the Fourth of July out there, with lightning striking as often as fireworks. Thunder rumbles like severe indigestion. I count five seconds now. The storm is near, and drawing nearer. Quickly.
6:45 PM
Lightning and thunder surround us. We are living inside a Leyden jar. Until a moment ago, the air — enveloping us like a warm blanket — was as still as a corpse. Suddenly the wind has picked up, whipping rain under the palapa. Palapas’ roofs are made of tightly woven palm fronds and they’re remarkably waterproof. We’ve been sitting beneath ours, ogling the storm, wide-eyed, whispering “Wow!” and “Lookitthat!” like children at a circus. But palapas have no walls and now the wind has found us, and brought along its friend the rain. The rain has an attitude. We grab our glasses and sprint for home.
Our patio is less than a hundred feet from the palapa but by the time we’re under cover we might as well have been swimming. My hair and my clothes are soaked but I don’t care: the rain is as warm (and welcome) as a mother’s hug.
7:00 PM
The wind, the thunder and the lightning stop abruptly, but the rain is here for an extended engagement. Louise serves paella on the patio. We light a candle, pour a bottle of wine, and eat while the rain cascades in sheets off the patio roof.
It has been dry in Puerto Vallarta. People are worried about having enough water to last the winter. After tonight, perhaps, not so much.
kathy casey said:
Tom and Louise I continue to be “blown away” (as in a thunder storm) by your ability to paint pictures with words..
Thank you for letting me experience your lives in Puerta Vallarta as well as the opportunity to read and savor your “word pictures.”
Kathy
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Katharine Doel said:
Love this post as I do all. Though Kathy says it already, I have vivid pictures of you in Puerto Vallarta, through your words. The photos are an added bonus.
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Tom said:
Ah, Kathy and Katharine, you are too kind. No, not TOO kind. Maybe just kind enough. Regardless, I thank you for your thoughts.
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Anita Blanchard said:
Aren’t tropical thunderstorms wonderful? Tomentas electricas. We spent two weeks in Costa Rica during the wet season. Such exciting fireworks and loud loud thunder that goes on and on and on. Here, we are lucky if we get two small growls and have to looking in the right direction at the just right moment to catch a glimpse of lightning. I long for the thunderstorms. And then the rain. I have taken more than one shower in the downpour. No chlorine, no plumbing, no cost, just joy.
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Tom said:
The wet season has lingered here this year. As I write thiis, dark clouds gather, the humdity descends, and rain is imminent, again. You provoke a confession: when we ran back to the patio, soaked to the skin, I donned my swimsuit and hightailed it to the pool. Swimming in the rain!Can there possibly be a reason not to?
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Anita Blanchard said:
Well, maybe there is. I went swimming in a rain and thunderstorm in Bali, in the resort swimming pool. It was wonderful, but I did think about the electricity in the air and wondered if I was being really stupid. All worked out, however.
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Linda said:
Words and pictures were wonderful. I enjoyed both. Thanks so much. How was Louise’s paella? That’s one of my favorites.
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Tom said:
Linda, you’ll remember that we lived for three months in Spain. And before that, a month in France. In other words, I know paella. The best? Louise’s, of course! This batch was no exception.
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gallivance.net said:
Such a beautiful, evocative post Tom. Your power to describe a tropical storm is amazing. Having lived in the tropics for many years, I can attest that you totally nailed it. My other lasting impression – what a sweet life you two have created. Enjoy! ~Terri
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restlessjo said:
Beautiful! 🙂
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