Diving, Part II

Jason's dive shack was everything I expected it to be.  Of course I had seen his picture and the environs on the internet.  But there it was - an 8 x 10 shack across the road from the prototypical Mexican beach bar.    A motley crew of hangers-on who filled various roles - not an easy job to run a dive operation in Mexico.  Off to the left, an entrance to a restaurant with tables on the sand in front of the shack.  When I returned from diving the first day, I asked Jason where was a good place to have lunch.  He suggested his neighbor, or a place up on fifth avenue to the north two blocks and then left - a carnitas place.  Oh, do I love carnitas.  And I recently read what parts of pork are in it!  I opted for the neighbor bar. They gave me a menu and I went for the fried fish - in butter - and a mojito.  It was a good deal.  But by the time the bill came, I think they charged me double.  I was so happy, under my umbrella, sheltering from the rain and taking it all in, that I didn't really care. 

On the block leading down to Jason's shack, which is right at the edge of the beach, there are at least three hotels, advertising European rates - $40 - $60 a night.  I peeked in, and they all looked fine, and the people coming out looked fine too.  Jason attested to these lodgings.  Of course there is the Royal resort at the north end of town, and my super-deluxe place.  But if I returned, I would be happy to stay in one of these places in the quaint (though hardly 30 year old) atmosphere around Avenida Quinta, even though Avenida Quinta is very touristy.  But it has a certain charm, and, with the mix of Mexicans, Europeans, some Americans, it feels safe.  People told me it is safe in the evenings too.  Police make their presence known, and the strip has familiar amenities scattered between interesting-looking hotels and restaurants and bars.

Across the street they were advertising Temazcal experiences, with a Mayan shaman.  Now, I live just north of the neighborhood of Temescal.  Temescal is a sweatlodge, and I love living in the Temescal Creek drainage, dreaming of sweatlodges peppered here and there.  It's a mystical place.

On to diving.  Tuesday, soon after I arrived, the young engaged couple arrived with whom we would be diving.  From Vancouver.  The guy had recently certified and had great stories to tell of the beauty of diving in the Pacific Northwest.  We put on our wetsuits and dragged our gear across the sand to the boat, and Jason and his hangers-on dragged the tanks.  Waded out chest-high and clambered aboard.  This was not your usual dive boat.  Maybe it could hold six, but we had four.   The ladder up was the aluminum-bar type that hurts your feet when you have 45 lbs of tanks and weights on your back.

Off we went about a mile south to a shallow spot where Jason could take the engagee through her paces, since she had not dived since she was 12.  Her boyfriend and I snorkeled around inside the reef.  The storm dampened the visiblity of aquatic life, but it was exciting to be getting acquainted with the environs.  At one point a small blue-stripped fish swam toward me, curious.  I love that type of interaction.