Yeah, we could live like this all the time. Gotta buy more Lotto tickets, that’s all.
The week was full of “down” time to do whatever we wanted, which mostly consisted of lazing about the villas with the rest of the guests and getting together for group lunches and breakfasts. Sorta like being at an all-inclusive resort with your family and friends.
The next real “event” was the bachelor party, which son Mike had arranged at a British pub (!?!) in downtown PV. It turned out to be a perfect choice. We had the second floor and its pool table all to ourselves. The room was open to the street back there behind Mike, so the sounds of the city could come in and we could observe the rather lively comings and goings below. We had rock coming through the pub speakers, and banda music through the open balcony from the dance hall across the street. They had Guinness and Bass on tap, so a black and tan was in order. Yum.
Our, er, nicely endowed Brit waitress (white dress, background, below) kept the drinks coming with remarkable efficiency, the younger generation segued from beer to rounds of tequila shooters, and mental states generally deteriorated from there. Yours truly and the rest of the boomer generation made a dignified early retreat, leaving the boys to seek that great headache in the sky.
Next up was the rehearsal dinner, sans the rehearsal. Just another excuse to fleece old Dad’s pockets! :) The dinner was held on the sand in front of the open-air, beachfront restaurant, La Palapa. 
As the sun and the wine went down, it all got quite romantic feeling.
The food was attractively plated
and, if you ordered the fish, quite good. I thought the stuffed pork tenderloin was a little overcooked. No matter, everyone had a great time right on into the night, especially the cutie at the far end of the table. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as 43+ years of memories did their number on my pysche.
John’s best friend from college is Mike L., whom he met in his freshman dorm. A free spirit, Mike has eclectic pursuits, the most exotic of which is fire spinning. Wha? At first I thought I heard fire “spitting,” and thought that was a little far out even for Mike. John set me straight after I expressed a bit of concern. The spinning is only marginally less dangerous. He takes two flaming balls that are attached to cords, and goes through a variety of twirling maneuvers, set to music, no less. It was pretty impressive, and I still don’t know how he managed not to set his clothes on fire.
He drew quite a crowd of onlookers from the beach and the restaurant. Kudos to Mike! We also had another bit of free entertainment. The restaurant will set up a table isolated out on the sand, surround it with candle lights, and call in the strolling mariachis. This is for those special romance dinners. Here’s a fuzzy blowup of a thumbnail on their website.
Anyway, an old coot, significantly further into geezerdom than I, was set up near us with an expensively chic young thing somewhere south of his granddaughter’s age. Champagne was brought out, cork popped, and they got engaged! They departed a bit before we did, with both him and the trophy sporting toothy grins that would do credit to an Ipana ad. I suspect the underlying motivations were not exactly the same.
Like I said, a romantic evening all around!
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