¡a la puchica!

Arriving to Rivas, a taxi driver offers to take us to Tola for 100 cordobas. Silly guy. We go to buy water and ask the woman working for the best way to get there. She says don't pay more than 40 cordobas for a taxi and for some reason she gives us a huge smile when I told her we were going to Tola. Folks are so friendly here.

The taxi driver drops us off at the "parque central," a small square of cement with a few basketball hoops. Some big pigs roll around in the mud in one corner of the park and people sit around in rocking chairs and on porches. Our HC host, Keila, told us to get to the park and ask for her aunt, who sells vegetables there. So, I walk to the stand closest to us and ask a young guy working. "She´s the last stand in the park," he tells me and I look to see that there is actually only one other vegetable stand, about 10 feet away. Aunt looks at me for a minute and then suddenly brightens and shouts, "Keila!" and proceeds to call everyone in the family and let them know we've arrived. I immediately love this family as mom walks up and gives us a warm hug and dad rides up on a motorcycle with a huge smile. Keila is all energy, throwing our bags in the car and asking if we´re ready to see the ocean. "Yes!" After all, I did promise Abby the ocean on her birthday.

At the house we meet Grandpa and brothers and cousins and aunt and baby; everyone is so pleased to see us, even when they find out that were from the States and not from Argentina like they'd all thought (though we never really find out why). Oh my, and when the family finds out it's a birthday, everyone immediately starts shouting and clapping and singing all at once. A few minutes later "las mañanitas" is blaring out of a stereo in the house. Keila promises an unforgettable day and we embark for the ocean.

The air is thick with dust and the roady bumpy and rocky and nearly empty besides the occasional herder leading his long-horned cattle home, their ears flopping and necks swaying back and forth. We couldn't roll the window up for the heat, so dust filled our eyes and ears and mouths until we got to the sea. Always lovely and here the sea is heaving onto the filthy beach, which is popular for parties and family gatherings, especially since the water is too cold to be entirely inviting. At the end of the beach we climb some rocks and watch the ocean send tall sprays of water into the air via huge, crashing waves. Around the bend a pristine beach sits empty and isolated, barely accessible because of the rocks, and in stark contrast to the beach behind us, where an enormous pig is making its way through the litter strewn all over.

At home we get our first taste of mom's cooking. The best beans I've ever had in my life (for real), fried chicken, rice and a little glass of rum and orange juice. Mom sits and watches us eat with a huge smile on her face, truly content by our presence. I tell them that in Mexico everyone calls Abby 'Tinker Bell' and they both erupt in laughter, "It's true!! She is Tinker Bell!" Keila shouts. And when brother arrives with Abby's birthday ice cream, he tells us that the only flavor the store had left was "fantasia." "Ahh perfect! Fantasy ice cream for the Tinker Bell!!" Keila and Mom laugh and laugh.

Turns out fantasy ice cream is really just bubble gum flavored but whatever, I'm eating ice cream in flip flops (though mis matched now) and imagining that if I were back in Michigan right now I would be miserably cold and clinging to the hope that spring was actually going to come this year.