We were supposed to be doing a show tonight, one I was very nervous about due to a new track I’ve been put into, a Bond (Bond, James Bond) pas de deux including the notorious supported upside-down split. It’s considered pretty dangerous, the only piece of advice anyone ever gives me on performing it is “Be careful!”
However, at 10am my line-captain calls to say Rebecca, our female vocalist is unable to perform due to a throat infection and so the show is postponed until tomorrow. Although I’m concerned for Rebecca, I’m relieved to have time to practice, not to mention a whole day off(!)
Two of the dancers (one of whom just got back onboard to relieve the situation of the past week) and I decided to take a crazy suspension-free bus ride into the old town of Puerto Vallarta. There was a dude who came onto the bus to sell chocolate, you can see him in the photo, he did a whole spiel about it, and was one of several people who hopped onto the bus trying to flog various things to us innocent public transport users.
The old town is not what I’d expected (the ubiquitous “new” town stuff is all here, Haagen Dasz, Subway, Carl’s Jnr, Senor Frogs) but the girls and I see a good shopping opportunity. I buy a very short pair of blue and white striped shorts. Rachel succumbs to the croc sensation that is pretty much a staple amongst dancers these days, although she still protests “they’re so UGLY!”
The thing is, we’re both suckers for a gimmick, and you can now get croc “jewels” that go in the holes on the uppers of your crocs to bedazzle them for a bargain $3 a piece! I buy a plaster/band-aid, a four-leaf clover, a clown-fish (Nemo!) and a killer whale for my orange crocs. Very mature, Becky…
We decide it’s time for margharitas and the “guac”, so we ask in the store for a local restaurant, and are sent a promising few blocks up, to what we hope is somewhere off the beaten path. We get to the place, called Pi-Pi’s, and there are piñatas hanging outside and music coming from within (my man Eric would have loved the old multi-colour stringed bass). The menus come in English, catering for the cruise-ship crowd, and there’s a sign up that reads “Don’t drink the water, drink the margharitas instead!” hardly authentic Mexican, but we’re hungry by this point and it looks like fun. The margharits are huge, and the best part of the meal is when a man comes up and prepares fresh guac(amole) in front of us, on the house. It’s gorgeous.
Days like this, especially when they’re unexpected, are what make the job so enjoyable.