Page 8 of Breakaway Heart
“Always something, huh?”
“Sure, sure. But hey, I had an idea.”
Please, no paragliding, swimming with sharks, river rafting, abseiling, or whatever nausea-inducing activity you’ve thought up now.
“I appreciate it and all, Leon, but honestly, I’m…”
“Wait, hear me out first. So, there’s a little town nearby, Clara St. Pico. My brother’s friend owns a restaurant down there. None of this crap.” Leon waved at the plates on the table next to us, then perhaps wished he hadn’t as the couple sat there stared back from their lunch at him in astonishment.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s notsobad. I was just making a point,” he said, trying unconvincingly to appease their horrified expressions.
“Anyway,” he continued, turning back to me. “It’s calm, quiet, no noisy, obnoxious tourists.”
He grimaced as he said it and glanced back to the table next to us again to offer up a quick, “Sorry, sorry. Notyou, obviously.”
“The local town is very traditional and safe, the church there is so beautiful, there’s even a secluded beach where you won’t have to fight any assholes for sun-loungers…”
Another quick glance at the table next to us was followed by a “Sorry, sorry”. The disgruntled couple now got up and moved to another table, further away from the maniac who was insulting both them and their food.
“So, what do you say?” He beamed at me.
“Oh, I don’t know Leon. It sounds a bitadventurousfor me.”
“And… You don’t want to do anything adventurous?”
Damnit. His face was so utterly thrilled by the idea, letting him down only seemed cruel. Also, didn’t I want to do something that wasn’t hiding in my room or eating on my own in the hotel restaurant?
I only had a few more days left to endure at Adonis Retreats. One of which I was trying to ignore was coming up, but with little to distract me, it was getting harder and harder to forget. A visit to a little Mexican town might at least help take my mind off of it.
“Okay, sure,” I conceded with a sigh. “You win, Leon.”
“Great!” He beamed back at me. “I’ll have a car take you tomorrow.”
I gave a half-hearted smile back at him. Really, what was the worst that could happen?
5
THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN
It was a sparkling morning in the quiet town of Clara St. Pico. The sun bounced off the whitewashed houses while a cool breeze gave the morning a fresh and comfortable feel. The morning market bustled with good-humored locals buying and selling an array of vegetables, cheeses, honey, flowers, hand-crafted wooden toys, and trinkets.
I found a spot in a nearby cafe and ordered a café de olla, sitting under a faded yellow Orangina umbrella and watching the vibrant life of the town. Old men hummed, women hung their laundry out of the windows, children chased each other through the fountain in the square, cats slept in sun-kissed nooks, bicycles with wicker baskets fastened to the handlebars were loaded with flowers and fresh vegetables and walked them through the streets by people in relaxed conversation.
It was a world away from the resort, or even Merryville. For the first time since I left, I felt a pang of sadness that I would have to return to both those places. It was where I belonged. But for now, I enjoyed the feel of the warm sunand crisp air, and the vibrant magic of a different world to my own.
Perhaps I’d finally begun to discover the real magic of travel. The adventure of being in a world unlike your own, even just for a short while. A glimpse into life elsewhere, of what could have been had you just been born and raised somewhere else.
The idyllic hum of the morning was suddenly disturbed by the unmistakable sound of a loud American voice.
“No. Dollars… DOLL-AHS! Si, I give you Ahh-meri-can, okay?”
The man looked so out of place, he may as well have been an alien, passing through from a different planet entirely. With his white high-top sneakers, gold pants, leopard print sunglasses, and a black hoody pulled over his head, he could not have been less discreet. It was like seeing graffiti scrawled across a Monet.
As he struggled to negotiate with the unimpressed vendor, the man started to look around for options. I cursed myself for looking away too late as his eyes fell on me.
“Hey! Hey, you speak English, right?” He yelled across the square, drawing even more attention to himself.
I quickly looked down at my coffee, pretending not to have heard and refusing to look back up.Don’t be coming over, don’t be coming over…
