So, yeh. The story goes like this....Finishing up a wonderful trip to Mexico, it was now time to think about how to get back on a plane and head for home. For those of you wondering "how hard can that be?" have never been to Punta Allen. Not that this particular paradise is difficult, let's just say you have to be creative when it comes to travel. The road in and out of this small fishing village is a beachie, rutted, weathered road that has survived centuries of hurricanes, rain storms and constant deterioration. Although it is traveled quite often, it is not a road that anyone I know would want to travel everyday as your kidneys, neck and back would surely suffer, but the pay off in beauty and genuine community was well worth the bumpy ride. I digress. Back to my story. I was due to fly out in a few days and needed to find a ride from Punta Allen to Tulum and was told that a local restaurant proprietor was planning to go to Tulum the next morning. I had met this proprietor, Mike, on a few evenings as we sat at his bar and ate delicious food and drank lovely drinks called "La las". A La la can only be described as yummy goodness concocted of a mix of Baileys, Kahlua, maybe rum and something else truly scrumtious. La las are so good you really have to watch yourself or they will knock you on your arse. So, my new friend Miri and I decide to ride our bikes down to this bar and inquire as to a ride to Tulum the next morning for myself. I decided that it was only fitting that I buy Miri a La la on our last night in Punta Allen, so I strap my little handbag on my side and we head for Mike's. A few blocks and a few peddle strokes later and we are belly up at Mike's bar chugging down La las and discussing my travels to Tulum the next morning. The travel plans in place, it was time to pay Mike and head back. Whoa! My little purse handbag is gone. Hmmm? How many La las did I have? Did I actually bring some money? Did I leave it at our last stop? The mystery was beginning. I rode my bike all over that damn town that night desperately looking for my little purse that contained only a small amount of cash as a small point and shoot camera. I finally felt my defeat and decided to sacrifice the purse and it's contents to the La la gods and went to bed. Early the next morning, feeling refreshed a flushed off some of the effects of La La, I decided to jump on the bike and do one last tour-de-Punta-Allen in search of my purse. Up and down the streets where I had been the night before proved to be worthless. I rode down to Mike's one last time and happened to see a dog run away from the front of Mike's tavern. I see a small clump of something in the dusty roadway. As I approach closer, I recognize the shape of my small handbag. Covered in dog slobber and mud, it lay in the middle of an array of scratches and dents in the roadway around the purse - indicating that this dog had been having a purse tossing party all night. A corner of the handbag was chewed off and new stylish bitemarks were adorning the purse now. I picked it up and unzipped to reveal all the contents being intact. Turns out, Mike's dog at the tavern has been accused of this disasterous deed before. He gingerly snagged my purse right off the bench beside me as I slothed down La las! I think Mike trained him to do this ! Now, the picture you see, is not Mike's dog, but if you have ever been to Mexico, most of the dogs look alike anyways. So, beware......when drinking La las, tie your purse to your waist and hold on - you never know when a clepto-Mexican dog is stalking you!
Sunday, March 27, 2011
The Dog Thief
So, yeh. The story goes like this....Finishing up a wonderful trip to Mexico, it was now time to think about how to get back on a plane and head for home. For those of you wondering "how hard can that be?" have never been to Punta Allen. Not that this particular paradise is difficult, let's just say you have to be creative when it comes to travel. The road in and out of this small fishing village is a beachie, rutted, weathered road that has survived centuries of hurricanes, rain storms and constant deterioration. Although it is traveled quite often, it is not a road that anyone I know would want to travel everyday as your kidneys, neck and back would surely suffer, but the pay off in beauty and genuine community was well worth the bumpy ride. I digress. Back to my story. I was due to fly out in a few days and needed to find a ride from Punta Allen to Tulum and was told that a local restaurant proprietor was planning to go to Tulum the next morning. I had met this proprietor, Mike, on a few evenings as we sat at his bar and ate delicious food and drank lovely drinks called "La las". A La la can only be described as yummy goodness concocted of a mix of Baileys, Kahlua, maybe rum and something else truly scrumtious. La las are so good you really have to watch yourself or they will knock you on your arse. So, my new friend Miri and I decide to ride our bikes down to this bar and inquire as to a ride to Tulum the next morning for myself. I decided that it was only fitting that I buy Miri a La la on our last night in Punta Allen, so I strap my little handbag on my side and we head for Mike's. A few blocks and a few peddle strokes later and we are belly up at Mike's bar chugging down La las and discussing my travels to Tulum the next morning. The travel plans in place, it was time to pay Mike and head back. Whoa! My little purse handbag is gone. Hmmm? How many La las did I have? Did I actually bring some money? Did I leave it at our last stop? The mystery was beginning. I rode my bike all over that damn town that night desperately looking for my little purse that contained only a small amount of cash as a small point and shoot camera. I finally felt my defeat and decided to sacrifice the purse and it's contents to the La la gods and went to bed. Early the next morning, feeling refreshed a flushed off some of the effects of La La, I decided to jump on the bike and do one last tour-de-Punta-Allen in search of my purse. Up and down the streets where I had been the night before proved to be worthless. I rode down to Mike's one last time and happened to see a dog run away from the front of Mike's tavern. I see a small clump of something in the dusty roadway. As I approach closer, I recognize the shape of my small handbag. Covered in dog slobber and mud, it lay in the middle of an array of scratches and dents in the roadway around the purse - indicating that this dog had been having a purse tossing party all night. A corner of the handbag was chewed off and new stylish bitemarks were adorning the purse now. I picked it up and unzipped to reveal all the contents being intact. Turns out, Mike's dog at the tavern has been accused of this disasterous deed before. He gingerly snagged my purse right off the bench beside me as I slothed down La las! I think Mike trained him to do this ! Now, the picture you see, is not Mike's dog, but if you have ever been to Mexico, most of the dogs look alike anyways. So, beware......when drinking La las, tie your purse to your waist and hold on - you never know when a clepto-Mexican dog is stalking you!
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