Spring Break

   

The El Matador Hotel - Postcard

 Even when I was in college, spring break was a big deal with students going places – mostly Florida. It did not occur to me, however, to want to go somewhere for spring break because I did not work while going to school – so there was no extra money, and I knew better than to ask my parents, since they had two sons soon approaching college age, and it would be poor form for me to set a precedent. As the oldest, being a good example was always a source of pressure – more self-imposed than parent-implied although I do remember a few times in my life when I was told to be a good example for the brothers.       By the time Clark and Eric were in college, however, they seemed to be very independent, each following his own road – if they had wanted to go somewhere for spring break, I think each would have found a way – and neither would have used the “well she got to go somewhere” - logic, I don't think – but I could be wrong. I could ask them now.

      And, as it turned out, I did go somewhere once for spring break. With money I asked Dad for.

      The January of my junior year at Canisius, kids were all talking about Florida for spring break, mostly Daytona, but other places too. My friend from both high school and college, Lynn, had signed up for a trip to Acapulco! Somehow she had found out about a teachers group (not from the college) that was organizing a trip, and Lynn was going with two other girls we had known in high school. (And none of them were aspiring teachers!)

       I was in the college cafeteria one day that January of junior year, pouting, but not real sincerely, to a classmate about my not having any money to go anywhere for spring break, and he turned to me and said, “Ask your Dad.”

       Well it just so happened that Dad was working nights and weekends that year – like a second job – helping a friend complete work on a contract. He was making lots of extra money. So one night on the phone I asked him if I could go to Acapulco for spring break – totally expecting him to say no, but with the slightest chance, because of the extra cash, that he might say yes. He said, “Sure”! After that I called Lynn and asked if I could invite myself along on her trip. And she said, “Sure.” Upon reflection all these many years later, inviting myself along seems like something between bold and rude – but I did ask, and Lynn said yes.

      I did not have a passport, in fact, I had never even flown on a plane! But we were assured that all we would need to get into Mexico was our birth certificate. So I carried mine in my purse. 

      And I got on my first plane.

      We stayed at the El Matador, a hotel built on a hillside – the building was only 1 guestroom thick – so all the rooms could overlook the city and the ocean. The room I shared with Lynn was on the second floor and directly over the open-air bar, and the bar extended into the built-in pool.

      Every day we sunbathed at the pool. Every afternoon. and well into the evening a mariachi band played right below our balcony (I can still hear them singing Billy Joel's Honesty!) and we felt like they were serenading only us while we watched and listened at a safe distance from the American male wolves otherwise known as the college boys on spring break!

      We ate at the recommended restaurants. We stuck our toes into the Pacific Ocean – also a first for me – and took a short sight-seeing cruise to see the mansions along the cliffs off the coast.

      We went to the famous flea market, and I got souvenirs for the whole family with money that Dad gave me that I had left after food and cabs. I got Mom a turquoise ring. I don't remember what I got my brothers, but I think I got a ring similar to Mom's for myself. And I got Dad a coconut with a face on it. Sometimes Dads are difficult to shop for. But he displayed the coconut on his dresser for many years.

      One day, at a restaurant in Acapulco, we asked our waiter what Cita means. When we walked around town, young men would call out of their passing vehicles, “Cita! Cita!” and they would smile and wave. We had looked in the Spanish/English dictionary, but could not find the word cita. The waiter broke into a grin and said Cita is a slang term for Honey! 

      You know, I took two years of Spanish in high school and a third year in college, but learning Cita on the streets of Acapulco is the Spanish I hold nearest and dearest to my heart!

      We could walk down the hill from the hotel to get to town, and we would walk back up again. But along the way, the poverty of the area was blatantly apparent. We passed shacks that we knew whole families lived in – with no electricity, and no running water. It was a humbling dichotomy – the people of the shacks of Acapulco and the silly American girl mooching off of her father for spring break to catch her first ride on a plane and her first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean and her first trip to an exotic city.

92 20150402 Acapulco