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Pronounced I-know-ah
***
The blaze of the sun heated the faded dashboard, making a stuffy convection oven out of the Chevy Astro van. The windows were rolled up to stop the chalky yellow dust from invading. Rick and Manny couldn't do much about except to take their t-shirts off and sweat profusely from their brows.
The air conditioning hadn't been working in Rick's van for over a year, and they hadn't gotten around to fixing it before starting their road trip. Rick could tell Manny was starting to get frustrated because he had gone silent.
"Keep with me, Manny, only a mile on this road, and we're golden," Rick said.
The Chevy squeaked on its rusting suspensions on the sandy washboard road. At the end of the straight and narrow dirt road, which stretched out in front of them like a yellow ribbon, the Sea of Cortez loomed in shimmering blue and turquoise, beckoning like a cool oasis. Spider-leg ocotillo cactus, and tall saguaros, and countless creosote bushes surrounded them in a strangely verdant frame, creating a charming, rustic landscape like something out of an Eagle's song.
Manny grunted when the van hit a deep pothole. Rick reassured him, "Heard only good things about this place from my dad."
As the road widened out, they encountered sand- and sun- faded rainbow beach houses and rows of palm tree palapa umbrella shades along a white sand bar that jutted lazily into a vermilion lagoon. A crooked sign nailed to a stump of a former palm tree read in ocean blue painted font:
Lupita's Resort & Bar 100 Meters.
"That's the place!" Rick said as he turned the van onto the narrow side road.
Manny had binoculars out. He was studying the beach with a grim look. "No babes, bro. And no surf," he said.
Rick shrugged. Given that he had been driving since Los Angeles, he wasn't in the mood to humor Manny's complaint. He just wanted a place to kick back in the shade and drink an ice-cold Corona.
The little beach encampment appeared mostly deserted. Only two or three vehicles were pulled up next to the palapas. Some families were out on the beach and in the tidepools. Kids turning over rocks. Family dog chasing seagulls. But per Manny's observation, no girls were laying out. And no one tossed frisbees or played loud music. It was hardly Panama City or Miami. Besides all of that, the water was calm and cool as glass. No surfing. Their Astro van with the surfboards tied to the roof looked odd in this entirely too quiet place.
They passed through the encampment with growing regret and trepidation, squinting in the bright sun as they kept their eyes open for the resort. The ramshackle and cheerful houses became sparser as they drove through, until they reached the end of the road and found their spot of respite. The entrance was guarded by two gutted old trucks, or tractors, that were copper red with rust and missing headlights. A bleached cattle skull sat smiling at them from the hood of one of the vehicular corpses and a huge blue and white arch hung above in the same quaint painted font as the sign they spotted earlier, saying "Lupita's".
"You think Lupita's sexy, bro?" Manny asked.
"Probably a lil' ol' lady," Rick said.
"Could be a damn sexy lil' ol' lady. Mmm, I can't wait to meet Señora Lupita."
"You're gonna let your dick do all the thinking for you on this trip, huh, bro?"
Manny laughed. "Summer break, my dude. My main brain is just gonna chill in autopilot."
He turned to Rick with a stern look on his face, "And believe you me, I'm gonna get you laid on this trip, one way or another."
Rick grimaced and shoved Manny back into his seat. Rick was twenty, and he had managed to get most of the way through college while maintaining his virginal purity. It wasn't that he was too socially awkward or that he was bad looking. Quite the opposite - he had a pleasant, low-key personality and was a strikingly good-looking guy, with wavy golden hair, friendly eyes, and a lean swimmer's body (He and Manny were teammates on the UCLA varsity swim team). But he was introverted. To a fault, according to his best friend Manny. Rick preferred the solitude of a surfboard in a curl of a Santa Barbara wave to a frat party and was shy with the girls. So, despite Manny's best efforts, and despite many close calls, he had never actually had sex.
Past the entrance to the resort, they found three round brick-built bungalows with thatched palm leaf roofs like on the palapas facing the sea. A short and broad old man sat in a shaded veranda in the closer, and larger bungalow, surrounded by an oasis of flowering bougainvillea bushes that webbed up its walls in sprouting green and red cascades. He wore a linen shirt, grease-spotted jeans and a straw panama hat. A wineglass with a cool gold-colored liquid sat on a table by his side, and he had his bare feet up as he read a yellowed book.
They pulled the van up to the veranda and stepped out. The man slowly put his book down and rose, clutching at the small of his back as he did so. He grabbed a cane and leaned on it to receive his expected guests.
"Bienvenidos caballeros!" the old man shouted in a strong whiskey voice. He scratched his chin and grinned widely at them.
"Hola! Buenos Tardes," Manny said in a poorly conceived Spanish. "We are, er, buscando... Para Lupita's! Donde esta Lupita?"
Embarrassed by Manny's awkwardly shameless initiative, Rick elbowed him hard. "Ow!" Manny yelped.
The old man laughed a strong laugh with his gut in response.
"Lupita is my wife," the old man said in a comfortable English. He offered his hand. "You found it."
Manny stepped forward and shook the man's hand. "Ok, gotcha. I'm Manuel... or Manny. And this is my friend Rick. We rented a bungalow for the night, señor."
"And here you are. Welcome amigos," the old man said cheerily. He seemed imperviously amiable, like he had been that way his whole life and encountered no good reason to change.
"My name is Enrique Villa-Lobos. But you can call me Kiké." He grabbed his glass from the table and took a sip.
"Let me show you boys where you're staying, eh?"
He shuffled slowly across the veranda towards one of the other bungalows with Rick and Manny in tow. Kiké showed them around. It was a simple circular brick hut, with a central large ceiling fan that didn't appear to work, a two-range gas stove and a small white, paint-chipped refrigerator nestled in the back beneath a tiled countertop. The bungalow looked out on the sea through small barred windows. Two cots topped with folded white sheets and colorful serape patterned blankets sat against the brick wall. It was a simple, but lovingly cared for guestroom.
"Awesome," Rick commented. Kiké handed them a key to the door and advised them to take a shower during the day when the sun still warmed the water tank that sat on the roof of the hut. He walked them outside and showed them the big rusted propane tank that sat glumly on the side of the bungalow. He gave it a hard kick and it gonged deeply.
"Outta propane," Kiké explained. "The gas man stopped coming out here from town. Got too expensive for him. If my son Guillermo was still around, I'd have him help me take the tank to town for refills. But's he's out in Ciudad de México. He studies at university there. Very proud of my boy. I've been meaning to get smaller tanks but haven't gotten around to it yet. Shouldn't be a problem these days, but let me know if you need more blankets, eh?"
He sipped from the glass and asked, "any questions caballeros?"
Rick and Manny looked at each other and shrugged. Rick replied, "Not at the moment. I think we'll just go grab our luggage for now. This place is beautiful, Kiké."
Kiké nodded with a grin. "Ok guys, you know where to find me."
He raised his glass at them and shuffled away, back towards his veranda.
Manny shouted out after him, "Oh, Kiké. Any surfing around here?"
Kiké turned and laughed and said, "Naw man. No surfing. But plenty of good fishing on the other side of the laguna. I got poles if you wanna borrow them."
Manny shook his head, "'salright Kiké. We're good."
Kiké raised his glass the same way he did before and took a sip before he shuffled off again.
Before grabbing their luggage from the van, Manny and Rick took in the beautiful view. The beach was white and pristine, and the calm breeze pleasant. A long train of pelicans skimmed the surface of the calm sea in undulating flight, heading south along the coastline.
Having recovered and lightened up from the rough ride, Manny slapped Rick's back triumphantly. "My man, the summer of Baja will be a memorable one."
Rick agreed heartily and wondered loudly where to find their first Baja beer. They went back to the van and picked out their backpacks from the disorganized pile of stuff for the road trip from the back of the van and lugged them back towards the bungalow. Kiké sat quietly on the veranda sipping more of the yellow liquid, transfixed by his book.
As Rick hoisted his backpack onto his back, anxious fluttering and staccato chirps brought Rick's attention to a large brass birdcage that hung by the door to Kike's home. The cage swung and bounced as the source of the chaos, a small white and blue bird, clasped onto the bars of the cage with its feet and beat its wing in rapid succession. Rick smiled as he studied the markedly beautiful little creature. It looked back at him with a cocked head then fluttered back to the swing in the center of the cage.
Then Manny brought his attention elsewhere. Rick felt a sharp elbow and heard Manny whisper, "pssst! Check your two-o clock!"
Rick looked to his right and up towards the balcony covered by the overgrown bougainvillea. A slender, amber-skinned girl stood there, resting her arms against the stucco balcony ledge, observing them as they toiled with their bags. Her centered youthful elegance in the hanging red and green appeared like a subject of a painted mission fresco. Her hair was straight and shimmering Spanish black, splaying across her face in thin strands in the wind and she wore a cotton white tank-top and a long flowing skirt the vibrant color of red carnations. She observed them lazily.
"Ainhoa! Come introduce yourself," Kiké said.
Kiké looked at Rick and Manny with a tickled grin, noticing how their jaws on the floor at the young lady amongst the bougainvillea.
"That's my daughter, Ainhoa. She was accepted to study at university in Mexico City as well. She's smart, like her brother." Kiké spoke with pride.
She emerged onto the veranda shortly after disappearing from the balcony, with her hips swaying elegantly like a charming seductress through the lush flowering arches. Kiké rose and kissed her on a cheek and presented her like a debutante to the boys.
She smiled charmingly at them and shook their hands, and said, in a bright Mexican voice, "Encantado."
Kiké said, "my girl Ainhoa runs the bar. Talk to her if you want some cervezas. Or," he raised his glass, "...something stronger."
Ainhoa nodded, and brushed hair from her face, remaining coyly silent.
With his eyes still glued to her, Rick asked Kiké, "What's that you're drinking?"
Kiké giggled, pleased that the question was asked. He reached between his ankles and picked up a bottle that the boys hadn't notice before. It was a clear round label-less bottle filled half-full of the same golden liquid that sat in Kiké's wine glass.
