Re-entry

 

I'm not going to tell you how many pics of pelicans I've taken while trying to get *this* shot...

 I heard there's a Walmart in Guaymas. And a McDonalds, and a hardware store, and high speed Internet. And I can probably buy green vegetables again. And real chocolate. And wine. Both kinds: red and white. And I can catch up on 2 months of world news, and talk to family and friends on Skype.
I could be there now.

But we're not. We're still anchored in a pretty cove on Isla Tiburon. The desert is green here. I've missed seeing green. And the sunset was so pretty last night that I sat out and watched the horizon change colour as the pelicans fished. Today I kept a vigilant eye out for turtles and sharks. And I felt the difference in the breeze--from when it blew warm over the desert versus when it blew moist across the sea.
We spent weeks thinking about what we'd need for a summer away from civilization. We made lists. We talked with friends. We scoured stores shelves and stocked up the boat. We set up communication plans, and back-up plans. We imagined being away from it all--and how we would cope.
But we almost rushed headlong back into civilization without giving it a second thought.
And honestly, it's way easier to leave than it is to return.
Last time, when we hit the US after two years in Central America and the Caribbean we hadn't expected re-entry to be such a shock. It was the pickles in the grocery store that got us. Do you know how hard it is to choose a jar of pickles when you have dozens to select between, after not seeing a single pickle for more than two years?

So we're not rushing. We still have food. My deadlines don't hit until the end of the week. I need a day or two to imagine the sounds of traffic and visualize the rush. I need to remind myself that staring out at the ocean, watching it change, isn't really a pastime and that sunsets are not events.
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