Waves of Change

How we handle stressful situations says a lot about who we are as people. I get agitated and my brain slips into overdrive trying to figure out solutions. President Obama, it appears, breathes deeply and sallies forth undeterred by Republican rancor, royal protocol, or this audacious recession/depression we find ourselves slogging through.

We traveled to Mexico this past week and yes, the photograph above was taken at one of our favorite restaurants in Sayulita, (the town where we stayed) -- Burritos Revolucion!.
Our vacation was relaxing and rejuvenating. We swam, ate, slept, walked, ate some more, played games, and yes, dealt with some stress, but only on the last night of our stay. It went down like this:

The Casa where we stayed, high atop a hill where the cool evening breeze kept us happy, is completely open. Aside from the locked gate upon entry, there are no other doors except for those going to the bathrooms and bedrooms. Ironically, even the bathrooms have "open windows" to the rest of the house with only large plants to block full view of one's nakedness.

A view of the porch with the house to the left and the gardens to the right...

Consequently, the rental agency offers a hotel safe bolted to the adobe shelf in the one kitchen closet. There we kept our passports, wallets, extra cash, and other valuables whenever we left the house. Sayulita is known for its food, its surf, and its hospitality -- everyone knows everyone or at least everyone knows someone who knows someone else, but with the increase of Americanos, there has also been an increase in theft.

So every morning, before we headed to the beach or to breakfast or for a journey through the town we locked up our "valuables" under the special combination we'd agreed upon in the steel safe bolted in the closet. On the last night, I went to open the safe to retrieve our flight itinerary double checking exactly when we needed to be at the airport...

...only the combination didn't work. ERROR ERROR ERROR the safe squawked and the more we tried the combination, the more it beeped at us and the more I panicked. Our passports, our money, all of our ID, the cell phone -- EVERYTHING was in the safe. Without entry, we couldn't get home and despite the glorious time we'd had in Sayulita, I was ready to come home.

We traveled to Sayulita with our good friends Jeanne and Lisa. We travel well together and sharing a house is always stress-free and wonderful, but it was at this moment of stress that our true colors emerged and like a psychological exam, our quirks came to light.

I went into overdrive trying to figure out our options. I couldn't sit down. I paced. I implored. I wrung my hands and pulled my hair.

Ann tried to calm me down, but at the same time, worked the problem solving angle with me going back to step one and reading the instruction booklet that came with the house (to no avail I might add -- you'd think "How to break into the safe" would be an important chapter in the manual, but no.)

Lisa, on the other hand, developed what she at first called "heartburn" that then turned into "indigestion" that later turned out to be Montezuma's Revenge. While Ann and I flitted around the house in worry and problem-solving mode, Lisa tried her darnedest NOT to throw up on the beautiful Mexican rug in the living room.

Meanwhile Jeanne, the hospital administrator who handles crises almost daily, sat in her chair and watched us. Her advice? Wait until the morning, ask the house manager (Ramon) and stop freaking out.

Wait until morning? You don't tell a person like me (uptight, nervous, and worried) to wait until the morning. Besides, no one knew exactly when Ramon would be around, we had to leave by 9:30 to catch our plane (though there would be no traveling anywhere without passports or ID or money), and we weren't certain if Ramon knew how to break into the safe.

I must say, I was astonished at Jeanne's calm. I suppose that's a necessary role in any crisis situation, but I was a bit miffed that she wasn't in the same frenzy I found myself in. You know, when in crisis you always want everyone else to behave the way you do...it only makes sense. Ha!

We are all different, aren't we? In some ways I suppose the world needs those who problem solve out of panic as much as we need those who thoughtfully practice patience. Let's just say, she was the Obama in the situation and I was -- well, I was more like Paul Krugman, the doubting Thomas, the person who's certain everything we are doing (or not doing) is wrong and will therefore fail.

In the middle of this odd scene -- me in a panic, Ann not quite panicked, but soothing mine, Jeanne contemplative and calm, and Lisa about ready to hurl her fish taco onto the floor -- I remembered that one of the owners of these hillside casas was in the house (his house) right above us.

Let me step back a moment and tell you one other quirk of mine (besides panic and overdrive problem solving): I am not a good initiator. For instance, I'm not good at making phone calls to people I don't know, I rarely complain about food at a restaurant and never send it back, and I'm not someone who would willingly walk up to a stranger's house late in the evening, and ask for the combination that gets us into a locked safe.

But there I was, walking up the garden path to this amazingly beautiful house to find someone I did not know, had never seen before and ask him if he could help. Ann went with me (she's always so supportive of my neuroses). I won't go into all the details, but it turned out that Cap (the man in the house) was warm, welcoming, and willing to help. He gave us the "secret" code to try and if that didn't work, "come and get me!"

As luck would have it, the secret code didn't work so for the next hour, Cap problem solved with us! He called his sister (who owned the house), searched for a "jumper cable" to override the possible dead or failing batteries, and punched in the secret code again and again aghast that it didn't work. He called his sister once again (back in the US) and she gave us the same advice we'd heard from the locals all week long -- relax, take a deep breath, have another beer, and try again.

None of us drink, but we did the rest and lo and behold, it worked. Why it worked, we have no idea, but I could feel the stress leave my body the moment the door opened and I saw my precious passport. At which point Lisa headed to the bathroom where she spent the rest of the night (off and on) battling Montezuma.

We are home now and safe, after a long journey back though we still have visions of Sayulita to keep us warm...
In hindsight, I think I'm glad that Obama is more like Jeanne than like me, but I'm also glad there are Paul Krugman's in the world, too.