I look at this photo of honey from the Aspen Farmers Market and in my mind's eye I see the photo I didn't take that day.
I see Mexico.
We were driving home from Aspen by way of Leadville when Court announced he was hungry. For pizza, specifically.
I, however, wasn't so hungry which is why it was easy for me to take great risk in meddling with our midday meal.
For awhile I've wanted to become a connoisseur of those seedy side-of-the-road Mexican joints - those places perched randomly on the outskirts of town that have every indication of being all things home, restaurant and transportation rolled up into one beat up dusty bus. Each time I see these dilapidated roadside "restaurants" something within me craves travel and adventure and the new experiences one finds along the way.
And what better time for adventure than when at 10,152 feet with no appetite?
I made my case (pitching the imminent savory deliciousness of authentic Mexican tacos) and soon we were standing in 100 degree temps ordering seven tacos from a fantastically ramshackle bus.
It was a perfect old wreck of a rig with three small Mexican girls in front selling juice - big giant containers of bright yellow Pineapple juice, pale pink Watermelon juice, and milky white Rice-something-or-other juice.
And that right there was The Photo That Never Was: three dusty little girls in flip-flops and spaghetti-strap tops selling yellow pineapple juice in front of a perfectly ramshackle bus against an arid Colorado landscape. That would have been a great Day 7 yellow-themed photo. Sigh.
What shaped the rest of our little adventure has everything to do with what happens when one person is after experience and the other is after sustenance. These objectives, you see, are just plain different and can cause that unpleasant air of tension...that "oh-this-so-hasn't-jelled-into-a-mutually-great-experience" feeling. You know the one.
After 60 minutes we still had no tacos. No deliciously authentic delectable tacos!
And after 60 minutes, we were still standing in the sweltering heat.
My previously agreeable husband was understandably not continuing to win agreeability awards. While I romanticized everything about my "It's just like Mexico!!' meal, my poor partner simply wanted to sit down with his five tacos and eat.
But for me...the summery heat, dog-eared bus, old fashioned (and appropriately warm) bottles of Coke, the ragamuffin children playing in an open dirt lot, the surrounding chatter of people whom I couldn't understand, the refreshing lack of regard for timeliness...all these things combined were just the experience I wanted.
An experience, I must report, I appreciated solo. Poor Court, truth be told, still just wanted a darn pizza.
