Postcards from Sayulita

Shelly walked along the dirt road determined to find a post office or at least a postage stamp. In the little town of Sayulita, Mexico, a quaint and bohemian-like town just forty minutes from Puerto Vallarta, she found it absurd that there was not one store who sold postage stamps. Her sandals were getting worn and dirty from walking through the colorful Mexican town. Sayulita was alive with history, vibrant colors, and food that to say was delicious was like saying the sky was vast. Looking for someone who had postage stamps for sale was harder than going 5 minutes without someone trying to sell you a leather bracelet or a beaded bag.

Part of Shelly’s vacations were usually spent sending postcards. She loved picking out just the right card for her friends and family. Her sister always got a card with food that the city or country was famous for; her best friend liked picturesque cards, depicting the sunsets, buildings and beaches; and her colleague from work liked unusual cards, like a textured card or something with glitter and foil.

“Are we going to spend all day looking for stamps?” Shelly’s husband, Mark asked just before she left him at the hotel room.

“You don’t have to go with me. Meet me on the beach, you know by that little bar that served those huge margaritas,” Shelly quickly answered trying to avoid another discussion about her postcard obsession.

“I don’t want you to get mad, but maybe in the future you should buy stamps before we leave on vacation?” he said as if he’d had a genius solution.

“I always get my stamps ahead of time…when we’re traveling in the states. We’re in another country, you have to buy stamps in the country where it’s being mailed from,” she replied and adding, “Besides, I tried,” she smiled letting him know she had the same idea.

Mark knew when he met her how much her postcards meant: writing them, sending them, receiving them, and collecting them. She always said, postcards are a way of documenting each of her trips and sharing it with her friends and family. She took the time to personalize each card, not just a, “wish you were here,” card, but making sure each recipient knew the card was only meant for them. Shelly and Mark have a neighbor, Clara, who does not travel much, but loves to know all about their trips. For this reason, especially, her cards always get the most care because Shelly knows how much she appreciates them. When Clara receives her postcards, she makes a point to call Shelly and let her know how much she enjoyed it. Once when Shelly and Mark went to Paris and she’d sent Clara a card, it took over two months for it to be delivered.

“Shelly, hi! I got the card, it’s beautiful,” Clara was so excited when the mailperson dropped off her mail that morning.

“I’m so glad, I wonder why it took so long?” she said completely stumped.

“I loved the picture of the Eiffel Tower at night, it must have been beautiful to see it in person,” she said dreamily.

“You have to go to Europe, if you ever get a chance,” Shelly said hoping that maybe one day she would take charge of her fear of flying and get on a plane.

“You know I never will, but I can live vicariously through you,” she said sadly, but happy to have a friend like Shelly.

Shelly often wondered what she would do with her vacations if she didn’t travel. Thankfully Mark liked adventures as much as she did.

“Shell, maybe you should pick up another hobby? One that’s more current, like blogging? I mean who writes a note anymore, that’s why we have emails and texting,” He said trying to convince his wife to go with him to the beach instead of looking for postage stamps.

“I guess that’s what I like about it, it’s a dying artform. There was a time that post cards were common, it’s how people bragged and showed friends and family where they’ve been. It was a way to say, haha, you’re not here. But now it’s fading away. I want to keep it alive, like cursive and magazines,” she smiled at him as she stepped into her sandals and reached for her canvas bag. “Don’t be mad at me,” she kissed his cheek, “if you think you’ll miss me too much, you can come with me,” she held out her hand for him to take, but instead of taking it, he kissed it. Shelly opened the door, turned and said, “I’ll see you in two hours,” and with those words she left the hotel room.

“Un stampia para cartas,” Shelly was sure that was how you asked for a postage stamp in Mexico. She took out her phone and googled for a translator. As she stood at the counter in the pharmacy, thinking for sure they would have post stamps and for some reason there’s two pharmacies on every block, she held her bag and struggled to type in ‘postage stamps’…sello de correos! She spoke loudly and smiled like she’d discovered gold in the little store.

“Ah, sello de correos!” The woman was happy she understood but frowned as if she let her down, “no tengo,” she said.

You don’t have it Shelly translated in her head, “está bien, adios,” she walked out of the pharmacy and looked at her phone. Oh, no! how could I forget to check the time, I’m late to meet Mark. Shelly walked quickly towards the main street; she hadn’t realized she’d neared the edge of the small town. Now which way is the beach, she looked up to see where the sun was, does it set over the water or on the other side?

“Desculpe señor, dónde está la playa?” Shelly asked a young man hoping he knew which way the beach was. He pointed left.

“Gracias,” she felt relieved and quickly started walking.

Shelly looked at her phone again, thirty minutes late. She tried to call Mark to let him know she was on her way, but she was not able to get through to his phone, she kept getting a message in Spanish and it was not something she could translate, the words seemed meshed together.

After three small blocks filled with street carts selling fruits, souvenir shops and vendors walking their wares of jewelry, pet collars, hats and all sorts of handmade treasures, Shelly spotted the straw awning that hung outside of the margarita bar and saw Mark looking up and down the street. There was no mistaking the smile that spread across his face, like a rose blooming in rapid motion as soon as he saw Shelly.

“I’m so sorry I was late, I couldn’t call, I guess we should have paid for the travel pass on our phones,” she said hoping he wasn’t too mad.

“Not your fault, I thought as soon as you left that we should have had a better plan. I mean we’re in a foreign country,” he kissed her cheek. “Did you find the postage stamps?” he asked wanting to change the subject as he was trying to compose himself from the worry he was feeling.

“No,” she said sadly. It didn’t seem fair that not only did she worry Mark, but it was for nothing. “Maybe tomorrow I can go into Puerto Vallarta, I was told by one vendor that they have a post office there?” she asked as if this afternoon had never happened.

“We go together, I need stamps too,” he smiled as he fanned out several postcards. “I’m not letting you go alone again.” She took his hand as they both walked over to a table where Mark had two margaritas and a plate of nachos waiting for them, but secretly, she wanted to marvel at each postcard he'd chosen more than she wanted the margarita.