Meeting Canadians Abroad

Mark oft laments that I am not of a more sociable cast. My tendency of latter years has been to resist gatherings of people with whom I am not particularly well acquainted and even some with those whom I know quite well. This proclivity likely has coincided with my gradual abstention from beverages of an alcoholic nature. Repeated experiences of post-event sleeplessness have convinced me that booze and I are not a happy mix. But, the social lubricant of choice generally for folks (an Americanism gratuitously thrown in) of our age and persuasion is undoubtedly liquor. It’s not so much fun to stand about with a group of people well into their cups when you yourself are stone sober. In fact, one of the great things about being a bit (or very) high is the loosening of inhibitions with others. Now that can be fun, though it can also get one into serious trouble – that is, if spectators or recipients of your somewhat unhinged remarks or behaviour are themselves in a condition to remember the previous nights events.

But I digress. What I really wanted to write about this morning is coming to Puerto Vallarta to meet Canadians. We live in this enormous, rather sparsely populated country, which like other large and heterogeneous places is actually composed of many foci, welded together politically and economically. There are many Canadas, something I discover again and again as I travel or meet with people from one of our coasts to the other. There is Atlantic essence; the exuberantly interesting though constantly puzzling Quebec flavour; Ontario both urban and rural (not a natural or easy mix); the prairies – each province, and as I’m hearing lately, even each city marked with its own particular distinction; and lastly (if heading in a westerly direction) but beautifully, filled with west coast essence, British Columbia. There are enough rivalries, resentments, and even outright hatreds among the peoples of our vast country to mark it as a real nation.

But, one has only to come to a place like Puerto Vallarta to discover the joy that Canadians can feel when encountering their compatriots abroad. So many common assumptions, experiences, and histories to be counted on and shared! You are from Vancouver? Calgary? Edmonton? Kamloops? Quebec City? London, Ontario? Newmarket, Whitby? My long lost brothers and sisters! We are as one in the great sea of Mexico and Americanized Mexico. It really isn’t the same as meeting Americans here even if they are from cities one has visited and loves. Of course this isn’t the same experience for Mark that it is for me as he lived the first 50-odd years of his life as an American and has only since gradually adopted the mantle of Canadianism. The nuances that I sense fly by him in his easy way of being with citizens of either country. As I think of this now, I realize that he is and will always be most deeply American in culture and approach, despite his dual citizenship and his happiness at being a Canadian.

To return to my initial remarks, I find that I have actually initiated or responded to social activities here with people whom we have met. We plan to visit with Jean and Joe from Kamloops before we leave Vallarta. By invitation we had late afternoon drinks (water for me) on their balcony with Debbie and Ken from London, ON last week – we stayed too long; they must have wondered if we expected them to rollout dinner after the hors d’oevres had been devoured! At a little get together of some of  Zuri’s students (Mark's Spanish teacher) we experienced a sort of shouting acquaintance (the restaurant was inordinately noisy) with a couple of gals from Toronto and one from Chicago. With their email addresses obtained from Zuri I contacted the Toronto women and invited them to join us this coming Wednesday for a quieter supper at one of our close-by beach restaurants.

A day or so later on the malecon we ran into the Chicago lady, Luella, and had a chat with her. Now there is a little tale to be told: in Vallarta there is an organization called The International Friendship Club. We went there last year hoping to be friendly in an international manner. Mark started his Spanish lessons there with Zuri but in my own forays I didn’t experience a great deal of friendliness. (Was it just me or was there a clique overtone?) This year I realized that the group is not actually about getting together for the sake of friendship but was founded as a charitable organization to raise money to help Mexican people – in particular to fund surgery for children with cleft palates. A worthwhile endeavour to be sure and, undoubtedly, people engaged in this pursuit together would develop friendships.

When we talked with Luella that evening on the malecon she spoke about her curiosity about the organization and her intention to attend their board meeting tomorrow night to understand more what they are about. She is aware that there are no Mexicans in the organization, something that she considers a lamentable omission, given the group’s name. We hadn’t talked with Luella at all at Zuri’s gathering as her place around the oval table precluded conversation. This chat showed her to be a smart and interesting gal and I invited her to join us with the Toronto two-some on Wednesday night. We agreed to communicate about this event. I didn’t remember her name and asked for it. When she gave it to me – Luella – I facetiously said to her – such a southern name: Lou Ella, and teased her about it. She laughed and off we went.

Afterward I thought that I had perhaps been rude to have teased her, so when I wrote her an email giving the details of our planned supper, I apologized for any annoyance I might have provoked. I didn’t hear back from her. My assumption was that she had been royally pissed off with me. There are people who do not take kindly at all to teasing and I had had but the briefest acquaintance with her. I felt badly and was disappointed as I was interested in what she would have to say about the board meeting and because I had enjoyed our beachfront chat. I decided to try again. This time I wrote a line of abject apology, acknowledging that I could be silly and foolish sometimes (who knew?) and that I hoped she could forgive me and come for a visit. I received an immediate response saying that she not only had not taken offense but that she didn’t remember my throw-away remark. She had had an impression from something Zuri had told her that we were leaving Vallarta and had to cancel the supper, so hadn’t responded. In fact she was delighted with the plan to get together and is going to join us. So there! Nothing like an abject apology to get the social wheels back on track. I must remember this in future dealings.