As you know, my idea of a great vacation is to sit around doing nothing, preferably with a cool drink at my elbow and a great book in my hands. I can do this all day and then go to bed early, exhausted from my frenetic schedule. Despite my aunt and uncle's delightful attempts to entertain us nonstop I managed to read five books in five days while in Mexico. Admittedly one of them was barely novel-length (Colleen McCullough's The Ladies of Missalonghi), but I still think that's indicative of some impressive loafing.

Whenever I travel outside the U.S. I always look eagerly for the first visual sign that I'm in a foreign country. Sometimes it's the shape of the buildings. Sometimes it's the lack of buildings. Sometimes it's what people are wearing, or saying, or carrying. This time it was the sight of an extremely dead horse on the grassy median of the highway south of Guadalajara.

"Oh, that's just their way down here," Aunt Ava said casually. "People dump dead horses there all the time. The authorities come by and put lime on the bodies and they melt away pretty quick."

Eurgh. I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto.

Winter in central Mexico is the dry, brown season. There has been no rain since September in the highlands, and many of the trees are nothing more than a collection of bare branches. But the primavera is blooming, a brilliant yellow explosion among the dark green papayas and banana trees. Tangled sprays of bougainvillea adorn whitewashed walls in vivid pinks and purples. The houses themselves are aqua, melon, lime, coral, and a shade of grape peculiar to the area. The dust is pervasive, endlessly coating the little town of Ajijic as the winter stretches on.

We stayed just outside the town limits up on a hillside overlooking Lake Chapala, Mexico's biggest lake. It's about 60 miles long, and maybe 20 miles across at its widest point. The Tapatios come down from Guadalajara for weekend getaways and create traffic jams on Sunday nights that annoy the locals. But on weekdays it's pretty sleepy. Cows have the right of way on the main road. Intrepid vendors set up roadside grills or card tables with ceramic figurines for sale. Men ride their horses along the narrow cobblestone streets on their way to work. The church bells ring out every hour. Families of Huichol Indians hang their weavings over clotheslines strung between trees down by the lakefront and sit in the shade awaiting customers. The central plaza is cool and green under the spreading ficus. Mariachi music breaks out at odd moments. It's a beautiful location. I don't wonder that my aunt and uncle gradually extended their visits from once a year to six months a year to forever.

I can't say I felt the same about Guadalajara. Frankly, I thought it was a bit grim. We spent a few hours on Sunday trying to take in the major sights but nothing seemed to go right. John paid the cab driver double the fare because he doesn't speak Spanish and I forgot to tell him what the fare was (luckily it was only a matter of four dollars instead of two). The Cathedral was beautiful, but mass was in progress so we couldn't really look around. Our original plan of taking a tour had been neatly derailed by the tour bus failing to show up in Ajijic that morning so we couldn't actually get into the famous Degallado theater to see the Ballet Folklorico (the bus driver had our tickets). While wandering the main street of the historical district a woman trying to sell me something I didn't want called me a "beech." We got hustled out of the Museo Arqueologica (which was supposed to be open for another hour) by a stern guy dressed in Army fatigues. It looked more like a restroom than a museum, anyway. The only thing that went as planned was lunch at the Hotel de Mendoza which Ava had recommended. The food and the service were impeccable and very, very cheap.

I didn't buy much while south of the border, but I did lash out and get myself a t-shirt made by a local silkscreener who was married to the niece of the woman who cleans my aunt's house. At the time I thought I was just buying a nice t-shirt, but naturally it wasn't that simple. Everyone's relationship in Ajijic was intertwined, complex, and subject to intense gossip. We would sit down to lunch in a restaurant, nod and say hi to another couple, and then get a short history in whispers from my aunt. I was assured several times that the homosexuals of Ajijic are some of the biggest philanthropists in town.

"They're a real asset, get it?" my 82 year old uncle said.

While we were there a dusty little puppy about five months old started hanging around the gates of the house. He was skin and bones but just as cheerful and playful as could be. He snuck in every time the gate was opened and dashed up the steps to try to get Hercule Poirot, my aunt and uncle's basset mix dog, to play with him. Herc didn't think too much of this and would lie down sighing heavily while the little dog frisked around him. We figured he was probably abandoned as he was definitely not getting enough to eat, but he was adorably sweet so I had hopes that if we could get him to the Humane Society he would be adoptable. We took him in to town, but they weren't accepting any new animals at the time. The puppy was perfectly happy to lie across my lap, nuzzling me and burrowing his face in my arms. He fell asleep several times, waking only when we jounced particularly hard over cobblestones. I think he was terribly lonely as he seemed to crave being cuddled. If I could have taken him home with me I would have.

Walt fed him some dog chow our last morning there, and I'm sure he'll take care of him until the Humane Society starts accepting animals again, but I'd rather not think about the puppy's future too hard. The local Mexicans don't, in general, keep animals as pets once they're grown and the town is full of strays who roam the streets and gather near the open air bars and restaurants to scavenge for food.

I hated to leave the warm sunshine and pleasantly lazy days but I was happy to get back to my pets at home. Dixie was thrilled to see us, and even the cats seemed moderately pleased we were back to provide laps and extra petting. It was bitterly cold today but I derived no small pleasure from seeing my lightly tanned face reflected in the train window as I went to work. I don't mind too much when my vacations are over. I like the part where I distribute gifts to the people who stayed behind, and talk about my impressions of the experience. It makes me feel like I live an exotic, glamorous life.

Come to think of it, I do.

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