Just because I’m a risk taker doesn’t mean I’m adventurous. Moving across the pond to start a new life where I knew no one? Bring it on. But climb on a step stool to reach a shelf? Forget it.
It’s for this reason that I’m super cautious when booking any vacation excursions. I not only carefully read the descriptions but all the reviews I can find. It can be quite a challenge when the location you want to visit mainly offers zip lining and scuba diving.
“How about this one?” I asked Grumpy when we were planning a recent cruise to Mexico. “We can do an art lovers tour. A couple of galleries, a relaxing drive into the hills and the chance to paint our own tiles while sipping wine and nibbling cheese and crackers!”
Once I’d booked it, I started to research intricate tile patterns. I had no idea what I would actually do with a single tile, or if it would look more like a mosaic by the time I got it home, but I wanted to make the most of the thrilling opportunity that Grumpy viewed with marginally less excitement than a trip to the dry cleaners.
More Top Picks Best Tablets For Note Taking For Students
A few weeks later we docked at Puerto Vallarta. Welcomed by our guide, Lalo, we boarded our tour bus and trundled off to the downtown district. My intense prior research neglected to tell me that “gallery” didn’t mean museum. What we actually saw were the insides of two stores, although to be fair the walls were covered with paintings.
I assured Grumpy this didn’t matter because it was just the precursor to the next part of our trip, a visit to a tequila factory.
Six delicious tasters and a 30-minute drive later, we arrived at the next stop in our day, the painting class at a hacienda. As we disembarked, it wasn’t clear where the class was actually being held. That’s when a huge truck pulled up on the gravel.
“Look, they must do zip lining here too,” I informed Grumpy.
“OK,” said Lalo, gathering us up. “Onto the truck, which will take us up to the hacienda!”
“This was not in the description,” I hissed. “That’s going to be a really rough ride.”
It was only then that I saw the truck was open on one side. When the metal gates between each row were pulled down, they turned into three-rung ladders. The bottom rung was about four feet off the ground. Amazingly no one but me seemed remotely concerned about this. I’ve never seen a bunch of middle-aged art lovers move so fast.
“Come on, I’ll help you up,” said Grumpy, shoving me in front of him. With me hoisting from the front and him pushing from the back, I finally fell into my seat near the end of the row. Within minutes we were off on a white-knuckle ride across a small, rock-lined riverbed. While my fellow passengers yelled like excited 3-year-olds, I held on for dear life wondering how I was ever going to get off.
When the time came, Grumpy guided me down like a passenger stepping in for the pilot after he loses consciousness.
“Left hand down, right foot on the next step, you’re doing really well.”
It was like a game of Twister, but vertical.
The painting portion of the trip went well although I couldn’t use any of my designs because it turned out to be a step-by-step lesson in finger painting!
Although we were meant to only use our middle fingertip, within minutes Grumpy’s hands were covered in paint as we tried to replicate a picture of a waterfall, which was a lot trickier than our host suggested it would. Because they would take days to dry, we had to have them specially wrapped before leaving.
After a bathroom break — very handy when you’ve had six tequilas — it was time to clamber back into the truck.
“Oh, I forgot the tiles,” Grumpy said. “I better go get them.”
As he bounded off, I was too anxious to wait for his help and decided to get the climb over with. I made it a little quicker the second time around and found myself wedged into the center of the row.
“My husband’s taking a long time,” I said as I chatted with the old lady next to me, who had mounted the truck with the ease of a gazelle. As I looked over to where the packaged tiles were waiting, I saw why. He was sitting on a chair while Lalo and other staff members were waving clipboards around and looking flustered. I realized one of them was bandaging his right leg.
My mind started racing. What happened? Should I get off the truck? Was he hurt? Did we have travel insurance? How was he going to get on the truck? How was I going to get off the truck without his assistance? Did he fall? Were the tiles broken? (All those thoughts, not necessarily in that order).
Now I know most of you would have pushed your way off the truck and rushed to your partner’s side, and I’d commend you for it. But I have two points I’d like to state in my defense. 1. I could see he was relatively OK because he was upright and breathing. 2. See the first paragraph of this column.
Eventually Grumpy hobbled back to the truck and informed me he had tripped over the leg of a hammock and grazed his knees. Talk about reverting to your youth! A messy finger-painting session followed by a scraped knee. If I’d have wanted to travel with youngsters, I’d have brought my granddaughters.
Another childhood dream came true when he was rewarded with a journey back alongside the driver in his cab.
Not exactly the art adventure I had been hoping for, but for Grumpy, it was child’s play.
Hilary Decent is a freelance journalist who moved to Naperville from England in 2007.
More Top Picks Best Decorative Serving Bowls