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Published: September 28th 2012
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Adios Carlos Romero
Infinity is nearing the cruise ship terminal in Puerto Vallarta. Unlike Cabo, Puerto Vallarta is lush and green, but like Cabo San Lucas, clouds and rain again threaten. It will be an umbrella day, but with a little luck we will get a sun break or two.
As I sit here at the computer I am thinking of a time in January 1997 when I was lucky and found a sort of “sun break” here in Puerto Vallarta. My partner, Mark, had just passed away on December 27 at Swedish Hospital at the age of 38. I was exhausted, sad and lonely but also a bit relieved. I made a hotel reservation in PV and landed here hoping to relax and put some perspective on my loss. The first afternoon I met Carlos Romero on the beach.
Carlos proved to be the “sun break” I needed. He was an artist originally from Mexico City. He attached himself to me almost immediately. A friend from Seattle who was also on the beach that day warned me that he was probably one of many beach hustlers looking for a Norte Americano
with money. He was wrong. Carlos proved to be very generous with me. He paid for his meals most of the time during my 10 day stay and gave me a silver bracelet toward the end of visit. Carlos seemed to know intuitively that I had been through a rough time. He encouraged me to let my emotions out. He would say “Cry amigo, cry!! You need to let go.” Letting go is not one of my strong points. I am Danish after all. But let go I did with Carlos’ prodding.
I had a simply wonderful 10 days. Carlos made me feel like a king. He was openly proud to be seen wandering around the resort with me and warned his friends, “You touch heem, I keel you!” It was nice to feel special again. I believe Mark had felt that way about me as well and the absence of someone thinking I was special was very keen. At any rate we did so many wonderful things. I remember him taking me on a rickety local bus to an isolated beach called Ponto Burro where we collected sea shells and delicate fan-like coral. We went to
tea dance at a place called Paco Paco in the late afternoons. One day we went on a small sailing ship to an island to snorkel. That’s when I found out that Carlos could not swim. He had gamely jumped from the boat into the water determined to stay with me and promptly started to struggle and sink. I had to drag him sputtering and coughing back to the vessel. Later we had a barbeque on a small beach and drank loads of Tequila.
By the end of the visit I had the feeling Carlos had become a bit too attached to his “Viking” as he called me. He was not happy that I had to leave but I had to get back to work and the job of putting the pieces of my life back together. I never saw Carlos again but mutual friends in PV would bring stories of him from time to time. Just a couple of months ago I learned that he had recently died, another life cut short by HIV related illness. I will never get over the feeling of loss every time that has happened in my life during the past 30 years. Right now I feel most intensely the fact that I am back in Puerto Vallarta 15 years after my previous 10 days of “sun break” and Carlos is not here. But perhaps the fact that I am thinking of him and writing this note is evidence that Carlos is still with me in spirit. So instead of making the title of my post “Adios Carlos Romero“, it should be “Gracias y Buenos Dias Carlos mi Amigo”. I think I just saw a hint of the sun breaking through the clouds.
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