I thought about thinking about washing my hair.

."Take it easy", I tell Ryan, even as saying the words accounts for a sharp increase in physical and mental exhertion.

We´ve now been in Mancora, a small surfer village on the north coast, for four days. Generally, we tell ourselves we ought to be doing something in between extended periods of absolutely satisfying idleness. Waves keep on rollin in, we keep chillin. Writing this blog will be the most productive thing I´ve done all day.

Last night, after showering off the day´s sun and sand, Ryan and I stopped at one of the numerous cafés along the strip of the Panamericana that they call Mancora and cracked a couple of beers. Cans of Pilsen (La Cerveza de Peru. La Cerveza Mas Cerveza) were perfect. I had not only donned a clean shirt for the occasion, I even made the effort to put on some boxers - Mancora is too chill to muss up clean undergarments. We sat in red plastic chairs (I can´t remember the last time I ate a meal sitting in a chair that wasn´t plastic) around a round plastic table advertising Cuzqueña Beer, toasted, and sat back.

I felt at that moment that there was absolutely no stress in my body. I was as ooze in the plastic chair. I sat with clean clothes, a spectacular sandle-line tan, and a complete abscence of hurry. A little red in the face from the day´s sun, I found that the nasty nappy hairstyle that comes with an almost-weekly shampooing schedule is excitingly and entirely obedient. That is, I can fashion my hair at any time as if I were wearing a permanent heavy hold gel. I entertain myself with these thoughts in Mancora.

We eat two dollar two course meals for lunch, sitting under umbrellas on the beach. We read (in spanish, though, so the mind gets a bit of a workout), we play chess, we wipe our sunglasses, we make sorry attempts at body surfing. The only "work" we do is of the type done "on a tan", where the term "work" is grossly misapplied. We watch passers by, we chat with children selling bracelets and chiclets, we apply and reapply sunscreen. We discuss nonsense and reflect on reflection. We realize how cool it is to be here.

The sun sets here between sillouhettes of fishing rigs, and clouds roll at dusk to add appropriate texture. Two nights ago bits of magenta topping waves of clouds reflecting those of the ocean gave way to a clear mango sky around the sun and something of neopolitan pastels to the north and south. Last night streaky zigzagged dark blue clouds cut through something like peach tones. These colors would give a paint-mixer fits, as they do a (clearly very exhausted) blogger trying to do them justice with words. Point is, I´ve no problem sitting on the beach in the evening and doing absolutely nothing but appreciating.

I´ve contented myself with the exertion of a couple of spectacular runs along the beach after rising late in the morning. My lungs feel great after spending a month 12000 feet above sea level, but my legs feel like they are coming back from vacation. It´s a nice feeling, to sweat. Breeze, sun, and nobody else anywhere after five minutes. Smells like salt, and a little west of town I passed by a large lagoon. Just me, a few dozen pelicans, some cormorants, and a flock of flamingos looking pretty. All enormous birds, their colors blended together as I looked through heat waves rising off of the sand. Returning, soaked in sweat, I´m actually glad our hostal doesn´t have hot showers.

Somehow a head that was too full of thoughts in the mountains overflowed right into the wide open space next to the ocean. I´ve no problem thinking about nothing, or concentrating (but only when absolutely necessary) on ideas profound or simple. With palm trees around and waves breaking always in earshot, I feel absolutely content, satisfied. A good time to stop and think about where I´ve been and where I´m going, both short term and long term. A good time. Period.