Cruise Pt 6

{M E X I C O}

We have an enjoyable dinner at the Italian restaurant and some wine. Up early tomorrow for a trip to Mexico to see the Mayan Ruins at Tulum.

Morning comes, coffee and tea, and then pick up a box lunch and we’re off. After being around me for a while, Suzanne has developed an extensive inventory of ‘What the hell’s the matter with you now?’ looks. This particular morning, she selects the What the hell’s the matter with you now? look #73 and asks me “You’re not wearing that into Mexico are you?”

My shirt has a picture of Che Guevara on it, with the slogan ‘Resist Oppression’. It’s a perfectly fine shirt. Suzanne is also very good at pretending she’s with someone else. We head down the gangplank to take the ferry to Cozumel, Mexico. I sing quietly ‘Aye, yi-yi-yieeeee, Oh I am the Frito Banditoooo, when I feel a sudden, sharp, stabbing pain repeatedly in my left shin. I stop singing and the pain vanishes. I start again: ‘Aye, yi-yi-yieeeee, Oh I am the Frito Banditoooo, and before I can even substitute any of the John Valby verses the repeated pain starts again.

Me =

We walk along a large concrete wharf to get ready to board the ferry. One of the Mexican sailors is helping people aboard when he spots my shirt. He taps my chest. “¡Hey! ¡Che Guevara! ¿You bean to Cuba lately? ¡Ho ho ho!

“Not lately!” I tell him. “Ha ha haaaa!”

Suzanne expertly pretends she’s actually married to someone normal who decided to stay on the ship.

I told this senorita “If you want to see Jeff Fargo you have to see me first.” ” Ooooh! Si, Senor” she said.

We get aboard the Mexican ferry and find seats in the bottom of the boat. Large flat panel TV’s are playing Mexican MTV. Some guy in a bullfighter suit is playing the guitar as Latina Lovelies drape themselves all over him. They have a little bar set up with Corona beer. They also have an Ortega Nacho machine with a plate on the back that says it was made in California.

The ferry takes off. The ride will be about 45 minutes. The seas are rough, and the captain only knows one speed. Very fast. The ferry is leaning at a 45-degree angle, first to the left, and then to the right as the boat rises and crashes into the waves. The Mexican sailors are oblivious to this and run up and down the stairs like acrobats, not using the handrails. People around us are turning green, then purple. There is a roll of plastic bags on the bar, and the sailors start handing them out, first singly, then by the handful. Buckets and mops are in evidence as well. People are barfing everywhere. We’re in the bottom of the boat, which is less turbulent than the upper decks. Finally we get to Mexico and the boat docks. As we disembark I pass passengers who are leaning over the seats cradling their heads. They are so sick they can’t even move.

We walk down the ferry terminal and a tour guide meets us and tells us she will lead us to the bus for the ride to Tulum. I haven’t been to Mexico in over 35 years, but it’s just the way I remembered it. Dirty, rundown, lots of broken things everywhere. We get to the bus, and at least it’s modern and clean. I observe the driving habits of the Mexicans, and find that they share many characteristics with Canandaigua drivers. They all ignore speed limits, and avoid such fuel-wasting habits as stopping for stop signs.

The tour guide is a young lady who speaks English very well. She keeps up a running dialogue about Mexico, the customs of life here, and what we’ll see at Tulum. The driver of the bus seems to be in his 40’s. She says “My friend César ees the driver, and today ees a special day for César. Can anyone guess what eet ees?” (Various guesses from the bus: Birthday? No. Anniversary? No. Have a baby? No. OK. I weel tell you. Today ees the day César get hees driver’s license!)

(¡Ho ho ho!)

Mexicans like to have their little jokes.

The guide explains that all Mexican houses offer their guests 3 things: Tequila, Nachos and Salsa. She warns us that if we eat in any restaurants not to eat the salsa; it is made with habaneros, and would hurt us. She elaborates on this and then says that in Mexico, “jalapenos are candies for the children.” I like hot stuff, Suzanne does too, and we’ve eaten habanero peppers. I’ve also had some jalapenos that were plenty hot, too.

She announces that our first stop is just ahead, and that the bathrooms there are very clean. We pull into the first stop, and we observe that it’s a large souvenir stand. She tells us that they will give us free tequila, and that everybody should drink it. We get off the bus and go inside. I ask Suzanne if she’d like a large purple velvet sombrero decorated with chrome sequins. She politely demurs. They have jewelry, Mayan calendar reproductions, and assorted touristy stuff. They have these reproduction Mayan death masks made of black obsidian and inlaid with mother of pearl and abalone that are actually very cool.

This is the sort of thing I’d normally buy, but they’re 400 dollars. Nope.

Neither of us tries the tequila, which is being handed out in thimble-sized glasses. They’re also selling bottles of it. How obvious. I use the men’s room, and it is indeed very clean and odor-free, but it seems that every other urinal is missing from the wall, leaving just a drainpipe. All of Mexico is like this; something broken, something missing.