Chapter 7

Estamos de veulta

SOEL was once again, anchored in Isla Mujeres, Mexico. Elizabeth and I both love this little island. We walked to the supermarket for beer, then visited to the local open air market for tortillas, and fresh produce. On our way back to the Port Captains dock, we spotted the familiar face of Alberto Gomez.

We met Mr. Gomez months ago when we were first here. Elizabeth and I were walking the streets, as usual, looking for someplace to eat, when this guy started asking us questions - in Spanish. I answered, as best as I could, for a few minutes, then declared that, “Mi espanol es no muy bueno.” He replied, in perfect English, “Naw, com’on, you’re doing very well.” Bastard! He recommended La Lomita, his cousins restaurant, and we returned to visit with Alberto every few days.

You see… Alberto is a hustler. A professional hustler. A salesman. He is employed by an organization that provides leads to the timeshare sales guys. Alberto funnels tourist off the streets and into these timeshare / condo / resort sales pitch presentations, and makes a few dollars for each fresh lead he hands over to them. The resort guys pay potential customers for their time with a “gift” such as a free breakfast, a bottle of booze, a weekend golf cart rental, or even cold, hard, American cash.

Back in February, when Elizabeth mentioned a trip to the Maya ruins, a fellow cruiser overheard her and admitted to us, “Actually, we got to go for free.“ He told us, he got cornered by one of those timeshare salesmen and they agreed on an inland trip as his gift. He sat through a two hour tour / presentation, and the next day the whole family got on a bus for Chichen Itza. I mulled this over in my head and prepared myself for the next eventual encounter with Mr. Gomez.

I tried not to appear interested when he started his pitch, but then he stopped, smiled and said, “I know you won’t buy anything, look at how you are dressed! You will have to wear nice clothes, and maybe a watch.” A good salesman always, automatically, assumes the sale. “Just go on the bus, listen to the guy, with your arms crossed, and walk out. Come on… play the game. You make a little money, I make a little money…”

I got my free trip to Chichen Itza. This other place had the best breakfast buffet, and gave us booze. Another resort paid us $300 US! Cash! I was restocking my liquor locker and practically financing our cruise by sitting in sales presentations two or three times a week! We collected tequila bottles, bus tickets, beer money…. until, I got caught. Apparently a single holding company owns about five different resorts, and has a vast computer system. Oops!

As we walked towards Alberto, he recognized us immediately, smiled, stuck out his hand, and asked, “Oscar, Elizabeth, ready to make some more money?”

“No, no Alberto. Just doing a little shopping.” I smiled, happy to see a memorable face.

We chatted for a few minutes, telling of the places we’ve been and the things we’ve seen. He said that, he too, had taken a little holiday and he showed us photos of this sleepy little fishing village on his cell phone.

“Isla Holbox.” he said. (pronounced ho-bosh) “No cars.” next picture… “Sand streets.” next picture… “You walk everywhere.” next picture… “Everybody knows everybody.” next picture… “Beautiful, virgin beaches. I stay with my cousin, Chico. He’s a fishing guide.”

“Can I sail my boat there?”

“Sure, No problem. I saw many boats there in the lagoon.” Next picture… “You would love it… Holbox is what Isla Mujeres was twenty years ago.” well that piqued the interest of both Elizabeth and I. To find this place, that we like so much, twenty years ago….

“Does your cousin speak English?” I inquired.

Almost in a chuckle, “Of course!” Alberto answered with a tone of amusement. That’s when I realized that everybody in his world speaks multiple languages. It’s only the stupid Americans who think they are superior. Only ignorant Gringos think that everyone else should learn English. The rest of the planet already knows better.

Instead of sailing SOEL to a new location, that no charts existed for, I would rather go on a little reconnaissance mission first, to see the lay of the land, and pick the brain of some local who knows more than me. I thanked Alberto, and we made our way back to the boat to pack. I tossed a half a dozen Clif bars, four liters of water, one change of clothes, the hammock, a handheld GPS, a hand bearing compass, and the ATM card into my back pack. The next morning… with no plans, no place to sleep, no clue what we might find… we jumped on a ferry to the mainland, flagged down a taxi to the bus station, bought a bus ticket to Chiquila and then another ferry boat ticket across to Isla Holbox.

Upon boarding the Chiquila Ferry, Elizabeth and I had to back up a few seats and make room for three pallets of bread, dozens of cardboard boxes of produce, and a ton of canned goods. Apparently we were riding the “Grocery Boat”. Those of you who know me will understand that, clearly, I couldn’t sit still. Soo… with my limited Spanish vocabulary, I volunteered to help stand in the window and transfer packages. The delivery truck guy on the dock dropped stuff down to me, and I threw it over to the ferry boat guy in the passenger section. We ran a well executed bucket brigade and were loaded in less than ten minutes.

The first person on the island I heard speaking English, was the owner of a little Hostel, waiting on the dock for the boat to unload, and keeping a lookout for potential customers. Since we had backpacks, he made eye contact and smiled. I immediately ran up to him and asked, “Do you know Chico Belize?”

“Of course. I send all my fishermen to him.”

“Where do I find him?”

“Oh, he’s probably out fishing… I don’t see his boat… he ties it right here.” he said pointing. We followed him to his Hostel, just to be polite and check it out. It was acceptable, but Elizabeth wanted to keep looking for an alternative place to sleep. Besides, if we didn’t find anything better, we could always come back.

The two of us walked the sandy streets all afternoon, asking people about the fishing guide I had hoped to meet. I was hoping he could take us out in his boat, show us how to safely enter the lagoon, and I would record the whole trek with my trusty Garmin. Unfortunately, I didn’t locate my contact.

But, we did find a wonderful Hotel, on the beach, spotlessly clean, beautiful view, for only $60. That place would have cost $300 - $500 per night in the US. It had exposed beams in the living area, a conch shell for a shower head, and a porch with access to the coconut palm shaded, sandy beach. We sat in a hammock strung across the little porch and watched the sun setting into the Gulf of Mexico. Dinner was local fare at some hole-in-the-wall on a side street, then, we bought a bottle of red wine to take back to our room. Holding hands by candlelight, sipping wine under the stars, Elizabeth didn’t want to ever leave!

The next morning, I resumed the search for Chico, with a purpose. We only thought about staying one night. That meant, I’d better find him today, that morning, and we would have to catch a bus back that evening. We walked to the dock, but didn’t see any people. We found a boat, but didn‘t know if it was his. I entered the Port Captain building and asked the about getting a sailboat with a two meter draft into the lagoon. “Es no problema!” he declared. Sure, but how do I get in here? No buoys, no channel markers. My Spanish was not up to the task, so I politely mumbled “Gracias” and backed out the door, to the sandy road once again.

I stopped another person on the street, and they pointed to where Chico Belize lived. Nobody home. By now it was past noon, we were getting hungry, and we still had to get our luggage out of the hotel. After a cold beer and a couple of tacos for lunch, we discussed staying another night, just in case we didn’t find him today. After all, it was getting late already. We carried our backpacks around town, asking people about the famous fisherman. Everybody knew Chico, yet no one knew where the hell he was.

The shadows grew long and we gave up on catching the last ferry boat to the mainland. It was time to find some lodging for the night. This gift shop / apartment place adjacent to the town plaza, advertised rooms se renta. An old woman behind the counter told us she had no vacancy here, but her other hotel had space. $20 per night. “Tu conoces Chico Belize?” I asked. Of course, he’s my nephew... she answered in Spanish. “Donde esta?“ I asked for the twenty fifth time today. Maybe repairing nets… she shrugged her shoulders. Yea, sure… everybody knows the guy, but nobody has seen him today.

A quick count of our cash revealed that we should stop at the bank, if we wanted to stay overnight, eat, and still have enough pesos to get back to Isla Mujeres. To bad there wasn’t a bank on the island! The ATM card was useless. Seeing that we were in between a rock and a hard place, the old woman unwillingly accepted a travelers check as payment for the room. Good thing I brought our hammock, because, Elizabeth refused to sleep in that grungy, rickety old bed with stained sheets. The shower had only cold water. There was sand on the floor. I didn’t care. Two days of searching for this mystery man was beginning to wear on me. I strung the hammock up between the two single beds.

We decided to save the last little bit of our money, and not go out to dinner, so we sat in our dark, dirty little room, ate the last two Clif bars and drank a liter of water, hoping it would satisfy. It didn’t. We couldn’t fall asleep with grumbling bellies, and besides, there was loud music, and a hell of a racket coming from some bozo with a microphone, yelling, somewhere in the middle of town. Elizabeth finally talked me into my shoes and out of the hotel room. We walked to the town plaza and were stunned at the sight of the festival going on there.

The sand streets were filled with people, all crowding around to watch the dancing. Props, lights, and cutouts, decorated the stage area and the kids danced nonstop for hours. Children of all ages were dressed in the most beautiful costumes, dancing on stage, and in the crowd. Food and drinks were available from street vendors and the music was so loud! Colorful lights had been strung across the main seating area, giving the whole plaza a jovial atmosphere. Elizabeth and I just stood there smiling, enjoying the evening, soaking in the culture. We danced in the crowd until way past our normal bedtime, then way after midnight, still the party continued on.

We woke the next morning with a ringing in our ears, not enough money in our pockets for breakfast, and still no contact with this Chico fellow. I summoned up some courage from the depths of my empty tummy, talked Elizabeth into trolling the streets again, and we walked out the dim little room and into a bright, sunshiny day. Most places were closed, either because it was too early in the day, or the shopkeeper stayed up too late at the carnival last night. The streets were quiet. We again walked to the dock. Different boats, but, still no people. We walked back to the house on the corner where he was supposed to live, no one home.

In an empty lot, an old man was repairing a fishing net he had strung between two trees. I tried my best Spanish. He grunted and pointed his fid down the road. We walked on. Another amigo, sitting on a doorstep, pointed his beer bottle back the direction we had just came from. It was past noon, again, the next ferry boat would be at 2:00 pm and we didn’t have enough money to continue this unproductive search another night. Defeated, I sat on the corner of two sand streets, under the shade of a exquisite pink bougainvillea. “Well, we tried.”

“Hey…” Elizabeth reached for my hand and sat next to me… “I still had a good time, that carnival was wonderful!” “Yea, it was a pretty fun adventure.” I conceded. “Let’s get on back to the boat.”

“Aye!” We look up to see this smiling, dark hair, dark skinned guy in a baseball cap, and red windbreaker, standing in front of us. “Jou lookin’fo me?” The name on the jacket: Chico

Two days of searching for this son-of-a-bitch, and he walks up to us while we are sitting in the street!

We visited with Chico Belize swapping cell phone numbers and collecting all the information I needed, until the last ferry boat pulled off the dock, then, Elizabeth and I slept (with big, satisfied smiles on our faces) thru the bus ride back to SOEL.

Home | Stories