LandfallVoyages

The other morning I heard the unmistakable drowning lawnmower drone of an incoming skiff. Coming in kind of hot, actually. That’s not so unusual. Our boat is parked in slip 13, out at the very end of C-Dock and a lot of visiting boats take advantage of the extra long dock space. Some of them are a little challenged by the acres of empty side-to parking available, while others could obviously hold their own in the surgiest, most marginal parking setup you could imagine. Maybe somewhere up in the Bering Sea. You never know which kind of skipper’s pulling in, but either way it’s just good manners to pop your head up and offer to lend a hand.

And find yourself locking eyes with a guy who has just converted his regular black watch cap into a ski mask. Like a full-face, just-hand-over-the-money-and-no-one-gets-hurt kind of ski mask. He never said a word, just jumped onto the dock and hauled ass up toward the marina office. The guy driving the skiff was equally grim and silent, he frowned once and then pulled away fast, back the way they’d come. The last guy was completely out of place, with a grin so big he looked like a Canadian on South Park. A grin that said, “This is positively the most fun you can have in a three-piece suit.” But he was not Canadian and he was not Mexican. He didn’t even look like he was a waterman. He was Chinese, with the pale gold skin of someone who works all day inside a florescent-lit cubicle. He grinned even wider and gave me a little wave before they sped off.

I felt like they were a little bit giving me mixed messages.

The sirens started about 4 seconds after I got my jeans zipped up. I poked Steve awake and filled him in on the hijinks afoot, whereupon he barreled up the ramp and stormed the castle. Turns out the Chinese own this port and we got to take part in a terrorist attack readiness drill. I’m pretty sure all the port security guys passed with flying colors because a) there are so damn many of them and b) they are always on the ball. One night, Steve skiffed kind of fast over to the other side of the marina to do some laundry and wound up with 5 or 6 guys combing the grounds looking for him. Because he was a guy in a skiff who showed up unexpectedly and then suddenly seemed to vanish. Like I said, on the ball.

We had an election on Sunday, down here in Mexico. All weekend long, it was illegal to serve or sell alcohol (much to the disappointment of the cruise ship passengers). I won’t say we were looking for trouble, but I’d be lying if I said we weren’t expecting some sort of excitement. And we got it. Sort of. There were no riots in the streets. No random gunshots, no cacophony of out-of-control parties, no ragers on the beach. Even the normal, miscellaneous fire truck and police sirens were largely quiet. All weekend, people went about the normal business of celebrating the weekend with their families. Until exactly 12:04 am on Monday morning, when someone set off a few celebratory fireworks down the beach a ways. And then everyone went back to sleep.

Mexico is not dangerous like the media loves to portray. There aren’t bodies stacked up like cordwood everywhere and unless you’re a drug runner on the border somewhere, you don’t really have a lot to worry about. Just saying.