LandfallVoyages

Also, horny as fuck. I don’t know if it’s the light eyes, the guera status, the crazy color hair, the tattoos, the fact that I’m a girl who also works on engines and goes up masts and rescues boats, or simply the part where I’m a female in the near vicinity…but they are relentless in their good-natured flirtation. That’s not a bad thing. At 40 something, I take it as a compliment when a good-looking guy half my age tries to convince me I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and we should go escondido ourselves down to a secluded beach this dark night for some definitely NSFW fun and games. I’ve never once had any of them force himself on me, or touch me inappropriately, and they take their inevitable defeats with grace and humor.

They’re always giving you bedroom eyes…

Yesterday, I went to Home Depot to get some peat moss for our C-Head composting toilet. Now, where we are in Mexico, they’ve got big buses and smaller van-type shuttles, called combis. I like to use the shuttles when I’m going somewhere I don’t go all the time, because it’s easier to see the stop I want to get off at. Waiting under the meager shade of the parada for the next combi to come by, a big bus rumbled up. Brakes squeaking, door squealing open, the driver leans forward and does a quick scan, looking for potential passengers. His eyes start to slide by me and then get stuck.

They’ve got irresistible grins–you can’t help but smile back.

“Hola, amiga!” he says with a lopsided grin, “Where you go? Vallarta?” As it happens, I was going that way. Down here, the bus companies hire guys to hang around some of the major bus stops and kind of direct people onto the right buses. I think they also keep track of how many riders each bus has, per day. Our guy, today, was a rascally looking one-eyed fellow, who had already thoroughly quizzed me about where I was going, did I live here or not, and was I, perhaps, single and carefree? “Pues,” he says to the bus driver, before I’ve even had a chance to reply. “Sí, pero ella quiere un combi.”

The driver turns back to me with his most inviting smile. “Ven,” he says, patting the cushioned stool that’s strapped right next to the driver’s seat, “usted puede sentarse aquí.” I laugh and say thank you but I’m going to wait for a combi. He hikes one eyebrow up in question, cocks his head to the side and laughingly pats his lap. “Aquí?” We are all three of us laughing pretty hard now, as I decline the kind offer to sit on his lap. The bus stop monitor has the last laugh, saying, “Cabrón, ella quiere quedarse más tiempo conmigo!”

The bus driver laughs, waves goodbye, and right before the doors creak shut, gives me a look that implies, should I ever need a proper bus driver, he’s the man.