CHAPTER 7
It was several years back that Carol and I were in the same location, the Corita. We were just getting the feel of Mexican leisure life at that time and everything was still quite new.
This particular day we were standing on the beach in front of the hotel taking in the warmth and the view, people watching as always. To the right were four fishermen, three of the mature variety, with hands like steel clamps from hauling in nets, and one of the disposable variety, young with a strong back.
The well-practiced plan was to spread their nylon nets in a large arc, with small buoys to act as locators, and weights attached to send the edge of the net to the sandy bottom and then haul them in by hand and see what you could collect. The day’s spoils would then be sold to locals who congregated nearby at the same time everyday to see what was living in their saltwater playground. But the fly in the ointment was how exactly to get the heavy, bulky mass out far enough to trap their prey.
Hmmm… suddenly three heads swivel in the direction of Jose, or Pablo, or whatever the newbie’s name might be this week and the problem was solved. The three men would strap the nets to his back and he would swim out 100 meters or more dropping the net as he went and try to avoid being ensnared himself (like Rubio and Juan and …). Wading into the water, legs spread for balance like a sumo wrestler, the young man would begin his occupation as a net fisherman. His previous job walking the beaches carrying 60 lbs. worth of ponchos with American football logos woven into them and trying to coerce the gringos that in the 30 degree heat they needed a heavy wool garment to take home to impress their buddies was a losing effort.
This young man was powerful and with long strokes he swam out, out farther than you would think possible under the circumstances lessening his load as he went. Within 20 minutes he was walking on shore beside his 3 amigos who slapped his back and congratulated him for a job well done. The collection of beach walkers and small restaurant owners who had all gathered to see if the new guy would actually make it gave him a smattering of applause also.
Now the heavy lifting was shared by all four men as they pulled the net in hand over hand, deftly closing the loop so the only opening was toward the shore. Their stoic determination showing on their faces and brown sinewy shoulders wrippling with muscle moving them closer to their goal. Another 15 minutes and behold there was a menagerie of sea life all flailing to escape, but alas were doomed.
There were red snapper and grouber and nasty looking eels, thick and writhing like snakes with sharp teeth, plus a host of smaller fish. Deftly with clubs and machetes the treasure trove was dealt with and the guts and debris were tossed onto the beach for the sea birds to clean up. The customers closed in claiming their share of the spoils, the money was tallied, the net inspected for damage and folded away, and then the men were off either to their families or onto their next job as vendor or taxi driver or hotel maintenance person.
Whew, that was hard work watching them so we decided that we needed a rest and brought forward a couple of white, plastic lawn chairs closer to the water’s edge where the waves would lap at our feet. Butt firmly planted, beverage with a straw in it’s midst in one hand and the other available for casual waves to passersby, the sun reflecting off our tinted glasses we were settling in for the long haul.
Looking to our left in the distance you could see revellers seated at the beach bars a few hundred meters away and vendors working their way around the tables. Almost all of the men would be dreaming of when it would be their turn to become a net fisherman and live the high life, alas not today amigo.
Also coming our way from the left were 3 horses being led by their gaucho on the lead animal and 2 swaying gringos seated in the other saddles, grasping the pommel and imaging themselves in the old west as Pony Express riders or more likely seated at the buffet of their all inclusive deciding which style of Mexican pasta to have next.
It’s a quandary what the motivation might be for these hapless souls as they put themselves on full display seated on an animal they had only seen previously on a YouTube video ambling by every vacationer in town whose only goal for the day is to gaze out at the water and wait for the Pie Guy to roam the beach in front of them. Of course the Pie Guy knows his clientele well and carries his wicker basket covered by a towel perched on his blackhaired head, stabilized with one hand while carrying a small folding stool in the other right up to their lounge area. He’ll then ceremoniously present his inventory with a sweeping flourish of his hand by removing the towel but stay just far enough away that itwill force the lethargic gringos to sit up and congregate around him. There might be coconut, pineapple (my favourite), or mango-filled delicacies on any given day; all made fresh that morning and still hot (they could probably cook themselves under the towel in the sweltering heat). They are sold as individual portions but in reality would feed several people were they at any other venue.
Anyways on this day there were a mother and young daughter filling the saddles. The mother a 40-something career woman and the 10 year old, a slight waif with freshly cornrowed red hair looking very embarrassed and looking down at the animal’s sweating neck.
Back to our situation. Chairs perched close together, our elbows almost touching, we were dissecting the morning’s events when suddenly a small puffer fish was washed up right beside us. While the puffer looks like a merger of a grapefruit and baby porcupine it is not something to be toyed with as it’s body contains a tetrodotoxin that can cause asphyxiation in humans. They of course are a delicacy in Japan, (it’s amazing there are any Japanese left with all of their tsunamis and nuclear plants and of course Godzilla roaming around everywhere). So this bloated little fellow is cavorting in the waves. One pushes him towards us only to be sucked back towards where he belongs by the next. He’s rolling on his side and then his back like what you would expect a beach ball to do. After several back and forths I examined him closer and see what appears to be a smiling face with lips puckering as if he’s trying to whisper something to me. By this time I’m quite attached to our new pet and name him Pudding (I was going to call him Squirmy but that name had already been taken).
Anyways, Pudding had made quite a few passes around us and we started imagining what his life had been like before he reached out to us for attention. I could see in his past many siblings, a dead beat drunken father, and a loving mother who was wondering when her eldest child would return (sound familiar, there are lots of sea creature fathers that spend their whole day drinking). So Pudding keeps trying to say something, lips smacking together, body moving like a bellows, and I move my head closer trying not to get water in my ears but it makes no sense; maybe if he had been a Canadian puffer fish I would have understood.
With his spiny countenance it limited the options on how to send Pudding back to his mom. I wasn’t wearing any shoes so kicking him was out of the question. I suppose the perfect tool would have been a 7 iron but none were handy. So to and fro Pudding went until a rogue wave crashed onto shore and pushed Pudding 15 feet farther onto the beach. Well it’s been well established that timing is everything and such was the case with Pudding as he was pushed right into oncoming traffic, in this case, 3 horses.
Oblivious to the struggling wretch below their feet, the gaucho, semi asleep at this point because it was already his 6th pass of the day, lumbered past as did career mom (let’s call her Ellen) who was staring out to sea wondering what else 40 bucks would have bought. But little miss red hair had a pony that was a bit skittish and plopped a front hoof right on top of poor Pudding. That was it, another pet lost. I did get a brief glimpse of most of Pudding’s face as the horse lifted it’s hoof for its next step but it was only one eye and his upper lip. He was embedded in the hoof briefly and then ground into a paste by the sandy beach. Quickly the cormorants moved in and slurped up the debris and then there was no more trace of our companion. Easy come, easy go.
And this of course is how the term Pudding Pops came into being.
Over and out from sunny Bucerias.
Blue Delivery 