93.11: GULF COAST: July 2008

July 12.

• We're back at the Hotel Kinaku. It's comforting to come back to something that is a "known". We're maybe 8 hours from Mexico City. Roads are getting better the closer we get to the capital.

• Today's batch of pictures were all taken yesterday, July 11, as we drove along the Gulf Coast, in daylight, this time.

• Actually the first picture came from the internet. We misplaced the charger for Hannah's iPod. Not that it's hard to replace or particularly expensive, but, since we were retracing our steps on the return trip anyway, we thought we'd pop into the hotel where it was last used and see if they had it. Thinking the language barrier would be a problem, and in the spirit of a picture being worth a thousand words, and because I can, I downloaded a visual aid for our conversation with the house keeping boss de hotel. It turns out she's no bumpkin. Yes, she said in very good English, she knew exactly what an iPod charger looked like. No she hadn't seen one this week. Usually guests leave cell phone chargers. She has a box of them.

• The second picture is out of focus and I included it for an odd reason. The jungle along the coast is swarming with butterflies. This is the first place in the world where I was glad for the services of the little guys who jump up on your hood and wash your windshield. Butterfly guts do not a pleasant view make. There's a scam a minute. Here along the coast, the street vendors have a different level of sophistication. They accost you at the Pemex stations before you can even get out of your car. It's not unlike the Girl Scouts selling cookies in front of Wal*Mart. But more forward. A foursome, grandma, mom, chubby girl wearing a sash reading "Adoracion" and carrying a tin box with a slot for money, and giggly little sister, they all came up to my rolled down window at the Pemex.

• Adoracion Girl rattled off a scripted sentence in nervous Spanish, and the others waited with bated breath for my response. I answered something stupid in English and the giggly one went crazy. The ladies whispered a joke to each other and they started cackling. Adoracion Girl didn't get to hear the joke, she was too self conscious. But I rewarded her for her efforts. I'm an easy touch, never mind the sales pitch. From a cute little girl, barefoot, in a brown dress we bought a bag of oranges . Very refreshing. We bought a DVD for 30 pesos (3 dollars) from a man at the gas pump. It wasn't just any DVD, it was Hancock, the very movie we saw in San Antonio last week, on the first day of its release! It was wrapped in a poly bag with a glossy color printed liner. Once you got inside, the DVD was unadorned, the quality of the video was grainy but decent. Audio in English. Optional subtitles included.

• The drive along the coast was spectacular. What the brochures say about miles and miles of scenic empty beaches is true. We stopped to sniff the air and play the beach comber. But beware. Those shells are sharp under foot. Don't get washed ashore here, it'll slice you to ribbons.

• In addition to being the navigator, Hannah is keeping a journal. As we drive along she'll ply me for details. We'll remember this or that for the oddest of reasons. She's trying to get it down while it's still fresh. One story that I hope she includes involves a Domino's Pizza worker. We stopped to ask this guy for directions. He was outside bagging trash. He made us a deal. He would show us the way, if we would give him a lift with his trash bags. Or something like that. Before you could say Yes No Si er ah, he had tossed six bags of fast food litter into the back of the pick up and he was standing on the rear bumper, Mexican macho-style, giving directions in Spanish. We took him a hundred yards down the alley to the dumpster. He did his thing with the bags then he proceeded to lay 5000 super rapid words of detailed instructions on us, complete with hand gestures. I caught the part about making a U-turn, retorno, and the need to turn derecha at the light. The rest was a blur.

• Included are two pictures of what I refer to as the Sandbag Boys. Every hundred miles or so traffic gets stopped by these young soldiers. They stand all day in the sun, wearing fatigues, carrying a rifle, or manning a machine gun, stopping cars and buses and asking questions. One time I had to show them the contents of Hannah's suitcase. But usually it's just a wave-through or a perfunctory "where are you going?". They are always polite. They try to put on a military face, all business, no nonsense, but you can always get them to smile and wave Hola. They're just kids, with guns.