by Ray Jason
When I weary of researching and discussing too many heavy topics with my readers, I retreat, with my good ship AVENTURA, to a nearby beach where I can find distraction and sometimes solace. On rare occasions, I can even find inspiration.
This lovely spot has a split personality. At ten a.m. the boats from town arrive and unload their enthusiastic tourists who are delighted by the prospect of a carefree day of languishing in the luscious and soothing Caribbean water. By five p.m. they have all been shuttled back to town, and I have the beach and the bay to myself.
The first thing to arrive each day is the panga towing the bright yellow, Banana Boat. It is also the last “vessel” to leave. This week it suddenly occurred to me that these inflatable container ships, with their cargo of laughter and thrills, have actually taught me some Life Lessons.
Most sailors hate the damned things. And so did I in my early cruising days. The drivers of the boats towing these “sea craft” can maximize the centrifugal force by spinning their motor boats in tight circles at high speed. This elicits screams of delight and concern from the banana passengers.
Apparently, there is a secret rule established somewhere, that if sailboats are nearby, it is best to run loops around them. This means that our boats are rolling around like drunken sailors without the expense of rum.
Most sea gypsies accept this nuisance as part of the Banana Latitudes Experience. But some are less understanding. They curse the fact that the banana jockeys are so inconsiderate and disrespectful of their tranquility. “After all, look at how much money we pour into the local economy,” they would rant.
One afternoon, long ago in a Mexican beach town, I encountered an open garage door with the entire local banana fleet stacked inside. In those days I always carried my folding, rigging knife in a nice sheath on my belt. It suddenly occurred to me that with a dozen slashes I could become a cruising legend.
But my greatest Life’s Blessing was an extraordinary mother, who taught me that one does not harm others or their possessions, even if they make your boat all wobbly. So, I let the idea evaporate. But it did disturb me that I could think of at least FIVE guys in the fleet, who would have responded differently to the alluring temptation of that Banana Bonanza.
By the time I arrived here in The Archipelago of Bliss, my displeasure with the banana boats had waned considerably. Then, after I had made a few trips to this very beach, it completely disappeared.
That’s because of the Indio children from the nearby out islands. They live in hand-made houses that their dads and uncles build from scratch. In fact, many of them cut down a tree and chainsaw the wood into planks. The kids have never known electricity or running water or flushing toilets.
For hundreds of years their kind have been hand carving rough but sturdy cayucos from a single log. The males hand the skill down the generations. So, imagine how utterly amazed these children are when they encounter a BANANA BOAT!
It is easy to spot the Indio kids at the beach. They are almost fully-clothed and timid. And they sure as hell are not posing for selfies like the more “advanced” youngsters. But laughter and trepidation are universal, so they enjoy the ride as thoroughly as anyone.
After witnessing this almost beatific scene play out a few times, any animosity that I had towards these giggling yellow tubes completely disappeared.
Life has such an inscrutable way of teaching us things. You are looking for a Zen Master to dispense some wisdom, but instead the world speaks to you through banana boats.
The most recent lesson, was so improbable that it still seems like it is floating in the ether between real and dream. Semana Santa in Latin America is the week before Easter. Somewhere along the line it switched from being a time for spiritual reflection to a beach party. It is like Spring Break except adults can join the fray as well.
My initial taste of this was on my first cruise to Mexico. My sweetheart, Hillary, was flying down to join me and I had scoped out an incredible remote anchorage. It always had only a couple of sailboats and maybe a shrimper or two. I picked her up after her flight at Cabo San Lucas and off we went.
When we rounded the headland that hid the bay, my jaw dropped to my knees. There were over a hundred power boats anchored and rafted up to each other and onshore were at least a hundred RVs.
There was a huge stage set up like at a rock concert and there were three big bouncy castles. I was still naive enough to believe we lived in a world free of bouncy castles. I had no idea what they were, but they sure were gyrating and I wondered whether they contained children or grown-ups.
That was my introduction to Holy Week South of Many Borders. So, as I rowed ashore this time, I wondered if any unknowns would greet me. There is a favorite tree here where I like to tie up my dinghy. Gathered near it was a group of very handsome men and gorgeous Latin women. It was immediately apparent that they were all traveling together.
The most stunning of the gals – I mean movie star perfect – hurried to me and nudged me down on the tube of the dinghy. Then she sat right beside me and grabbed a stick with a camera on the end of it. (I was naive enough to think we live in a world without Selfie Sticks.)
The others – slightly, moderately, mostly inebriated – were telling her to grab my hair. Genuine blonde hair is a rarity in these parts. Well, I had nowhere to go and nobody to see so I hung out with them and dazzled them with my less than perfect Spanish. They soon had me drinking shots and acting as a twerking magnet.
A couple of hours later I was still sober enough to notice that they were packing up their beach gear and coolers and preparing to catch their ride back to town. Somebody insisted that my new princess and I should ride the banana boat before they departed.
Even though my attitude towards them has definitely mellowed through the years, I had no intention of ever being seen riding one. Then she whispered to me that if I rode it with her we could meet at the disco in town later and then who knew what might happen.
Her friends even paid for it. About halfway through the “voyage” she leaned back and rested her head on my shoulder and against my head. Her wet hair and the sensation of my hands on her perfect, thin, golden waist overwhelmed me. I realized that at this stage of my Life, she would probably be the final woman of this caliber that I might ever experience.
I closed my eyes as the banana boat careened around. And I rejoiced … I still do.
