Monday, July 01, 2013

Mexico 1987, Part 6: The Italian Job

Nov 1
A bus ride from Vera Cruz to Campeche, through the night. There's cracks in the window frames like crazy and I freeze my butt off and can't sleep a wink, so that when we reach Campeche at around 8 or 9 a.m. I am too tired to deal with it. I retrieve my bag that has been deposited in baggage claim and back ON THE BUS. "On the bus," the analogy for life - you're either on the bus or off the bus. Sleep a little, very little. It's much warmer now. It doesn't take much time to get to Merida. What I really want is a cozy beach, not a city where people would stop to chat with the gringa on a street corner out of curiosity. There's a guy on the bus who's been watching me. He's not Mexican, I'm sure of that, maybe Brazilian or some dark European. Come to think of it, no Brazilians I know look like him! At the information counter at the bus terminal in Merida, he's looking for a cheap hotel, too. In Merida, the streets are numbered, not named. All of them. Why do I find this so confusing? There's a hotel with a price that appeals to both of us, Hotel San Jose, so we trudge off in the streets together, packs on our backs making us so obviously un-Mexican. I am so aware of looking like a stranger. I guess it has been an asset so far, but at the same time I feel self-conscious, maybe it's my need for acceptance. Check in at the hotel - pretty damn cheap, 7,000 pesos. We agree to meet back at the restaurant for lunch after a shower. He is Italian (I won't write his name since he's now lying beside me in the sand) and speaks very good Spanish but no English. Oh well, I speak pretty good Spanish but no Italian. We'll make out somehow  . . . and indeed we did.

After lunch, which included 2 beers a piece, we set out walking to check out the surroundings and after 10 minutes or so ended up in a bar. Far out! We already have something in common, we are both alcoholics! Turns out he's a Nov 17 Scorpio - another plus. AND, I found out last night, the same year. 1959!! Cool city. But these are just pluses. After we left the bar, 6 beers a piece later, we headed off in the city to find another bar, arms around each other, drunk, kissing on street corners. This is the most carinoso man I have ever met! I have been asking for him for years! Bloody YEARS! He fulfilled one of my greatest romantic fantasies, which is to sit on a park bench on a warm summer night under the palms, town's people strolling about, to sit and neck in public on a park bench, like young lovers, unashamed, like they do in these countries where the blood is hotter than chili. Everything about him is affection: his smiles, his kisses on the neck, inside the elbow, his caresses, his tender nibbles on the shoulder, his not-so-tender bites on my thigh! (a good-sized bruise that'll last about a month!)

Nov 3
So there's Roberto, in the hammock, reading "The Conquest of Mexico" by Cortez, in Italian, smoking a cigarette, constantly smoking, and actually LOOKS like he should be smoking. We have a day, maybe two, left together, before we each continue our personal trips. Today we took a boat to see the flamingos. Celestun is one of the few places on earth where there is a flock of flamingos, and a flocking lot of them at that! You have to go down this long lagoon to see them, jungle on either side. From far off you see this pink line stretching across the lagoon and you know what it is but you don't BELIEVE it. They are the silliest looking birds, especially when they take off, with those spindly legs. Quite a sight, and it really made me laugh. This trip has been thus far more than I had hoped for. I'm hoping it doesn't end here, that the high continues! Travel is such a delicious, sensuous drug and I am so enjoying this wonderous high!

Roberto shooting flamingos 

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