Marina Life

I’ve given up trying to leave Mazatlán for the nonce. Maybe I’ll head south again after hurricane season. I have settled into a writing rhythm, and am working on the memoir. I’ve rigged an uber-long extension cord to the dock post in order to recharge the devices and run the electric kettle. Now to find a more easily accessible swimming hole. 

A water taxi ambles across the channel from 8 to 6, but the driver is a hindering troll. Takes his time motoring the several yards to the beach club on the other side: checks garbage, gets ice, goes to the bathroom, chats. “¡Mi amiga Shé!” he always says, but I’m not. I just want to get my ass in the ocean quickly. The marina water ain’t the cleanest, though I did paddle the funboard across early one morning out of desperation. Definitely scrubbed with soap after that.

The troll had the audicity to block my egress from the taxi barge one day and ask me to lie for him. “No,” I say, trying to dig up the Spanish for I will not lie for you. I remember that ‘mentiroso’ means liar.

Last month, I unbolted the old navigation station chair and kicked it to the dock. Took up too much space. I offered it to the water taxi driver, and he took it, “My grandson cuts hair,” he said. But the next time I saw that chair, it was bolted into one of the water taxis. “They buy for me,” he said, several times. Turns out he sold the chair to his bosses for 1000 pesos. Or 500, depending on which day he’s telling the story. $30-60 U.S. And convinced them he needed it in the taxi. What a schemer. “I’m poor!” he cried, and I shook my head. But I didn’t want it. What do I care what he does with it? Enterprising, is another word. But he’s scared the bosses will find out it was a gift, and wants me to cover his ass. I won’t. I’m done lying for people. 

Water taxis? Beach clubs? Yes, I am docked adjacent to a resort. When I first saw it, back in February, it reminded me of Disneyland – all manicured lawns, beautiful flowers, waterfalls nestled in fake rocks, trams, employees in costume (the maids wear white tights — in the tropics). 

BUT. One night I investigated the nearest swimming pool and found kids screaming down a water slide! And jumping off said fake rocks into the deep end. So the next morning, while all the screamers were sleeping, I climbed up to the top of the slide, and – whoosh! An excellent start to my day. And no trolls in sight.