Ocean-Moonshine

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There is a happening when the moon is full. Obtain a ride, and drive south along the coast, for about 20 or so miles. Stop when you see it. Its on the southern tip of the island.

The locals are of Mayan decent. Friendly, humble, proud, some great people. And they know how to throw a party. (although, I don't think they metabilize alcohol that well).

Park on the grass on the left side of the road. Then walk away from the party, across to road to the ocean. Large translucent turquois and aqua colored waves rolling in and breaking under moonlight strong enough to dive in. Hammocks swaying in the gentle breeze. Curse to youself for not bringing along your camera, because you have never quite seen this example of perfection before.

Back across the road. Find a good spot on the grass, amongst the 200-400 locals. Maybe 10% tourists. Dead center is the stage, a rectangular box about eight feet high. The band is amazingly good, pulsing the breeze with highly dancable reggae and rock. Close your eyes, and you would bet money the guitarist was Santana.

To the right is the consession area. Propane bar-b-que grilling burgers, hotdogs, chicken, fish, vegetables, and more. Huge coolers full of equal portions of ice and beer - cold! Cocktails. Salads. $1.50 / almost frozen beer. On the left is the bonfire. Its hard to get too close. The flames easily flash upwards of 20 feet.

Dance. Watch people. Fun. There was this one Mayan cowboy, complete with boots, spurs, bandana, denim, and turquois and silver who could easily walk into Hollywood as a star. He pulled off every aspect of his flair in such a genuine way that is a rarity these days. And he danced as a dolphin playing in waves, better than I've seen anyone dance in person, so weightless, fluid, graceful, yet masculine in movement. As far as women, I had brought my girlfriend "L", who was looking mighty fine, and as the party wound down, we had to find a ride back to town.

We started looking for a ride as we walked to the parking area at the road. I was looking for another couple, or small group with a bit of room, when L shouts me over with her ride. I say no. She says yes. I say no. She says come-on! I say OK, you'll see.

I'm finishing a bottle of Corona, under the full moon, in the open back of a big white work truck with 10 highly intoxicated male locals, "L", and three more guys in the cab. Its a two lane road, but the lanes are kind of wide, with dirt shoulders on each side. Our driver took great advantage of this set-up. When he felt or heard dirt under the left wheel, he pulled right. When he got dirt under the right wheel, he pulled left. My thoughts are now centered on visualizing how to land and roll without getting under the truck. That and the 10 drunk Mexicans staring at "L".

Suddenly the driver hits the dirt on the right, keeps going, bouncing through a small drainage ditch, and slowly, very, very, slowly comes to a stop in a clearing next to the road. No one says a word. We are in the middle of nowhere, and everyone just jumps off. It becomes apparant that this is the "rest area". Everyone gets off to take a piss, except the driver, who can't stand up - literally. They relieve him of his driving duties and prop him against the truck while he relieves himself.

We start up again with a new driver. "L" is now in the cab where it looked safer, and the previous driver is sleeping at our feet. The new driver ain't to bad - he's not even hitting the dirt, although he is having some trouble straddling the center line. I figure we are about five miles from town, when the driver hangs a right, inland. This is not towards town. The only guy who spoke english - lets make that the only guy able to actually speak - explains that they go this way to drop the work crew at their homes. Of course, this guy is the first to be dropped off. We zigzag left, right, left, right, going further inland, making stops to drop off people. About five people have been dropped off when the driver pulls over, says nothing, gets out, and walks to his home. This leaves no drivers. Next thing I know is the tranny is getting mangled, the gears are getting crunched, and the clutch is smoking. "L" was now driving. She starts following the same direction pattern - away from where we need to get to. I start to complain that we are getting too far off the beaten track. Then the 60 something year old drunk next to "L" starts trying to kiss her.

This whole atmosphere has been one of a small dose of danger, vigilance, and a whole lot of amusement. But now I am annoyed at being ignored like a ghostlike gringo. And things are getting out of hand. I bang on the top of the cab roof with my empty Corona bottle, and shout in the window to change direction. No response. Now I'm pissed off and worried. I break the bottle over the roof, swing over the bed railing, and stick my face in the window, yelling god knows what. Finally everyone got my message and we turn straight towards the center of town to where the pier embraces the cruise ships and subsequently gathers the police force. "L" pulls to the side smoothly, not really in a parking spot, and we hop out, cross the street ducking into the nearest club for a relief beer, leaving the truck running with half a dozen mexicans too drunk to drive or walk.

Ok, so we didnt dive the next morning. There's always night dives!