Boats

My first memory on a boat goes back to an age best remembered amidst the blurry blackouts of a 2-3 year old who only has flashes of images where reality and truth are as uncertain as depth perception and the "tides" (of emotion).

When I was little I used to go to a pool - a YMCA of the sort Mexico has I imagine - in the Distrito Federal. My cousin, who at the time seemed like an adult but in hindsight (and math) could not have been a day over 16 was a swimming instructor. And though i would hold on to the edge at the deep end of the pool to keep the thrill level high, the thing i lived for was the end of the day. My cousin would pile together swimming boards and fashion a multicolored red, green and blue raft of a delicate nature. He would them plop me gently aboard and shove into the deep end. The slow swaying would begin the slow and inevitable process of disintegration until I had to abandon ship.

The musicians were almost as good as the ones on the decks of the unsinkable. And the music would play on although at the time I'm pretty sure it wasn't something classic but something popular in the early 90s at home - Reik probably, or Fey.

My love for water, open or otherwise was sealed in those moments amidst my confused and childish screams of happiness and terror of the dark bottom. As I grew up older and discovered girls (where had they been?) and water sports (if ever something can make a man feel so grand and so little other than not being able to hammer a nail in straight) I found pleasure in speed.

Whether tailing a large boat jumping in and out the waves on a jet ski with nothing holding you back other than the earthly bounds of sanity and self restraint or the pleasure of being dragged behind a speed boat, water rushing in, enema-style until you "got up" - it was incredible. And that was all well within sight of land. But I was more of a Columbus and less of one of his earlier crews. I wanted to see nothing but water, feel myself at peace amidst the big sloping waves of the open sea.

Give a man a fish and feed him for a day.
My (fairy?) godfather came along and showed me how to fish.

And he didn't walk on water. His gait is slow, slower now even, and at the center of his chest (clearly exposed whenever he's close enough to hear the ocean waves) is a bulbous, abnormal scar that protrudes. That's where the doctors have cracked his ribs open multiple times, reached in and squeezed a little bit more life out of him. His skin is parched and spotted but still retains a glimmer of the youth he once was and still thinks it is. Wake up at the crack of dawn, board the boat, sit on the boat trolling for swordfish and marlin. That's where i learned to love the ocean in the non-suicidal Hemingway style.

And did seriously, did none of E.H's friends pick up on the suicidal undertones of the old man and the sea, for whom the bell tolls, and a farewell to arms?! Something about fighting with a sword for hours on end, knowing when to give and when to pull, when to sit down and when to call for help getting back to your chair as your quads and forearms burn from exhaustion and the sun. When to wait it out, let the fish really sink into it while you sip on a beer - not so quietly - taunting it.

The "dorado" is a dinosaur of a fish. A neanderthal head, a golden hue that turns blue and a nasty kick to it. Bring one on board and all hands on deck to subdue the monster that will flay shins and break the occasional finger. Then a thud and a celebration as the smaller fish make breakfast lunch and dinner.

 6 years later i haven't really been out on the water like i miss. I've gotten to learn the true sundowner experience, wearing a cowboy hat, celebrating the birthday of a nation other than mine - smiling and happy. Ironic that I now, for the first time in my life live on an island that feels nothing like one (though it's still teeming with dinosaurs). Maybe someday I'll get to go back and seek out a small mexican fishing village. One where i can fish, sell, cook and then sit down at the town square with a bunch of my friends while singing and drinking. I'll probably sit down as the last waves of heat rise from the asphalt and the cobblestones and wonder something about the crazy idea of growing the fishing business to a multinational empire. Wonder about the quote - "monopoly? monopoly is just a game senator - I want to rule the world". And vaguely remember terms like IPOs, DCF and EBITDA amidst the blurry blackouts of a 22-24 year old who only has flashes of images where reality and truth are as uncertain as depth perception and the "tides" (of emotion).

Te quiero Tio Ray.