During the lonely solo sail through mainland Mexico, I holed up in Huatulco, waiting for a TEHUANTEPECKER to blow itself out.
There was no swell, no wind, no friends, and no money... it wasn't a very fun time.
The coastline was worth exploring, however.
And the water was perfect.
After a couple hours of strolling I really wanted a beer... stumbled across a little palapa restaurant.... only accessible by foot or boat.
Every table was full of local OAXACANS... I hadn't seen another gringo all day.
I mosied up to the counter...
ME: "How much for a beer?"
GREEDY RESTAURATEUR: "$4"
"$4!?"
"Yes, $4"
"You sell the most expensive beer in Mexico. All your customers must be very wealthy."
"Do you want a beer?"
"Yes, but I can't pay PRECIOS GRINGOS. Thanks for nothing."
Continuing on my not-so-merry way, I came across five thuggish young Mexicans sitting under a shady tree... they had a case of beer... and I needed some conversation... so I strolled over and introduced myself.
Five minutes later I was spewing stories, cracking my second lukewarm Corona, and awaiting a circulating spliff.
Half an hour later we were all swimming out to the boat with a half bottle of Oso Negro Vodka.
They hooted, giggled, and sported shitgrins, having never been on a "YATE" before.
Two of them had clearly gotten the shit kicked out of them recently.
This young gentleman really reminded me of ICE CUBE.
The most interesting/interested of them and I had a great conversation. He claimed pure native blood and I believed it.
They all called themselves Vatos Locos and fronted "PESADO" fathers and older brothers. Believing them was easy.
Halfway back, they started scurrying all over the boat and I got paranoid they were trying to steal stuff. They took nothing.
Back on the beach, they took turns paddling around on my surfboard. They also took turns strolling off into the woods with a girlfriend who had materialized.
I was offered fourths and they assured it was quite good. I declined on grounds of respecting women. They laughed and said I was too drunk to get it up.
The ICE CUBE-esque gent, most definitely their leader, developed spontaneous drunken beef. He decided I didn't believe he was a surfer and that we needed to fight because of it.
I assured him it was "obvio" that he was an amazing surfer (he'd doubtless never surfed in his life). He laughed and pushed me over good-naturedly.
Starting to get sketched out, I declined an invite to dining jointly, and swam back out to the boat... passed out... and set sail the following dawn with a beastly hangover.
It's time to kite the Tamarindo Rivermouth!
Staying sane despite going nuts,
MAX