Gullivers Travels
 

Wheeler Flowage, WI 28 June 2005


Chapter one: "...He is shipwrecked..."
Chapter two: "... He gains favour by his mild disposition. His
pockets are searched..."
Chapter three: "...The author has his liberty granted him upon
certain
conditions..."

-- Jonathon Swift, From "Gulliver's Travels"

The water in Gulliver's cabin was now over a foot deep. The sun had
gone down. I had a cushion in the cockpit and my damp sheets and a
pillow. The stars were out and it felt cool with the slight north
north east breeze.

I longed for the boat to be sound and whole and to be out in the
anchorage floating happily at the end of her road. Instead she was at
the end of her road in a more final sense and no amount of wishing
could make it otherwise.

I ached with terrible regret for what I thought must be extensive
damage to the reef. As I noted in my reports of the trip down in Simba
II earlier this year, the reef here is largely dead rock but there were
patches of live coral. Even while crossing the reef I had seen and
tried to avoid such by using the motor in forward and reverse but...

I was once again, suddenly on the beach. It's not a condition I've
dealt well with in the past. My distress is due more to derailed
expectations than the logistics of finding myself with more gear than I
can carry and no transportation. But in this case both were major
problems.

I started scribbling notes, crossing out ideas, rearranging, listing,
and finally resigned myself to a loose set of strategies without much
of a plan.

Repair Gulliver and continue journey. No way. No travel lift to haul
her. No money for supplies. Too little time. Storm season. Most of
all I don't trust her anymore.

Sell Gulliver here. Maybe.

Salvage and sell parts. Maybe.

Gulliver is your only coin without outside help.

Donate Gulliver to Marine Park to relieve fines if any? Not likely.

Will I be fined/jailed? (Probable)

Why haven't they arrested me already?

Call whom? Robert (wrote Robert's number) Pat (wrote Pat's number)
Nicky (wrote my sister's number) but when is she back from France????


Post at Renegades if possible.

I am a traveler not a tourist. NO PICTURES ALL ELECTRONICS STAY IN
BACKPACK.

Tell them the truth but only as much truth as needed. Only elaborate
when pressed.

Do tell them the story of how you came to be here with the boat. Tell
them about Jim. You are here on a noble cause. A failed cause but a
noble one. Don freakin Quixote.

You have to be Captain Gulliver too. Behave well. Concentrate on
what's going on around you.

Pick someone to trust. You need a local ally.

I folded this paper up and put it in my pocket.

The Navy guys stayed up late having a little snort. Some of the locals
came out and talked with them, riding out onto the dock in small cars
and sometimes mopeds.

Most people tried to engage me in conversation but I speak almost no
Spanish and they spoke little or no English. I felt as though I were
on display. Frankly I wanted to curl up inside myself.

From my French and what little Spanish I posses I found that I could
sometimes follow the gist of the conversation. For instance. "pobre
hombre" is very close to "pauvre homme" in French. Poor man.
But don't count on my spelling.

"Povracito" one woman said after asking me a few questions, she was
someone's mother that's certain. She wanted to feed me, she
radiated kindness...

Indeed every single local I met in Mexico was kind, courteous, and
compassionate. Every single one...


When everyone else had gone, one man came and sat at the edge of the
pier. He wanted to talk to me so badly. His name was Luciando or
something close to that. He made it clear that he would be back for me
in the morning to take me to his house for coffee. He had a house with
a "bodega" where I could store some things if I needed to and a
truck that was at my disposal. In fact he made it clear that whatever
he could do he would do. He made his sincerity known to me by waves
some how. He really cared. And in a town where the locals were caring
and compassionate this guy stood out as being more so.

At last the commandos slept. A couple of them just had bed roles out
on the cement pier. I dosed in the cockpit trying to close out the
rush of thoughts in my head. I had little success. For once I was
overwhelmed with negative thoughts and they bedeviled me throughout the
night. The night was long.

Since I had left San Pedro I had eaten one tiny bag of cheese snacks.
My stomach was a hard pit. There was a perpetual lump in my throat.

In short I felt awful. It's a feeling I've grown unaccustomed to.


That morning the 5:30 buss blared its horn announcing it's departure.
It was still pitch dark out except for the stars and I was awake in
any case. I'd been watching the Milky Way march across the sky,
spanning more or less north and south, the space-cloud moved
predictably from east to west, clocking the planet. I found some
comfort in that. When you've had a heavy does of perspective it's
best to fix your eyes on the furthest distant horizon until you can
focus down.

Shortly after sunup the commandos departed. Luciando came and took me
to coffee in his little truck.

I had objected that my instructions had been to stay at the boat until
9:30 and then report to the Port Captain's office. Luciando pointed
out that we would be back long before then. Somehow I found that I
couldn't resist his friendship. I needed it much more than you can
know. So I went to coffee.

Luciando has two houses. One out by where the road leaves town on
it's way thru the swamp out to the north south highway. This one
looks relatively modern but also new. The power pole had no meter in
it. We stopped there long enough for Luciando to fetch down coffee,
bread, sugar, and a couple coffee cups.

The other house was down on the beach near the park ranger's station.
It was a palapa hut full of fishing floats, nets, and gear of the sea,
also a hammock, a crude gas stove. One room. Palm frond roof. Sand
floor. Rough hewn plank walls with breezy gaps in them. A lantern.
No running water or electricity at all.

I think Hemingway may have described this place in the Old Man and the
Sea.

Luciando put the water on, showed me the Nescafe jar, sugar, and cups.
Then he left me to run an errand.

After he took me back to Gulliver I didn't see him again.

Oddly though, during the next few days people in the several towns I
visited, when they discovered I was staying in Xcalak, would ask...
"Do you know Luciando? He's a good friend of mine". I was able
to answer in the affirmative, which earned me some instant status.

By 8 am I was back aboard Gulliver. I sorted gear down to the big
orange bag, the huge orange bag, and most importantly my backpack. I
had things arranged so that the backpack contained only the most
valuable objects, and those that were essential.
At 9:30 sharp I delivered myself to the Port Captain's Office where I
first met Jorge Morales.

Jorge asked if I spoke Spanish, was mildly disappointed that I didn't
but waved away my apology. He accepted the burden of using his
English, which short of fluent, was sufficient for all of our needs
during the next 60 hours or so.

At the moment I was to wait while he had heavy-duty conversations with
two of the three men from the boat that first towed Gulliver up the
lagoon to the anchorage.

Also the man I had pegged as the supervisor of the marine park
officials was present.

From what little I could gather they were talking about the nearest
repair facilities that could haul Gulliver and what it would take in
terms of pesos to get her there by tow.

After they had left, Jorge and I went to see the boat.

When we returned to the office he asked me to make a short written
statement. What I gave him was extremely brief. He actually approved
of this.

In a short while of discussion, remembering that Jorge is not fluent in
English, we covered a great deal of ground and had an outline of how
things might come out ok for the both of us.

I'll have to paraphrase his part of the discussion. Telling you what
I understood him to say.

The most important thing he did say was this.

"Don't worry. You are now under the protection of the office of
the Port Captain of Xcalak".

I had found my ally.

And I'll since I've already put out TR 60, and I like to keep these
things down to 4 pages or less, I'll have to tell you what happens
next in TR 59a.

Love

George


Read the rest at: www.groups.yahoo.com/group/thedingydock