Story of the SeaWolf (Monday, 11/30/09)

We were recently anchored in Puerto Escondido. Friends of ours have an anchoring system in the Waiting Room there and had invited us to stay on their spot while they cruised their vessel north. After a few days, a large motor vessel came into the channel... a beautiful, navy blue personal cruise ship, research vessel?... the Seawolf. It must have been 180'-200'. It had a 26' sailboat on board, among other various full size tinker toys. She was a beauty and she was anchored right next to us.

This particular morning, I decide to go pay the APPI fees we owed to the local government officials for anchoring in their area. In the APPI office, I meet an elderly gentleman who immediately abandons his morning meal to help me out with the paperwork. He speaks only Spanish and is very chatty. I understand enough and respond accordingly, answering his questions politely... questions about my family, where we come from, etc... Out of courtesy, I also ask him about his family. It is at this point that the rest of my morning and afternoon take a turn.

I will call my new friend ‘Marco’. He tells me in detailed Spanish about his life. He has many children and loves his family. He tells me that his lovely bride of 44 years passed away this past February. He tells me her name and leaves the room to retrieve a framed picture of her. He becomes very emotional. He sits down in front of me and cries, tears pouring down his deeply lined face. If this scenario happened to me and it was spoken in English I would be hard pressed to know what to say... but in Spanish??????

I am emotional myself and then realize that I have been talking with this man for over two hours. I have forgotten to bring the handheld radio with me, so I can’t call Jim to tell him why I’m delayed. I ask Marco if I can borrow his radio and he tells me he doesn’t have one. He tells me that the SeaWolf has been anchored out there overnight and hasn’t checked in and he doesn’t even have a radio to call them. So, Marco asks me if I would take him over to the SeaWolf in my dinghy. Well, I can’t exactly tell this poor man no after he’s poured his heart out to me... can I?

He tells me that he doesn’t want to "molesta" me, but that if I don’t mind he would be very appreciative. I freeze like a Rocketpop from the inside out. I am pretty sure that ‘molesta’ means something other than the first thing that pops into my mind, as I wipe my sweaty palms down the sides of my skirt, wishing I had worn pants. I am thinking to myself that I surely hope to God that I haven’t mistaken our conversation all along. His next sentence doesn’t inspire confidence and he says he wants to change his clothes. I quickly tell him I will wait for him at the dinghy on the beach as he changes and he replies ‘Que bueno’. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Sr. Marco morphs into Capitán Marco and meets me on the beach in flawless uniform... shiny shoes and all. I tightly secure my faded-red-now-pink floppy sun hat to my head, bid the Capitán to board the dinghy, and say a silent prayer that I can sit ladylike in my skirt while driving the 15 HP outboard. I motor slowly at first and then increase speed as a large Caribe with its 100 HP outboard speeds off from the SeaWolf ahead of us. We try to catch up to it, the Capitán standing up and shouting and whistling at the Caribe. I don’t know if it was the Capitán’s yelling they heard or if they caught sight of my floppy sun hat waving wildly at them from my head, after a ten minute chase the Caribe slows down.

Capitán Marco tells the Canadians in an authoritative tone that they must check into the anchorage properly, which basically means they must pay... and probably big bucks because it’s a big ship. Thankfully I was there because these guys didn’t speak a word of Spanish. I interpret for the Capitán and the SeaWolf crewmen follow us back as I return Capitán Marco to the beach. We say our goodbyes, wishing one another good luck and so on.

When I finally return to Windfall, Jim meets me at the swim step deeply concerned.

"What the hell happened? What took you so long?"

That’s okay. I’ve been married to him long enough to know that his way of saying, "Sweetie, I was worried about you. Are you okay?" I won’t bore you with the details, but basically Jim says to me that he will be paying the APPI fees from now on. I know better. He needs a translator. So "we’ll" be paying the APPI fees... together.