In three years sailing Mexican waters, visiting Mexican medical facilities, getting to know Mexican folk, Sea Venture’s crew experienced nothing but gracious smiles and helping hands. The same held true in Central America, and even more so in Grand Cayman where, “Mon, how can I help you?” was the rule.
An hour into US waters? Not the same experience at all.
Michael and crew found an anchorage off Key West this morning. Michael went forward to ready the anchor and gave the helm to an experienced crew member whose job was to turn toward the place they just crossed and chosen for SV’s overnight stay. Suddenly, she went hard aground.
Michael couldn’t back her off the bar, so he was readying the dinghy to act as tow boat when a flat-bottomed skiff approached. The men, locals, said, “Run into trouble, huh?”
“We’re aground, yes.”
“You want we should go call a big boat to get you off?”
As they had a large motor on their skiff, Michael said, “It wouldn’t take much for you to toss us a line and pull the bow to the side. She’ll slide off then.”
“Well now,” one said, looking at the other and scratching his whiskers, “seems like you’ll need to throw us a bone if we do.”
“A bone, of course,” Michael said.
They tied to the bowsprit, and in two minutes, SV was again afloat. Michael went below and came up with $40. That seemed appropriate for a two minute tug.
“What’s this?” said one man angrily. “We start at $10 a foot.”
“You didn’t quote a price,” Michael replied. Wanting to keep peace, he fetched additional funds, grossly overpaying.
The second fellow, instead of thanking Michael, said, “We come all the way out here, missing our Mother’s Day breakfast, and this is the way you treat us?!”
I picture Michael’s brows raised, his shoulders squared in military splendor as he said, “I don’t remember calling you. You chose to come out here to see what you could get.” I wonder if he growled at them.
When he phoned to tell me the story, I suggested he move the boat elsewhere, perhaps into a slip for the night. He won’t want to leave her unoccupied when they check into the country tomorrow.
In Mexico, if a panga owner helped us, he was thrilled if we gave him batteries or a soda. And he’d be smiling instead of cursing.
Welcome to the US of A. I hope this is not indicative of future boating here. I’d hate to imagine the country we call home full of such mean-spirited watermen. Though, if I remember correctly, the only theft we experienced since buying SV in 2003 came at the hands of an American in the Delta of California, another boater, we assume, who seemed to think we wouldn’t need our nightscope or a portable GPS or even our teak cupboard doors. Or perhaps he espoused a more communistic theology: what was ours was also his. (We certainly ran into that attitude when my uncle’s main caregiver stole all his money. She wanted, ergo, she could take. Well, she’s now cavorting with other inmates.)
In spite of the bad press and the bad behavior in parts of central Mexico, we never had to fear in the Sea of Cortez. Or even lock our doors.
Sigh.
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Normandie
