Playa Paraiso, Guerrero. Mexico circa 1997.
Beyond the fog I could see the palm trees, some still standing, many fallen, and others cracked down the middle, as if thunderbolt stricken. The sand (which I remember being of a tan shade) had this grey corpse shade, and none of the fishermen's shacks were standing.
Beyond eerie, this sunny coastal pueblo was now fully dressed in gray, as if mourning the wake.
A cold breeze was blowing softly, as if lamenting the heavy day. Everything hidden under a thick fog, covering it all, from mountain to shore.
The river was silent, no sound other than the outboard engine, roaring with an alcoholic's cough, the water splashing on my windbreaker, and the waves hitting the hull. It was almost like a Hollywood Vietnam War movie, it was almost as if an incendiary bomb had been dropped, without the corpses, for there was no one else in sight.
My friend Wilson and I had just arrived after a night long bus ride from Cuernavaca. He was a tall, big dude from Central America, think Popeye's "Brutus", but with a twisted sense of humor which remains unmatched. There we were, on this small fishing boat, traveling through the river, as there's no other way to reach Playa Paraiso, or El Dorado.
The fisherman told us a cyclone had hit on the previous weekend, and everyone had fled, ...except for some "crazy hippies" which had arrived just a couple of days ago.
I kept staring at the scenery, waiting to see Rambo running through the dense tropical jungle, or maybe a bright red flare, a smoke bomb, flying up in the air, or something out of a movie, because this was an unbelievable scene.
I lit up a cigarette and remembered just how beautiful this place used to be....
As we began approaching the sand bank, we saw a campfire and a few people sitting around it.
- Those are the only people here, crazy cabrones" said the fisherman. They stood up suddenly, and began jumping up and down, waving their hands, yelling out our names "- Pablooo... Wilsooon" desperately.
Sure enough, that was my friend Alfredo, his brother and a couple of brave ladies.
Wilson and I set up our tents, joined them by the fire, and since there were rumors of a group of girls camping nearby we decided to stay.
The fishermen shacks were all on the ground, the sand was plagued with jagged wooden stakes, flotsam and jetsam on the river and on the lake, the waves in the ocean raised like giants, collapsing in thundering roar, and the fog was ever present, cloudy all day, only interrupted by the eventual drizzle.
...But we found the girls, I had a few cartons of cigs, Alfredo and the other friends were there, and someone bought a Wonder Brad bag full of pot, and a bottle of Mezcal.
Didn't take long for the fisherman to bring his wife and daughters, they set up an improvised kitchen, and now we also had a 3 item menu, which they cooked for us three times a day, so we stayed (and I can't believe it, because it was a shit show, with sand and rain)
I eventually moved into someone else's tent, and some chick moved in with Wilson in his tent, and we were all happily paired up, having irresponsible fun in this tropical paradise-turned disaster zone, but the dreadful light would wait about week or so, before revealing herself and her somber news...
Alfredo played the guitar, we sat and sang around the fire, we had tents, hammocks, cold beer and pop, and eventually some of the locals returned and began rebuilding their shacks (here there are no pipes, there's no power and it's just...rough).
We moved the tents to one single area (for safety), but then, one night, while we were all sitting around the fire, chatting, drinking... we suddenly saw this bright light beam sweeping the beach.
This light came from a pick up truck, parked across the river. Then we heard the megaphone as it began delivering a short, direct message: "A cyclone will hit us in about 3 hours, there are buses on their way to evacuate everyone, start crossing the river, NOW! women and children first".
And so the fishermen, their families, and a couple of lost campers began to leave ... and we just sat there.
We were too drunk or stoned to realize what was happening... and then we decided to discuss the issue at hand, and that is when everything went south.
See, whenever you have a hurricane, tsunami, earthquake or fire situation, you don't talk about it, you get the fuck out of there. Pronto! (the fat is on the fire).
But we didn't ...we just kept talking about whether staying to face the hurricane was a valid moral principle, or not, and a consensus could not be reached.
I had been following the debacle quietly, and quite honestly laughing at the stupid dilemma we had gotten ourselves into. Then, at some point they all became quiet, looked at each other, and that's when Wilson turned to me, and asked the unquestionable question:
"Pablo, what do you think?" (yup, bad idea)
" - I think there is nothing to discuss" I said
and then stood up, and raised a burning bundle of sticks (as if portraying the Statue of Liberty) and proclaimed solemnly
"- it is our holy duty to stay and defend this place that we have claimed as ours for so many years. No puny storm can relieve such honorable struggle. Prepare your hearts, your souls and your tents, wrap the pot in Ziploc bags and let's unite, for the night lays before us, the conquest of Playa Paraiso will be ours"
(I was kidding, of course ...but they didn't know this).
The fishermen came and told us we were nuts and by the time we finally sat down to retake the issue all the locals had left... and we were left behind, stuck, tying up the tents in clusters and digging ditches in the sand, with no way out of this hell.
Suddenly everyone began staring at me (something weird happens to people when they're not high anymore...they get...serious about shit, you know?).
"I was kidding" I said, and before they burnt me at the stake (like a Salem witch) I convinced them that "we would be just fine" (of course, I didn't know this).
So we made an even bigger fire, and rolled an even bigger blunt, and while the night was windy and rainy, and the ocean's waves crushed on the beach with thunderous anger... we made it.
The cyclone didn't hit until the next evening... and we were gone.
Just a rock
lonely island in the thunderstorm
ray of light for the sailor adrift
always there
storm after storm
wave after wave
I wave from the shore
can you see me?
can you hear me whisper?
would you stop and swim ashore?
I need a beacon
I'm lost
and I'm drowning in my little storm
I guess I could use a lighthouse
just about now
But they've turned you off
blew your candle
dimmed your light
and what do they know?
nothing
I sit and ponder
on my old man and wind and shores
on life and sailboats and whores
and on how time escapes from clenched fists
and on how this world for sailors
is commanded by pirates
who only seek to sink ships
decommission lighthouses
and drown our dreams
I wake up and find myself floating
in a bed of fleurs-de-lis
and I realize the beach is a muse
and waking up to see her
is like a sunbeam of peace and lavender
kiss of laudanum
as I close my eyes and sleep
and float away with the tide
(click here to see more pics from this trip to Cannon Beach)
I feel the breeze on my hair
and I turn my face to see the curtains
white thin veils, dancing on this 5 star suite.
Your tan body is still on top of me
my hands are glued to your hips
and you've covered me in honey dew again
as your nails have slowly carved your name on my forearms.
Impertinent sunbeams find their way to the bedroom
I look at you and I see the light of the day
reflected in your turquoise eyes
locked with mine.
I see your face and I can't believe my eyes
and I see my life depends on your high cheeks
on your full lips, half open
and on your hidden, curare spiked tongue.
Indeed, I'm a slave of the soft peach like cheeks
and of that perfect nose of yours
a nose to make Renoir blush.
Your hair falling on your shoulders like chestnut Niagaras
and on your plump grapefruit breasts
Your perfect pearled smile and your strong thorax
and that perfectly round ass of yours
(to which my hands belong)
are everything I could ever want.
I'm completely ensnared
daydreaming in the rhythmic hammock love you make
as my mind spins in this carousel inside you.
- "Good morning" you say
like a songbird tune, with Latin accents
and hypnotic tone.
I look outside
at the World
and I fall in love again
there is a God, for only he could have painted
this Renoiresque beach
and there is a Devil, and she's sleeping with me
and she knows me by name.
Unforgotten, you remain
cause when I stare at a daisy I think of your sex
diamond veils floating on the early ripples
palm trees making a breeze with their long, green skirts
the Sun bathing your face with its splendor
lighting one more day in paradise
a day that began with the morning
the morning of your eyes.
What are words if not petals and thorns that dress my soul?
Today is always an interesting day, I remember that the first time I voted here I had just arrived and I voted for George W. Bush. The guy is passionate when he speaks, and Gore choosing Lieberman was a horrid mistake, look at him now, following McCain. Still, I voted and I went and got my Social Security number and my Driver's License and while I have always been an American Citizen I had never really lived here, but the pride has always been there, as is the love for this land.
I'm in America and I'm an American. I speak English and I fear God. I'm a sinner and a tax payer, my dad was a Korean War Vet and I'm registered with the Selective Service. I'm also Mexican and that's where I was born, and I pay taxes over there too (in case you thought Mexicans don't pay taxes, I do ...twice) then again I'm an exception to the rule.
Today, however is not about me. it is about this Great Nation.
We are multicultural and we love and hate everybody.
We nuked Hiroshima but we love Karate Kid.
We don't agree with how China violates human rights but we love made in Honk Kong.
We volunteer as minute men to shoot Mexicans in the border but we love Cancun and making a total ass of ourselves at any Mexican Restaurant (they even put the pictures on the walls).
We still have racism as a social problem but we cry when the Williams and the Woods and the Jordan's raise our flag up high, against the best in the world.
We dance to Tupac and Garth Brooks and Shakira and we love saying "Arroz con pollo"
As different as we are, redneck is still something no one wants to be... and yet we all watch Nascar, wear sandals with socks, jeans with high heels and chew gum loudly. We not only make the worst voice mail recordings, but we also have El Debarge or the Bee-gees as a ringback tone. We decorate our cellphones with shiny plastic diamonds, put puppies in pink purses and believe that Elvis is still alive, then we mix it all and plaster it on myspace. Who told us that Jessica Parker was sexy? Gabrielle Union is sexy. Still, I've been to many places and it is here where I see most of the children going to school, receiving health care and growing in homes. It is here where I see women leaving their abusive husbands and raising their kids on their own, it is here where I see huge medical and technological advances, it is here where I know I must follow the law and it is here that I've decided to make my home. To me that's reason enough to fight for.
Unfortunately there are some people who live here and yet whose relatives never served in the military, who don't fear God, whose vote doesn't matter, whose Social Security number and Driver's Licenses are only documents that enable them to be here. Even though they don't feel pride or love for this land, quite the opposite: they hate us.
They are in America and some are becoming American. They speak English (really bad I must say) and follow and teach a distorted version of one of the oldest religions in the World, one not so different from Christianism.
I'm a sinner and I can tell you that there are 4 virgins per men in this world and I already had mine and yours too, so if you where told that you would have 20 or 40 waiting for you when you die I can assure that women don't really put out if you're dead, and if they are virgins they also don't wait very long.
Today, however is not about me. it is about this Great Nation.
We are multicultural and we love and hate those who hate us.
If you thought you were hiding and that we don't know who you are: today I'm letting you know that we do, that for us today is September 12Th and that we will never forget. We are just waiting until you step over the line again.
We are multicultural and today we all celebrate, today we remember your coward attack on all of us, today we remember our brothers and sisters and husbands and wives and daughters and friends and cousins and nieces and neighbors serving overseas, and when you see us looking at you at the traffic light, on the street or at the store and you feel that hatred, remember, it is hate, and we know who you are, and you are NOT one of US.
