Cyclone

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.