Days 48 - 52 | Playa Santispac | MulegƩ, B.C.S. MƩxico
Harveyās been running like a champ. Over freezing mountain terrain and across blazing Mexico beaches, heās unstoppable. The old Scenesterās still got some moves and heās not one to pass up an opportunity to show them off, especially when it comes to the kids nowadays ā with their fancy slide outs and push-button awnings.
Yesterday, though, there was a definite eggy smell coming off him, poor fellow. A little while later we lost power when the generator dragged to a grinding halt. Then, while searching for a source of the eggy smell we discovered a corroded house battery. Yeeesh, Harvey.
Eggy smells could indicate something as inconsequential as a full black tank, or something as panic-worthy as engine failure or a gas leak. Naturally, me being me, there wasnāt much time wasted spiraling into all of the worst case scenarios where we inevitably meet our untimely deaths. Would we die blowing up from engine failure or shall we pass away in our sleep from carbon monoxide poisoning? It's anybodyās guess. Everyone back home calling us crazy would shake their heads and sadly proclaim, āI told them so.ā
Normally, when things go suddenly sideways, I will call upon my ever faithful village; Google, then Iāll go tuck snug inside the walls Iāve spent a lifetime building up all around me and wait for my resolution to be served up fresh and hot.
But weāre in Mexico where the internet is a tricky little beast and there are new and different circumstances to force me out of my comfort zone around every corner, including all sorts of forced opportunities having to do with relying on the kindness of strangers.
Accepting help is not my specialty, and accepting help without the advantage of a long-winded excuse or apology because I canāt speak the language is especially not my specialty.
P-noch and JJ have recently spent the mornings taking the pickup into town to find a few hours of work and some wifi at the local pandaria. JosĆ© Alfredo is always on the day shift there, happy to greet them, chatty and eager to help as weāve discovered most locals are ā and so has since gained dinner conversation status within our group. I look forward to hearing about the fishing boat heās saving up to renovate, and what his friendās are up to, friends like Alfonzo who owns a construction shop in the next town. Alfonzo can fix anything, apparently, and we were invited to go see him if we ever needed help with Harvey. āBe sure to tell him JosĆ© Alfredo sent you!ā
And, somewhat serendipitously, we all at once found ourselves in need of someone who could fix anything.
We tracked down the little construction shop just off the road several miles away. It was clean and well organized and painted bright white, making it stand out like a teeth whitening ad against the dusty Baja backdrop.
We found Alfonzo and introduced ourselves and gave him a brief explanation of our dilemma, but I think what we actually said was closer to āHello, how are you, JosĆ© Alfredo makes the delicious cookies in our fractured vehicle. Please you come observe that now.ā
Alfonzo, in all of his unflinching twenty-somethings, wiped some grease off his hands from a rag he dug out of his pocket as he walked slowly towards Harvey, squinting one eye thoughtfully.
āJosĆ© Alfredo from MulegĆ©?ā He asked dubiously with a thick accent.
āSi, seƱor.ā
He leaned back on his haunches a bit and pressed his jaw between his thumb and pointer finger. After a brief pause, he asked us which JosĆ© Alfredo, exactly, we had spoken to. We would soon discover, we think, that he knows at least two JosĆ© Alfredoās in MulegĆ©, one of them is worth his weight in gold, but the other one is a no bueno burnout. As if our current state of desperation and the language barrier wasnāt confusing enough, we come to find out that both JosĆ© Alfredoās are known for their delicioso ācookiesā. Ay, caramba.
Finally, with an excessive amount of hand gesturing and stumbling through our pathetic use of the Spanish language, weāre able to establish that it is in fact JosĆ© Alfredo from the actual bakery in MulegĆ©. Without a word, Alfonzo turns on his heels and marches back into his shop.
When he returns a while later, long enough to let us believe that he might not be coming back at all, heās carrying all kinds of different wires and some pliers and other various tools that Iām willing to bet weāre supposed to have of our own to keep somewhere in Harveys undercarriage - perhaps where we keep the blow up floaties and the cooler full of cervezas.
Alfonzo looks P-noch straight in his eyes and says, āYou and me⦠Amigos?ā
āSi, amigos.ā
āAmigos work together, si?ā
And for the next hour thatās exactly what they did, side by side, elbow deep in Harveyās innards, Alfonzo speaking in his broken English and P-noch in his broken Spanish, in mutual respect. At the end of it all, with a house battery cleverly rewired with spare bits and parts and polished to an industrial gleam, P-noch went for his wallet to pay and Alfonzo abruptly puffed out his chest a little and, looking a bit offended he shakes his head, āNo, no, gracias, you, me, amigos now.ā And it was one of the greatest human interactions I've ever seen.
By the time we got back to our palapa on the most beautiful bay in the whole world, Harvey was purring like a kitten and back to his normal sweet smelling self, ready to get back out there and show those kids how it's done.
Muchas Gracias Alfonzo.
11.22.2021











