The Streets

“Dadadadadaa”, Danny says, as he walks down the dock, his constant easy smile glaring across his face as he moves with a certain step and at 71 the man has swagger. I am sure that in his younger years he was the Latin killer that Julio Iglesias sang about.  As he walks down the dock more friends follow, for a second week in a row he has come to visit Chappy. A sailor from a near port, he sailed in last week for lunch, and once he set eyes on Chappy’s lines I think he found himself swirling in love.  It’s not hard, Chappy’s charm caused me to buy her on the spot and the first time I sailed her up Narragansett Bay I knew it was a fatal attraction that would cause me to do something so very crazy, like run off into the sunset. We sit on the dock talking shop, swapping swashbuckling stories.   It’s evident that these men are not D'Artagnans pretty paraders, but real blood and guts type having been all over, and they tend to only go sailing when everyone else won’t. It’s just who they are. As we sat eating pinchos and talking a jet ski comes up and at slow speed and taps into Chappy, elevating Giberto to his feet as if the man just slapped his wife, and in full bloom his Spanish becomes unclear….for the first few words the man doesn’t care; then sorrow falls across his face, he makes eye contact and suddenly his Spanish becomes very proper, his words start to stutter as if being spoken like the hangman begging for his life. I look at Danny, who is sitting there smiling as if he has never seen the sun, and I ask, “What is he saying”. Danny, looking around the sky, says “You don’t need to know that kind of Spanish James.  I can tell you he has thrown the book at him, you see my friend here is someone, someone that man doesn’t want to mess with.”  No quarter is give and Gustavo continues to go on, his words becoming faster, the man half his age looking to disappear but won’t until Giberto releases him. The man bows in sorrow and slowly retreats.  An hour later it’s settled they will be sailing with me to Boquerón where I am planning on spending Easter week. They have made arrangements for Chappy to have a perfect stay.

In the dark, I rolled down the shore in my new friend Freddie’s Baja style jeep, its tires humming on the road, the wind blowing cooling the hot night, reminding me of my youth riding around with my dad in a doorless jeep in the hot desert night. Reaching Boquerón the main streets were closed to cars and there were a thousand people in the street. A spectacle of food drinks and music it is simple perfection. There are no police and no need, everyone is there to be there and have a good time. As we walked down the street I was surprised to see it was a family affair, young and old; families setting up chairs in the street just hanging out watching it all go by. After dinner we found a table near the center, had a sweaty beer, listening to music while people watching. All of a sudden there was an eruption, people screaming, jumping and running through the streets….Puerto Rico had just beat Venezuela in pelota (baseball) causing a whole new beat on the street, the bands played harder the people talked louder and the salsa on the sidewalk began. It’s not a holiday it just another Saturday night in Boquerón. It’s funny the city isn’t nice, but the vibe has reminded me once again that things don’t have to be perfect to be perfect; the ever constant lesson of this trip. It is addicting to live in a world where stress doesn’t exist. I just need to remember to keep both feet in this one. It’s too easy with technology to keep a foot in two worlds.