Fine Fast Food

“I think he wants you to stop around the corner,” Layne said as the police officer mimed at us through the window. When we got it open his words confirmed the gesture. 

“You were blocking the crosswalk,” he said as he took my Florida driver’s license. 

“I was waiting for the red light to change,” I replied but my words were incinerated in the bright white sunshine outside the confines of our air conditioned Promaster, the big golden blob that might have blocked pedestrians crossing the street had there been any. “Follow me” he added, ignoring my protestations  as he climbed on his motorcycle with my driver’s license in his pocket. I had a momentary urge to peel off and head for Navojoa on highway 15 and forget Huatabampo ever existed, but that would have been silly, as I don’t at all resemble any kind of desperado I’ve ever heard of, and the Promaster has to be the world’s worst and most conspicuous getaway car. Besides this traffic stop was a new one on me. I’ve been pulled over in so many different countries, never previously in Mexico, usually for speeding which is my vice, or was before I got a van, but suddenly being deemed a crosswalk scofflaw of all things in a country where do-it-yourself is the best rule for pedestrians was a whole new experience, and I was curious where this bizarre turn of events would take us. I hoped there was a story in it. 

“I wonder if he’s taking us out of Huatabampo to ask us to pay the fines in the riverside shrubbery,” I said rather dubiously as the motorcycle cop led us west to the distant edge of town. I had visions of the two of us doing disreputable things hidden from view on the dusty river levee and I wondered what sleight of hand would see him satisfied.

But then the giant white palazzo of the police department came into view: we seemed to be doing things properly. I parked in front of the police station on the red line on his orders (!) and followed him inside.

We walked inside followed by the stares of the front desk mob. I got special treatment  by being led back through the rear courtyard past the vehicle impound lot into a rear office. I was introduced to the boss, a blank faced bureaucrat in a teal polo shirt. He did the “shuffle the papers in silence” number to try to make the suspect  nervous and not eventually looked up. “You were blocking the crosswalk,” he said. 

“Apparently so,”  I  replied. 

“It’s an offense in the municipal code,” he said. 

“I’m sure it is,” I said. 

“Where did you come from?” They always ask that question whose purpose baffles me. 

“Álamos,” I said 

“Where are you going?” I wanted to say it feels like the direct path to hell but instead I told the truth. 

 “Playa Huatabampito.” 

“You are a tourist,” he made it sound like something unpleasant under his shoe. “Have you been here before?” 

“Yes in January.” 

“So you like Huatabampo,” he said 

“Well,” I replied, “I liked it more 15 minutes ago,” the boss looked through me as the motorcycle cop at my side smothered a giggle. 

“You have to pay a fine” he said shaking his head when I asked if I could get a warning. It didn’t look good and I was wondering how much he could skin me for. I imagine he was thinking similar thoughts. 

“Are you on vacation?” 

“Retired,” I said, ”after 17 years with the police in Florida,” I played my ace. I hate doing it but it got me out of a fine in Croatia when I got zapped going too fast and my wife told the radar cop I worked with the police. I was too embarrassed to bring it up myself. Actually I retired from being a civilian dispatcher and 911 operator  but this didn’t seem the time to quibble about badges of rank. “You were police?” The motorcycle cop said and I nodded. I actually think he was regretting this whole caper. 

It didn’t matter, the pound of flesh was the only way to satisfy the boss that much was obvious. I got the strong impression the motorcycle cop had been under orders to pull someone in and it seems I was it. Job done.  

“One thousand pesos,” he said. 

“We’ll, that’s that then “ I said. 

“Yes,” he said. I told him I’d better go and get the money. He nodded, my license sat on his desk, discarded but out of my reach.  

My wife looked distraught in the corridor. 

“They wouldn’t let me in.  They said you were with the judge.” She used to be a public defender and she was looking like she was suffering from ineffective assistance of counsel syndrome. I reassured her it was not so far a hanging offense but they were waiting for me. 

“Weirdest judge I ever met,” I said and went out to the van to get the money for his honor. Layne very sensibly hadn’t brought her purse on the grounds our fine might  be tailored to match our available  funds. Fifty bucks seemed quite enough for blocking an empty crosswalk. I walked back through the police station waving two brown Diego Riveras so everyone knew how much I got zapped. 

“I hope you lot get to share a nice dinner on me,” I said to the gathering crowd of officers in the back hallway, lounging next to the armed sentry, all there to see the gabacho getting fleeced. It turns out two Diego Riveras are worth one Florida driver’s license and I made the exchange on his desk. I asked if I could go and we said no more about a receipt. 

On my way out I noticed the mural on the wall where arrest photos are taken. I handed my phone to one of the cops and asked him to do the honors. Much laughter as I swiveled like Al Capone in his famous booking pictures. Come to think I never did do that at Key West PD though I did try being properly handcuffed once by one of my sworn colleagues and let me tell you that is a very disturbing sensation. Much worse than this.  

I shook hands cheerfully with the motorcycle cop in some sort of grotesque professional courtesy and got in the van and sighed.

 “Well that sucked,” Layne said with full judicial understatement and then quickly added: “turn left here otherwise we’ll go back past the same spot and now they’ve had time to dream up some other crap charge.” So I turned left and we went and had the best grilled beef sope we’ve had anywhere in Mexico even after meandering all over the country for the past six months.

It was the main reason we came back to Huatabampo, a pleasant provincial town near the coast in southern Sonora.

Then there was  the superb flour tortilla lady who unfortunately was closed which was a shame,

but the guy at the agua purificada store remembered us and we chatted about our travels over the winter while I siphoned water into our tank. 

The vet up the street still carried the most effective  fly killer powder, Totenfli, I’ve ever seen:

so we got some more of that and  with a quick stop at an actual self service car wash, the only one I’ve seen in Mexico,

We were done with Huatabampo and retreated to lick our wounds with some lovely wild camping at the beach. 

It’s a pity really but I don’t think we will go back. I mean, I don’t want to be a bad sport but even for the best sopes in the world fifty bucks seems a high price to pay. 

Rusty The Toreador

It was another of those busy days yesterday that occasionally punctuate the drifting days of not very much happening. It was shopping time in the city of Huatabampo, the town 30 minutes inland from the beaches of “Little Huatabampo” (Huatabampito).  

The village was empty but we stopped to feed a couple of hungry puppies and an adult dog who seemed less hungry but glad for breakfast anyway. 

The plan was to do some shopping for perishables and I planned to load a few pounds of  kibbles for hungry dogs we meet along the way. There aren’t as many true strays as you might imagine but like poor Mexicans themselves their dogs, who live outside, don’t always get as much to eat as one might like. Tips for the humans and kibbles for the dogs are what we factor in to the already modest cost of living.

We passed the RV park at the entrance to the village and the two large trailers parked and plugged in. The RV park is right at the end of the asphalt so they don’t have to negotiate the dried mud and sand of the village street. 

The inland is long and straight and filled with topes (speed bumps) in the inhabited stretches. I spend the drive carefully watching other traffic to see when they come to a stop. It’s a total pain watching for unmarked bumps in the road. 

On our way back to the beach the shacks by the side of the road we’re coming to life yo accommodate weekend beach traffic. For farmers and ranchers Friday is just another work day: 

We followed Google maps to the Ley supermarket in Huatabampo to start our shopping. It was a good store with fresh vegetables and lots of variety. $27 for everything including kibbles for strays, Indio beer and so forth. 

While Layne sorted the shopping I took Rusty for a walk. I put him on a leash and made a spectacle of us as a leashed fog is only held back because it’s dangerous. In this case I leashed him because there was lots of traffic and he was more relaxed while secured to me. 

I may have looked odd walking while tied to a dog but there was a dude across the street taking some water for a stroll. 

That was a reminder we had a 15 gallon hole in our 35 gallon tank. Google maps got us here. 50 cents for each five gallon jug. 

The employee’s brother lives in San Jose California and we discussed the relative merits of life there and in Huatabampo. Bruce’s idea of using a hose to siphon the water works a treat.  

Layne saw a flour tortilla shop down the street so we walked there and bought a pile of tortillas some hot and some cold for a buck fifty. A quick snack showed they were as good as ever. 

The plastic screen was designed to separate customer from employee. Everyone wore a mask and the employee held our tortillas and passed us our change all while using a plastic bag as a glove. Mexicans are getting vaccinated as fast as they can but wearing a mask even on the street is totally normal and non controversial. 

Rusty got busy practicing to blend in like a local. 

He snuck down an alley to drop an egg and sniff around. I wonder what goes through his mind facing new smells and sights. The van is definitely his home and secure place. 

Years sho when we sailed Mexico flies drove us and just as they do aboard GANNET2. Worse yet we were starting to get used to the damn nuisances flying around our heads. On the boat we had bought fly papers that hung from the cabin ceiling in strips covered in glue. Flies landed and got stuck. They worked after a fashion. 

It was the devil’s own job to explain the concept in a ferret shop which didn’t carry “matamoscas” - fly killers. A customer twigged what I was looking for and put the name of a business into my Google map. It was a vet shop and sure enough they had the modern equivalent of fly paper. Nowadays they use two dollar packets of fly powder. We used a few grains on a piece of foil moistened with water and suddenly the flies were falling down dead, after one quick drink of the mixture. Relief! 

Time for lunch and I am proud to say I spotted our lunch spot. It was superb. We sat and ordered sopes which are thick toasted tortillas and in this case they were huge and came with melted cheese covered in cubes of grilled beef.

The men operated the sidewalk grill and the women organized the fixings inside the kitchen. 

She ladled our bean soup which was delicious full of flavor and filling. She also came to our table and showed us where the lime compartment was hidden under the green salsa bowl in the middle of the side dishes. 

It was an embarrassingly filling meal. We had never had such giant sopes before and these were piled high. As Layne wandered off to lay the $8 bill for food and Fresca sodas Rosario came by for a chat. 

He liked my name. “Miguel,” he said, “ like the archangel.”  “Yes,” I agreed. “The head angel.”  He nodded and hoped god would bless me. The cook, on her lunch break overheard our conversation and was nodding at her food solemnly in agreement. 

Time to go and walk off our lunch. 

The main square is named for Benito Juarez and is a shady public space in front of city hall which was besieged by a line of people for some unknown reason. Many years ago Layne and I saw a gathering in the street when we were visiting San Blas. It was dusk and we joined the crowd to see what was what. A lady came round  with cake and lemonade and made us more puzzled than ever. Eventually we asked what was going on and discovered that Zelig-like we had unknowingly been attending the wake of a well liked local woman. This time we sidled past the crowd without asking awkward questions. 

Further up the square Rusty met a local, one loaded with giant cojones. Rusty didn’t like him much and they parted barely on speaking terms. There were too many smells so I got the leash out and made a spectacle of ourselves again. Rusty on a leash makes for faster forward progress. 

This crowd was outside a bank so finally the penny dropped and we guessed Friday is payday. 

Roadworks! 

We drove back to the beach on the now familiar road in ninety degree sunshine and found our spot at the end of the dirt road above the beach. That was when I saw a cow ambling all by herself down the beach. As it ambled it swung and it was very soon apparent it was less a cow and more a bull. 

Layne was not keen to share the beach with the ambling bull so we waited. Rusty got out of the van and the minute he saw the huge black shadow he became a dog possessed. 

He barked and weaved his way toward the bull which had already shown signs of deep puzzlement. First he had come up off the beach and found a huge shiny box where there shouldn’t be anything at all. He paused and stared. And then this mad barking bundle of fur came out of nowhere and faced him down. He was not in the mood and turned away. Rusty was ignoring us but he had the bull’s full attention. Slowly the two ton lump of leather backed away into the dunes. Rusty sidled back looking for approval. He got that and a fair dose of puzzlement too. I never knew my dog would take his security duties so seriously. 

We went for a swim and Rusty stood on the beach keeping one eye on us and the other on his home. When we stepped out of the cold dark waters he saw we were safe and raced up the beach. We ambled after him and there he was, keeping an eye on the danger. Which ignored him and kept munching. My surprising dog. I am more impressed by him every day on the road. 

Then we got our visitor. Clemente came along to check up on us saying he is an officer in the Sonora State Police. That was my cut to whip out a Key West Police patch and we got along chatting away until his wife dragged him off to dinner. On leaving he gave us his number and said if you need anything don’t hesitate to call. Ok then. Nice guy. 

The sunset was spectacular as ever and a can of Indio and a plate of nachos saw us passing out in our recliners. A good day then.