Postcard from The End of the World: Chapter One

Nothing puts a damper on a vacation in the same way as nearly getting yourself killed. Yet there I was, perilously close to drowning, having blatantly ignored the crew of the booze cruise I have jumped off from about a half hour previously. “Stick to the rocks near the shore close to the boat. DON’T go the other side of the bay and DON’T get too far from shore! The currents are dangerous, guys!!”  But I knew better….yeah, right. Chasing a school of tropical fish in my snorkel gear in Santa Maria Bay in Cabo San Lucas had placed me about 100 yards away from my boat and further away by the second - each successive wave’s undertow dragging me away from shore and thus closer to becoming Pacific Ocean fish food. I was running the last reel of “Open Water” through my mind – that movie about two scuba divers who get left behind by their charter boat and after they accept the hand of fate there’s a lot of soul-searching for a half hour until they eventually become shark snacks. Back in real life, I was getting tossed about by the waves, inhaling a foul cocktail that was half sea water, half air. Adding to my predicament was the foggy head of someone who had, until 31 minutes ago, been actively trying to recreate the perfect buzz through use of beer and liquor with the help of Paco, the 17-year-old cruise bartender on board. The booze’s buzz was replaced with internal panic. Years of swimming lessons were instantly forgotten, and the hundred yards to my boat may have well been the first leg of the Ironman Triathlon. In flailing around, however, I caught sight of a catamaran about 15 yards away. I did some more inspired flailing – this time in the direction of the cat’s crew, who didn’t appear overly alarmed by my current dire situation.  With a bit of well-timed confidence, I caught a second wind and doggie paddled my way toward the catamaran. As I got to within a yard of the bow, one of the crew jumped in the water to assist. Next thing I know a police boat has pulled up behind us and I am literally hauled aboard by my arms. So now I’m on a boat with two damp cops and three other policemen, each of whom is brandishing machine guns, and I’m kinda thinking - this is exactly what they mean by ‘out of the frying pan into the fire,’ you know? Aboard the SS La Policia, we’re motoring in the direction of my cruise boat and I’m wondering if I’m going to be on TV on ‘Locked Up Abroad’ next season. Mind you that this is my optimistic outcome for my current situation. In trying to avoid eye contact with the gendarmes, I find I’m looking directly at a row of AK-47’s. As soon as we’re within a few feet of the ladder of my cruise boat, I gingerly move towards it. No one is stopping me, so I figure one of the cops is going to be right behind me gesturing with his weapon for me to get the rest of my stuff and come back aboard with them.  I flopped down on a bench to catch my breath. A pregnant pause, and then, fatalistically, I turned my head in the direction of the police boat, but…they’re already leaving?? No arrest, no bribe, not even a stern lecture from El Jefe? Without a doubt, the most relieving anticlimax I’ve ever had. My only proof that it ever happened was the playful snickering from Paco during the ride home whenever I approached the bar. Back on shore I knew I had been given the divine chance to turn my vacation around… To be continued…(this time I mean it!!!)