I Take Her Here And There
I wait by the gate under the tree, the yachtie club to the left and the restaurant to the right. The steep slopped gang way is starting to liven up as the day breaks. First it is the tradesmen going in the gate - the steel man...the canvas man.... the electrician....the wood work man. Eventually I see the squinting faces of those rising from the hatches like they have been hibernating. Then they start to come out of the gate and make way to the smell of coffee at the little club house, soon the murmuring elevates to chatter with time.
Sometimes she is late, but each day it is becoming more 'Mexican time' not 'Australian time'. As she leaves the boat, it may take a while pending how many conversation happen on the way. She arrives and I always get a warm greeting. I can tell she is still thinking about the plan of attack, red floral bag into the tray, my padlock is unlocked and we are off out the gates of Marina De La Paz, passing Rafael the taxi man as we go (he is thinking something ever since I arrived).
Yes, as usual we are going along the Malecon La Paz taking in the fresh cool air. The beach to the left and hotels, Port administration, Customs, Bus stations, Military hospital, Hospitality and Tourist businesses spread along to the right. We won't go the full 12 klm today I took her there yesterday. Today she has plans to find the perfect markets; I can tell buy the string bag she carries. So up past the money exchange and into the street named 'De Mayo' and a right into 'Revolucion De 1910' past the cathedral (no stopping... we did that Sunday) we cross the street called '16 De Septiembre' and we spot the farmers markets. Because of a tip off about the bakery, I am parked at a lamp post close to the smell of fresh goodies straight across from the markets and I lose sight of her.
Meanwhile "he who hums" will be walking up 'Abasolo' where he has worn out a track and then left into '5 De Febrero' stopping at each marine shop again. Not sure how he will go on his own in the Marine centre as the lovely white haired man there tends to almost nod off when getting the information. You have to reignite the conversation when the breathing becomes laboured and the finger stops running down the small printed page.
Soon "he who hums" will be wondering where we are as he waits at the new little street stall for fish or shrimp tacos. Definitely he will have bag of something else tucked under his arm, some thing that we hasn't already got in his tool room and likely not what he headed out for entirely. But hey, pastries weren't written on our list either.