The check in process was quick. I handed over our papers from Puerto Vallarta. �Didn�t you stop at Cabo?� asked the official. �Yes, but the Capitan just looked at our papers and said �Call me when you leave,� which we did.� The Ensenada representative shook his head as if to say, �those damn Cabo Capitans are lazy � they didn�t even charge you. What is the world coming to?� then waved me off. �Can I check out tomorrow?� I asked. �Sure, come before two, we close at two-thirty.� Good to know. I took note that the Migracion office was right there in the same building, how convenient. We hiked back to the hotel.
My friends grabbed their gear and checked out. �Hey,� said the guy at the front desk, �did you find your friend?� They turned to me and opened their arms, ta-da! �Oh, I was wondering,� I queried the manager, �do you have a room open for tonight? My brother will probably be here in a little while to get one.� �Oh, yes. I think we can find something,� he smiled graciously. Perfect.
We deposited the bags back on the boat and withdrew Eric for the lumber search. His Spanish would come in handy. Brian followed us out so we could show him to the hotel. �There it is,� we pointed from the street-side (on land they call this side the front) of the marina building.
�Oh,� said Brian, �that is close.� He went off to make the reservations.
Our first step was to ask about a lumberyard in the marina office. �Sure, there�s lots of them,� said the clerk, raising our hopes, �but I doubt you�ll find the kind of wood you�re looking for.� Rats.
Undaunted, though, we walked out into the blazing sunshine of the Ensenada afternoon. What followed was an epic quest � so epic, in fact, that Stacy was able to publish a short story about it afterward.
The four of us did not resemble your average tourist group out to see the sights. No, we were different � we had a mission. And we looked it. Eric sported his usual pirate regalia, red bandana, open shirt, torn shorts, long hair breezing around his shoulders. The Reverend�s dome was similarly crowned, though his shaven head and Homer Simpson t-shirt (a take off on a popular version of a Che Guevera theme offered at shops all over Mexico) provided a contrast to the Second Mate�s sea faring style. Stacy wore a short, black, ruffled skirt and tight fitting top, looking ready to plunge into the surf at the slightest provocation. I, as usual, had a dress shirt on�open to the navel and billowing in the wind, necklaces adorning chest, hair blowing in my face every five seconds. And we walked, nay stalked, along with a purpose. Anyone headed in the opposite direction made an effort to get out of the way. Stacy described it exactingly:
�Mamas called their ninas over, quickly grabbing their hands the second they saw this dark band of gringos approaching. One kid, who was sitting in a parked car, raised up his book and hid his face behind it, when we passed!
Only the happy, fed people outside of one special restaurant in town cared less about the pirate costumes on these banditos. Funny, because we had only stopped there to borrow a napkin to sop up Sean's bleeding leg and maybe to get him a beer to go. (Mind you, his leg was suddenly bleeding, without explanation � perhaps a freestyle walking move gone awry?)
But these folks outside the restaurant didn't even notice the blood, let alone reel in their kids. Several nodding approvals from locals over our choice of restaurant led us inside and had us signing up for second lunch (or breakfast for some). We had only walked about three blocks since first lunch, but who could pass up so many earnest
recommendations. (Besides, they didn�t sell the Tecate to go)
Yes, we were a force to be reckoned with. (My bleeding leg does have an explanation, actually. I was looking in the window of the restaurant in question, noting the festive d�cor of hanging plastic chili peppers and Christmas lights as well as the fact that it was busy and everyone inside seemed to be relishing their food, when I felt a tug on my shin. A fender was sticking into the sidewalk from a car that had apparently been in a recent accident. It didn�t hurt much, but the cut was sufficiently deep to let a distressing amount of blood spill down to my sock. Not distressing to me, mind you, but I�ve found that strangers become very distressed when they see someone walking around nonchalantly bleeding all over the place.)
After eating (again) we strode back onto the street and after a couple of blocks actually found not one but two lumberyards. The attendants were nowhere to be found but it didn�t matter: they had nothing but pine. Not to be disheartened, we made our way to the next yard on the list. We were well outside of the normal tourist attraction areas now, and I think we fit in much better with the locals. People walking by nodded or ignored us. No children were present to be pulled into safe parental proximity.
The second wood sales shop was no better than the first, with the added insult that we were chased off the lot where we�d been inspecting the stockpiles of pine. It was getting late for commerce, almost five o�clock, which in Mexico usually means every place not selling beer, food or t-shirts was likely to close. We would need help.
Help came in the form of the cab driver who pulled over to pick us up. Stacy, who�d studied Spanish in high school and college explained what we were looking for. �Wood? I know lots of places! What�s it for?� Eric had researched the word we�d need, �timon,� which means �rudder.� The driver scrunched his brow and shook his head while blasting across an intersection and passing a slow moving minivan. Roughly translated, he replied, �On second thought, could be hard to find�� Even so, he toured us through two more lumber selling stores. By the second, which was waiting for us to leave so it could close, I had to admit that the prospects were grim. They had one section of oak board about four inches wide and three feet long, but that was pretty much the closest thing to a large piece of hardwood we saw in the entire inventory of Ensenada. I bought a four foot twelve-by-two pine plank to placate the staff of the yard. They�d been very helpful and expressed a great deal of sorrow over the fact that they didn�t have what we needed. Besides, there�s always a use for a nice big piece of wood�.if not immediately then certainly at some point in the future. Faith didn�t have a designated plank anyway.
Our driver whisked us back to the marina.