Another Bus Story
A few weeks ago I went to downtown to find that elusive coffee shop. After walking past the entrance twice, I found the stairs leading up to Café Oro Verde. According to the Banderas Bay Cruising Guide, “Wen and his wife Pat roast fresh arabica beans brought down from small estate plantations high up in the Sierra Madre Mountains.” I chatted with Wen while he ground ½ kilo of medium roast coffee beans. He told me all about his female friend who has sailed around the world twice, solo. I didn’t ask, but wondered if he was talking about Ellen McArthur.
I left the coffee shop, wandered in and around some of the shops and made my way to the bus stop. I hopped aboard the bus which had “Walmart/Sam’s Club” written on the window. Almost all of the buses from downtown stop at Walmart, which is where I change buses to return to Nuevo Vallarta. However, this bus stopped before the normal bus stop for Walmart, and then made a right turn. As the bus started going through a part of town I didn’t recognize, I started thinking I should get off. But I decided to see where it went. As the bus drove east, further away from the water, I started to get a little nervous. I told myself this bus came from downtown, so surely it would return, eventually, to the same area. We passed through Pitillal, and started going up into the dusty hills. About twenty minutes into my scenic ride, I realized we weren’t driving over paved roads anymore. Even more disturbing was the fact I was the only gringo on board. Another twenty minutes and we were in a different world. This place must have been where Mexicans who only make three dollars a day live. No houses, just wood or concrete shacks using the ubiquitous Mexican blankets as doors and room dividers. Garbage was piled everywhere; in ditches, at the side of the road and in front yards. I wondered if this town had running water or even electricity. Except for a few women doing laundry or the man chopping up pinapples, the town looked deserted. One could have sold tickets on this bus as an old west ghost town tour.
The bus carefully drove over boulders and avoided ditches. It was hot, so I opened the window but there was so much dust being circulated, my sunglasses and coffee mug were soon caked with dirt. I kept thinking the bus would turn around and make its way out of the hills and back downtown, but at every turn the bus seemed to go further into the heart of this desolate city. I had no idea where I was, and if I got off now, I would have no idea how to get back. I decided to stay. Then came the school kids. Apparently this bus also served as the school bus. The town came alive with boys and girls dressed neatly in their Catholic uniforms. Almost immediately the bus filled with screams, laughter, and overloaded backpacks. The bus stopped at every block. At each stop, a few kids would get off, several would get on. Soon the bus was crowded; kids standing in the aisles and hanging on seat backs as the bus jostled along. After forty five minutes all the school kids were gone, and I was alone with the driver. The bus pulled up to a fence and stopped.
I think the driver was shocked to see me still sitting there trying to act like I was where I was supposed to be. He chuckled as I asked him if this bus was going to go back downtown. He said, “Yes” and I sighed with relief. A man came on the bus with a broom and spray bottle and ordered me to “get off”. It appears this was a routine stopping point for all buses to get cleaned. While the bus having its seats cleaned and floor swept, I stood outside wishing desperately I had brought something to eat or drink. I didn’t want to risk crossing the road to get something at the mini mercado, fearing the bus would leave as I was counting out pesos. When the bus was clean, the new driver placed a placard in the window that read “Centro”, which means the downtown area. I climbed on board giving the driver another five pesos and I was on my way. In and around Mexico, they are always selling tours: canopy tours, horseback riding, sailing excursions, swimming with dolphins, fiestas, etc, ranging in price from fifty to two hundred dollars. My 2 ½ hour tour of “real” Mexico cost me only one dollar.
My boat has moved out of the over priced Paradise Village Marina and into Marina Vallarta, a view miles doen the "road". Marina Vallarta is a much more happenin' place; lots of shops, restaurants, bars and not as many gringos! My boat is at a private dock; tucked in by two powerboats. Thomas owns the slip and lives in a condo nearby. He promises to keep an eye on the Lonesome Dove during hurricane season.
This space is where my motor used to be! I’ve been having problems with the motor (in fact I don’t think it has ever worked right since I bought the boat eight years ago). Using my “Be Your Own Diesel Mechanic Book,” I performed all the checks and tests I knew how to do, then called a professional. The diagnosis was a blown head gasket. Bad, but not too bad. After ordering a few parts and a few hours of labor, I would be back in business…or so I thought. But as with all boat projects, one thing leads to another, which leads to another. Final diagnosis: I have a damaged piston which required taking the motor out of the boat. Ouch! Once the motor is out, you might as well replace everything that needs replacing: gaskets, gauges, rusted metal pieces I’m assuming are important and motor mounts (two of mine were broken…it’s a wonder I didn’t break my prop or rip it out, sinking the boat). “Teapot Tony”, my diesel mechanic, currently has the motor in his shop and I have the pleasant job of cleaning up all the oil and nasty gunk: twenty years work of grit, grime, and various missing screws, nuts, washers and tools irretrievably dropped underneath the motor.
