Strangers in Acapulco

[resqgeek]

I recently finished reading “Strangers Have the Best Candy”, written by a friend I’ve known for more than twenty years.  The book is a fun and thoughtful memoir of her encounters with strangers during her semi-nomadic life traveling the length and breadth of the US and Canada.  She make a powerful case for the value we can derive from such interactions, the unexpected worldviews we can discover, as well as the sheer fun that can arise from such random meetings.  At the end of the book, she invites the readers to share the stories of their encounters with strangers.

My wife is really much better at meeting strangers that I am.  I have a great deal of anxiety that I need to overcome before I can open myself up to such encounters.  I’m not really sure why this still brings me such stress, because, like my friend, my experiences have been overwhelmingly positive once I take the plunge, but nevertheless, I find it extremely difficult, initially, to embrace interaction with strangers.  My wife, on the other hand, does not appear to suffer from any such anxiety, which means that the vast majority of my interaction with strangers results from her dragging me into the encounter.

For example, back in 2006, my wife and I were enjoying an early autumn vacation at an all-inclusive beach resort in Acapulco, Mexico.  We had spent most of our week exploring the city and region on a series of tours, and I was ready to just spend a day relaxing on the beach or by the pool.  My wife is an active person, and finds total inactivity incredibly boring, so when the activity staff started organizing a pool volleyball game, she jumped at the chance to participate. I really didn’t watch much of the game, but I was aware that the rules somehow involved the consumption of alcohol, and that the scoring was a bit on the dodgy side.  Luckily, the game was relatively short, so that my wife escaped relatively sober.

After the game was finished, she brought her teammates down to the far end of the pool to introduce them to me.  It turned out that she’d been playing with a family from Mexico City.  Hector and his wife were staying at our resort, while his daughter and her boyfriend were staying at a less expensive hotel in the older part of the city.  We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the edge of the pool, trying to carry on a conversation in a strange mix of broken English and Spanish, fueled by a never-ending supply of margaritas.  Eventually, we realized that it was dinner time.  Hector’s daughter and her boyfriend were planning to go out dancing that night, so they left to get food and to change clothes.  Hector and his wife decided to join my wife and I for dinner at our hotel.  At this point, as I tried to stand up, I finally realized just how much I’d been drinking, as I almost fell face first into the pool.

After dinner, before we went our separate ways for the night, Hector invited us to join them for lunch the next day, our final day in Acapulco.  The proposed taking us down the coast, away from the city, for some more authentic regional food.  We agreed, and made plans to meet in the lobby late the next morning.

The next morning, we met Hector and his wife in the lobby, and soon their daughter and her boyfriend arrived with the car, a Volkswagon Jetta, which may have been equipped for five passengers, but really only accommodated four with any real comfort.  In spite of that, we squeezed all six of us into the car, with my wife on my lap in the back seat, next to Hector’s daughter, who was sitting on her boyfriend’s lap.  We set off out of the city, over the ridge that surrounds the central city, past the airport and down the coast.  Soon, the resorts and hotels were all behind us, and the road was separated from the beach only by a string of what can only be described as shacks.  Many of these were apparently restaurants, judging by the signs along the roadside.  Eventually, we pulled off the road into the dirt lot in front of one of these establishments.

My wife and I exchanged a look as we got out of the car...What had we gotten ourselves into, we wondered.  The kitchen of this restaurant was surrounded by cinderblock walls about four feet tall, with a sheet metal roof.  The seating area was a concrete pad, under a thatched roof, with a dozen or so picnic tables.  Beyond that, the thatched roof extended out over the sand, and there were hammocks strung in the shade.  The walls were otherwise open to the elements, and a gentle breeze blew through.

Hector walked up the the kitchen and had a discussion, in Spanish, with the owner.  He then turned to ask if we wanted to share one fish (the owner held up a HUGE fish he pulled from the refrigerated cooler) or did we want our own (the owner held up a slightly less huge fish).  We agreed to share the one fish, and Hector spoke with the owner again, then asked when we wanted to eat.  After agreeing that we could wait to eat for a little bit, we got drinks, and headed out to the beach.

As we walked along the beach, I noticed a number of men standing in the surf, fishing using weighted lines from spools.  When one of them landed a fish, boys would race from the various restaurants along the beach, each trying to be the first to reach the fisherman so they could buy the first for their restaurant.  We realized that the fish we were about to each was probably *really* fresh, most likely caught that very morning on the beach.

When our food was ready, it was served to us at one of the picnic tables.  The fish had been heavily seasoned and grilled, and was served on a sheet of metal, with sides of black beans, fresh salsa and handmade tortillas.  We used our forks to pull the meat off the fish, filling our tortillas with the fish, salsa and beans.  Every bite was delicious, and soon we were completely stuffed.  As we finished our meal, a group of men, who appeared to be laborers, came in, ordered lunch, and sat down.  One of them pulled out a guitar and began playing and singing.  We lingered over another round of drinks to listen and talk, but eventually had to make our way back to the city.

As we parted for the final time, we exchanged e-mail addresses, and Hector extended an invitation to stay with him anytime we wanted to come to Mexico City.  Likewise, we told them that they were always welcome at our home as well.  We haven’t corresponded regularly with them, but from time to time, we do get in touch, just to see how things are going.

If it hadn’t been for my wife’s willingness to be open to these strangers, we never would have experienced Mexico the way we did that day, away from the normal tourist attractions, in an establishment that clearly catered to a local clientele.  We would have missed out on a little taste of what life in that part of Mexico is like.  And, most importantly, we wouldn’t have made new friends.

Comments

[reggiesgirl2.livejournal.com]

As I was reading this, I was thinking that my husband is like your wife and I'm like you. He'll talk to anyone, anywhere and he'd love getting to the "real" part of the area we're in. He's always wanting to drive off the main highway onto a side road to see where it takes us. We don't do that because I'm sitting in the passenger seat telling him not to because I don't want to get killed. I'm a real nervous nelly when it comes to strangers.

I enjoyed your encounter even though I would have been shitting bricks by the time we got to the restaurant. :)

[resqgeek]

LOL! Yes, I was pretty uncomfortable when we pulled into the restaurant, and my discomfort was magnified by my lack of anything more than the most rudimentary Spanish. But it ended up being one of the highlights of the trip. Since then, I've tried to be more open to these chance encounters. I can't remember the details, but I had one sometime last year when I was on my own, and when I told my daughter about it, she was shocked. I think her exact words were: "You talked to a stranger?!"

What a memorable day!

[margaret schulte (from livejournal.com)]

I know that feeling of barreling down the road in a stranger's car, where you're thinking, "What have I gotten myself into?" and "Where are the seatbelts?"

The volleyball game and conversation by the side of the pool could be called serendipity, but the fact that you said "Yes!" to dinner wasn't luck. You took the chance to get to know each other, and the big adventure down the coast was a natural thing to do.

It can be hard, in a touristy place like Acapulco, to find someone like Hector and his family, people who are open to really talking with strangers and making new friends. Your wife is definitely an expert at talking to strangers, and now I want to go on vacation with her, too!

[discoverylover.livejournal.com]

That's one of the things I like about staying at youth hostels - while you don't tend to meet a lot of locals, you do meet lots of other interesting people who are also keen to see the city you're in!