Jiorgos and I set to work on the wash-down while Kerstin cleaned the interior and made lunch. The owner and his guest went off to explore the resort, leaving a momentary peace about the whole scene. The backwater lagoon around us was buzzing with pangas, a type of small open fishing boat indigenous to Mexico and Central America. Most of these captains had hung up their fishing gear and taken to an easier living, carrying tourists around the lagoon. The town was a 5 minute ride by boat from the marina, whereas walking around the swampy fringes would’ve taken hours.

I asked Jiorgos if I could have some shore leave in the evening. It wasn’t easy for him to oblige, all of us technically being tethered to the vessel while the owner was on board. At first, his response was,

“Man, you are not on holidays.”

I was perfectly aware of that reality. As he thought about it more, I think he realized that it would probably do more good than harm to cut me loose for the night and have some time to myself.

As the last light of day lingered in the air, I flagged down one of the pangas from the end of the dock. I climbed aboard and shoved her off all at once, and the captain noticing that I was not the average passenger nodded in appreciation. Being fluent in Spanish, we probably could’ve shared some interesting sea stories on the way across, but he was happy in his work, and I was happy to feel the wind on my face, and take a breath of independence from the boat. Arriving at the mangled dock on the other side, I helped him tie her up, paid the fare and wandered off to explore the town.