The Expatriate
Scene In Xcalak, Mexico - Page Three
by Robin Sparks Daugherty
Eighty
yards or so offshore from Costa de Cocos, the mast of a catamaran could
be seen wagging back and forth like a metronome. It belonged to Richard
Sugarman, who was a dead ringer for Santa Claus on a beach vacation. Only
Richard wasn’t on vacation. He was a retired psychotherapist from Connecticut,
who’d been grounded in Xcalak by Hurricane Mitch three months earlier.
Richard and his crew of four were headed to Belize, where along with his
wife Linda, he was planning to run a boat charter business. The crew met
up unexpectedly with Hurricane Mitch and in 30 foot waves were forced to
navigate through a 70 foot cut in the reef in a run for the shore. Richard’s
best friend was lost to the sea in the struggle and his boat was pronounced
a total loss by the insurance company. Richard was living in Xcalak until
he could repair his beloved catamaran, the Ocean Gypsy, and continue his
journey to Belize.
I watched
that week as he dislodged the 40-ton sea vessel from a cement-like sand
bar and towed it to shore.
It happened
like this: With the help of local men led by Felipe, pipes were rotated
one by one, back to front under the boat after it was inched forward, pulled
by a jerry-rigged pulley system consisting of ropes wrapped around palm
trees, their ends attached to an old 4-wheel drive Bronco, in which Dave
sat, revving the truck slowly forward, until the men in the water shouted,
“Alto!(stop)” At which point, a pipe from the back of the
boat would be moved to the front, and the whole
process begun
again.
When I left,
the Ocean Gypsy was perched on the sand next to the dining room. Richard
was making plans to purchase and install a new engine, repair the hull
which looked for all the world as if a large shark had taken a bite out
of it, clean up and repair the interior, rewire the electrical system,
and sail on to Placencia, Belize. As the week progressed, camaraderie grew
between we nomad-footed outcasts, sequestered in what felt like the last
place in Paradise.
It dawned
on me that I’d grown fond of scruffy Xcalak, not because of what the town
had to offer, or because of the pesky mosquitos which had bequeathed me
with over 50 bites, but because of the solitary beauty of the area and
the eccentric, adventurous folks a remote place like this attracts.
If you who
want to be among the first to settle at the end of the road, head to Xcalak.
It’s one place where no one is saying (yet), “You should’ve been here
ten years ago.
