It's been busy down at the puestos over the weekend. On Sunday we went to Fernando's for our usual comida and his beach front area was packed. The tides have been particularly high, too, so the umbrellas, tables and chairs have been hauled up away from the encroaching waters. Half way through lunch these chaps appeared to serenade the holiday-makers.
Soon the mango man strolled by, carrying his tray of large fruits, cut to resemble pineapples and impaled on sticks. Along with the sweet and juicy fruit he offers limes to squeeze over them and a shaker of tajine, a chili powder and salt mixture. You can see that the fruit the girl is eating is sort of brown; it's covered with chili powder.
Watching over all of this was a group of salvavidas, the lifeguards who, on a good day, probably make three or four rescues. Inexperienced swimmers dash into the surf after downing four or five beers, get caught in the ever-present rip, and then the trouble begins. I think there were a total of five fatalities in a three-day period. I'm a good, strong swimmer but I never swim at this beach. Even with these very cute guys keeping watch.
All the 50-something Mexican men around here were once lifeguards; Dago, Fernando, Juan, Chuy. Then they aged and opened puestos. Once a beach rat, always a beach rat. I should know.
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