Do not rock the Boat
The four musketeers Jose, Joel, Jorge and Alfonso. We met in junior high. Joel’s family is from Ensenada Mexico. Joel is my best friend also my best man at my wedding. We had talked about doing something for graduation. We did not ask for permission. We drove from Los Angeles to Ensenada; we belong to the class of 1971
The Carpenters hit song that year was we’ve only just begun. How naïve we were to think what could possibly go wrong four boys with money in their pockets, the money our friends and family gave us for graduation presents.
Following graduation, the next morning the adventure began. We packed the 58 Chevy low rider rust colored with Diamond tuck n roll black interior and a red dome light, red velvet dash board, 8 track, baby moon wheels and a 350-engine double carburetor.
From Los Angeles to Ensenada It’s about a three-hour drive. We talk ed about having lobster for lunch in Puerto Nuevo. We were in good hands with Joel as our tour guide. Friends and family recommended a place. The owners name was Conchita her nickname was iron hands.
The location was not easy to recognize. There was no sign. The area looked like houses like all others. My friend Joel told me to park, and we knocked on the door and a 12 yr. old boy smiled and said to come in. As we entered the smell was telling us that we were at the right place. The pots were overflowing with beans and rice We walked through the house towards the back and we found tables and benches with umbrellas.
We listened to Mexican music and our 12 yr. old host arrived with a bucket of ice cold cervezas. We told Conchita that we came for the lobster meal. Soon the music in the background was making the senses go into over drive and Conchita started placing tortillas, 6 at a time, in front of us. The salsa with homemade tortillas was a meal in itself.
The lobster soon arrived, together with beans and rice. The lobsters were larger than our stomachs, seasoned with butter and a mixture of seasonings, all hand made fresh from the garden. As I type this story my mouth is watering again.
The nickname iron hands were revealed as Conchita was making tortillas faster than 4 hungry boys could eat them, she was one step ahead of us as, she stacked the tortillas in a cloth napkin and placed it in front of us. We tried to grab the tortillas but we only made Conchita laugh at our gestures of pain because we could not hold those hot tortillas like Iron hands.
We looked at each other with an expression of satisfaction. There were no words needed. This was living and we all have this recollection that will stay with us until till our memory fades.
What made our friendship unbreakable was our Mexican culture, similar social economic values, our parents work ethic. The different but similar struggles to immigrate into the USA and the pressures of being the first in our families to attend college.
We continued our journey with a costal cruising ride. Locals and tourist enjoying the sea breeze.
A car load of women drove next to us, we smiled at them and they shared a smile of approval, they motioned that they were going to park. We parked next to their car; we were downwind from them and a perfume fragrance was intoxicating. Their style and elegance, their attention to detail took our breath away.
We followed them in and we hit it off. Being from Los Angeles we were new and different from the locals how we talked how we danced how we dressed. But the local guys made it clear that we were “Persona non grata”. Machismo it’s a double-edged sword in our Mexican culture.
Joel and I had been in this situation In Los Angeles. Joel lives less than a half block, from Carpenters Hall, we often sneaked in were familiar with hostility this invisible red flags. We have earned our battle scars.
We located our amigos, and we grabbed them off the dancing floor, we tried to slither out of the club.
It did not take long for the locals to sound the alarm, it is time to get away we are being chased, fear is a great motivator. We ran with such speed we did not know we had. We were outnumbered, this was going to end bad.
We got in the car; we did not care to find out if they were ongoing to chase us by foot or by car. The engine started in a flash, I pressed on the gas and the 350-engine kicked ass. It took seconds to reach the speed of over 100 miles per hour. If they tried to chase us it would be no match. The car engine and our hearts were pumping on all cylinders.
We tried to eat dinner but the close call, was all we could talk about. We stay up for hours we all have so many details. We were making memories that would be hard to duplicate.
The next morning, we had breakfast we were ready to get the boat and go fishing. We had to listen to Joel, he was the only one that had any boating experience. We started with great enthusiasm but soon our friend Jorge was having motion sick ness. We started rocking the boat. We were laughing because Jorge’s face was becoming multi-colored. Well we did not listen to Joel wen he told us to stop rocking the boat and we managed to flip the boat.
I think that no one is prepared for a swim in the ocean. We seemed to swim for hours and hours and the shore appeared to be moving away from us we did our best but our muscles were burning and the pain
was more then we could handle. I think what kept us alive was the bond that we had. We were at each other’s homes often. We were family. There was nothing we would not do for our amigos; we had each other’s back.
The 58 Chevrolet is no longer with us and our Musketeer Jorge is riding solo.
We have family reunions with the grandchildren, without fail we tell our Ensenada Trip. The story gets better(embellish) with time. In 2019 we swam with sharks and instead of hours its weeks. The grand kids get scared that their Abuelos almost did not survive. Their eyes get big and tears appear, and we make them promise they will never ever rock the boat.