Because this seems to be a favorite for a few people, I will let you all in on the story.
For those of you that haven’t been to Bara Bara, it’s the local watering hole for the younger crowd. It opens when all the other bars and restaurants are closing and it stays open until everyone leaves. On a weekend this might not be until 5a or so. Gabo owns it and is there 6 days out of the week, so I got to know him pretty well. The bar has a very artsy-fartsy dive bar feeling. Palapa style roof, with many much needed fans blowing downward for the dance parties.
I was Gabo’s early drinker. I would be in when he opened, have a glass or two and chat with him and his friend, Roberto, and then I was usually tuckered out by the time everyone started showing up. Not really normal behavior for me. Gabo is great and all, but I cannot stand his choice in music. I think I am the only one that carries this feeling so I choose to keep my mouth shut.
Now for the good stuff.
I had just gotten to Puerto Morelos, I had been there maybe two weeks. As it seems to go for me, there was a hurricane on its way and it was going to pass right over Puerto Morelos. I am nervous as all get out. I have never been in a storm that could even be considered severe. There were a few dooseys in northern California, but nothing to these proportions. Before the storm even got close, you couldn’t go on the beach for too long because the wind was blowing so hard that the sand assaulted you, which did not make for a relaxing experience.
Naturally, I was really anxious about the impending storm so I would spend a good part of the evening asking Gabo and Roberto about the hurricanes, what I should do, where I should go, do I need any provisions? They were very calm about the whole ordeal and that did nothing to easy my worrying mind.
If the storm was going to hit, it was going to hit any day now. So, here I am, at the bar, standing next to Roberto asking him the same questions I’ve been asking for the past 3 days, it’s raining and windy, typical for a tropical storm. Then it happens. The wind picks up speed to epic proportions (at least to me). I grab the bar with both arms, brace myself, and look at Roberto. “Oh my god. It’s here!” My fear is not mirrored in Roberto’s face, what I am seeing from him is confusion. “Do you not feel the wind?!” He is looking at me with amazement and then slightly glances up. I follow his gaze. Gabo has turned on the fan above me.
Color me embarrassed.
This ranks right up there with drawing in Romanian. That’s a whole other story that is outranks this one, but not my much.
