Once You Go Back. 13 and 14
Previously. The fellas spent a day exploring Bay of Eagles in Juragua Park, a wild deserrt landscape by the blue Caribean. They ended up in a fishermen’s seasonal camp and went with all the men for a sunset bath in freshwater pool by a waterfall.
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After the swim, we returned to the camping version of a formal dining room. Vienna sausage cans with oil and makeshift wicks gave each table the elegant glow of candlelight. The cooking crew took pride in the setup and serving, honoring their practiced traditions.
We ate whole fried fish and tostones and crispy twice-fried plantains. I don't remember the type of fish, but that fish’s run season was the reason for this camp. Well, the ostensible reason.
The older men were served first. One insisted that I be included in this group. The rest were served according to some hierarchy I didn't follow.
There were lots of rules. A designated bathroom area with a shovel. Established sleeping areas also claimed by hierarchy. No fires other than the cook fire. Younger guys did all the cooking and cleanup. I also noticed that sometimes, a few men would take a table away from the crowd for moments of private conversation. There was probably a rule for that. I supposed that every little group of folks set up their own rules.
This was a gentlemanly affair, a reunion of men meeting the elements. Fathers and grandfathers had come to this spot each year during spawning season and stayed for the week. They all came via boats from different villages up and down the coast. Before, they might have only seen each other during fish camp. Now, they were all connected via ice. Via Alfredo. Though I felt we were days away from anywhere, it was only 40 minutes to the ice house where Alfredo’s factory processed and froze the fishermen’s catches.
When I put my head on my pillow, I thought about this journey. A week ago, I marveled at a transparent resort pool surrounded by day-glow hibiscus flowers and done-up people who valued sparkling things and young models. A month ago, I’d sought the same, trying to escape my rural roots, enchated by trendy restraunts and expensive wine. Tonight, I swam in a clear water oasis in a grove of palms and barrel cactus with men who depended on, loved and respected living in the wild. Their luxuries were old cans for candles and mats for beds. One of those men pressed up against me, sleeping. One day, he might be one of these old men.
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