Postcards

An older gentleman, already on the rocky part of the beach, watches my progress as I step from the gully, onto the stretch of beach at the base of the cliff I have just walked from. Although I have never seen him before, he waits for me.

“Buenos dias,� he calls to me, and waves even though I am only a few feet away.

“Hola, Buenos dias,� I reply, and together we walk the last few yards to the water’s edge on the finest sand on the beach.

“Its beautiful,� I say when we get close enough to the water so that each wave just touches the tips of our toes.

“Yes,� the man says, “beautiful. Even on cloudy days.�

I search the sky overhead and see patches of sun trying to break through the blanket of clouds that has kept the tourists from the beach since yesterday morning.

Silently, we drop our bags of fins, snorkels, and towels on nearby rocks, strip off shirts to reveal bathing suits and trunks, grab our masks and snorkels, and walk into the 80-degree water of the Sea of Cortez.

The man and I snorkel together, but separate, for 15 minutes or so until we hear a women, who stands at the edge of the water, yell to the man, “Pepe! Where’s the sun?� His masked face pops from the water a few feet from me and he laughs at her as she wraps her arms around her chest to get warm.

Pepe laughs and yells to her, “Monika! Come in, the water’s caliente!�

She laughs richly and dives into the deep pool of the small bay; easily swims the 10 yards to Pepe.

A few minutes later, an older Mexican gentleman yells from the shore “Nothing is better than this!� when he first glimpses the group of us. He joins Monika, Pepe and I in the water and even though he screams “Frio!� – cold – before he dives in, he teases Manuel, the last person of the group to join us a few minutes later, when the younger man stands on the shore and pretends to shiver on the warm but cloudy morning.

Manuel, a man younger than the others in the group by at least 20 years but older than me by a few, walks the beach several times before he makes a running leap at the water, his feet splashing and kicking up sand until finally, he falls face first into the surf. “He does this every morning,� Monika laughs as Manuel surfaces nearby.

“You do this every morning?� I ask Monika. But I can already tell the group has done this very same thing, swimming and snorkeling, laughing together, each morning for many mornings. I am the interloper, but they welcome me with open arms and inquire about my presence on the beach, in Cabo. Where am I from, how long am I in Mexico, is this my first day on the beach, they want to know. I am from Chico, I say, and I’m here for 10 days, and I’ve been to the beach before, but never like this, at 7 in the morning, swimming with the fishes.

Monika smiles when she hears I am from Chico, “My son went there and I’m from just outside of San Francisco,� she tells me in a light accent I can’t quite place. Maybe Germany, maybe The Netherlands, maybe I just imagined it.

She introduces the men in the group, “That’s Rafa,� she says and points to the balding, genial man who laughs loudly and loves the water. “And that’s Manuel, he owns the restaurant up on the hill. He’s got the best lobster,� Monika smiles. “And that’s Pepe, but we call him ‘The Godfather’ because he’s the guardian of the beach,� Monika laughs again as if she’s made a joke, but deep down, I think she believes what she has said.

“Yes,� Rafa says, “if you want to swim here, you have to ask The Godfather.� Rafa laughs at his own words and Pepe smiles too, but drops his head and searches the surface of the water, his cheeks blushed with color.

Rafa (above)

Julie (Pepe's wife), Pepe, and Monika

“I must have snuck in under his radar,� I wink at The Godfather, and they all laugh.

“And you know Kahlua,� Monika says, and points to the female brindle lab who has walked on this beach more than anyone and now searches the edge of the rocks for fist-sized crabs. When she and Manuel first arrived, she watched him walk away from her on the beach, followed him with her eyes as she walked on the 30-foot outcropping of rocks. Finally, the large dog jumped in, never hesitating, and swam to the middle of the beach, closer to Manuel. When her master walked back toward her, she trotted along the edge of the water until she found the rocks again and resumed her hunt for the elusive crab.

Now, Kahlua paces up and down the rock outcropping, following as Manuel and the others race each other to the middle of the bay, throw chum to the fish, share the most recent stories of grandchildren, the price listed of a nearby house for sale. They are friends, I can tell, even though they are all of different ethnicities, ages, and nationalities. They share the water, the fish swimming in the bay, the feel of the sand between their toes.

I swim farther out into the bay, just to the edge of the rock outcropping, don my mask, slip the snorkel between my lips, dip my face into the salty sea. There goes a neon blue angel fish, a school of shiny silver fish.

A few minutes later, my face buried deep in the water, mask protecting my eyes, snorkel doing its job, I startle at a set of brindle legs as they paddle next to my ear, headed back to shore. I watch as the dog heads to her master.

I dip my head again and lay very still on top of the water, letting the waves carry my body to and fro, feel the pull of the endless tide. There’s a spiny sea urchin, and look, is that abalone on that rock? And if I lay very still and wait, just wait, he will come. There he is. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the brown, spotted puffer fish as he swims gently by.

And for a while, I share the taste of salt in the sea, the rush of the giant waves in my ear, the perfectly white sand under my feet, the whales migrating south for the winter just a few hundred yards off shore.

And for a while, we are one. We are one. We are one.