It all started on the return trip from Cozumel to Playa del Carmen. I love boat rides, big boats, small boats, everything in between. I laugh in the face of bad weather, high seas, the rocking of any ship except for this one little trip on the ferry. The weather was fine, but the wind had stirred up a few waves. This was going to be fun, so I thought as we headed out to less sheltered waters. And then it hit. What the heck was that, in the pit of my stomach? Maybe just the leftovers from last night's dinner...? Had I consumed any tequila...? I thought not. The ferry was bobbing up and down, and swaying gently, so I thought, back and forth. The guy with the barf bags had come by prior to the departure, and I thought to myself that folks must have pretty weak stomachs. How many times one has to learn in one's lifetime to never criticize anyone in any situation, until the situation has been personally experienced. The bobbing and the swaying combined with the lack of air, the number of people, and I finally had my first taste in 57 years of being sea sick. I wasn't even interested in an on board cerveza, now can you just imagine that? Feeling that brash in the back of my throat, until I really thought I was going to lose it. I high tailed it to the bathroom, and stayed there until we were a few minutes from Playa. And then to the nearest farmacia for dimenhidrinato. And God saw that it was fit for me not to lose my breakfast.
|The work is hard......|
When acting as the Director of Logistics, one has to sometimes think on their feet and flexible, and find solutions to everyday problems. Usually that means finding water, medicines that we don't have, alternate clinic sites when something promised does not pan out. So... we arrived at our pre-arranged, sight unseen hotel, in Bacalar.. It was evening already, we were all tired from our long journey. We were expected, it did take a moment to find the hotel guy to check us in, but he had all the rooms for us. Now, part of our group was in another two vehicles behind us, towing our farmacia. This figures a bit later, so keep with the tour. I divvied up the rooms, placing folks in appropriate rooms as I could. Then we all went to them....
My room was not yet made up. It was evening already. Sheets that you could read a newspaper through. But a nice big bathroom. No paper. I told the manager. "Don't worry. It's okay. It will be done by eight." Can't remember what time it was, but okay. Then one of the missionaries came out, no working lock on her door. One of the others jiggled her door, got it to lock, and all was well, until she checked out her window. Sure she could feel the lakeside breeze, with no window slats and no screens, and in an area known to have mosquito borne chikungunya. "Really? Don't worry, it's okay, maybe I have extra slats." said th ehotel guy. Which never appeared. "It's okay, don't worry, I will give her another room." Bless his heart. He gave her the one that smelled like raw sewage. "Oh. Must have been the divers. Don't worry, it's okay, I have another room." Now I could have these two incidents somewhat mixed up such is my mind, because the window slats may have happened in a third room for the same missionary and not in the first room. But no matter. Because the result in the end was the same. So I informed the manager that the second room had actually been assigned to our chaplain, and God only knows what reparations he must make here on earth, but I did not think that sleeping in a room over a ruptured septic tank was what the good Lord had in mind. "Don't worry! It's okay, I have another very special room left for him." Then the other reports of glassless, screenless rooms filtered in from other missionaries, and I had to decide. We were not staying there. It was dark now. I remembered seeing a lit "Hotel" sign up the road not too far, so one of the missionaries and I walked up. Could they accommodate I think it was 15 people on short notice. He showed me a room. It was clean. There were windows. Decent sized bathrooms, and air conditioning. Sold! So we packed everything up. And started to head out, handing in all of our keys. I apologized, explained my reasons. "Don't worry. It's okay." And my room, after 8 PM, was still not made up.
|King of the hill.|
Our little group still on the road, in the meantime, had punctured a tire. No problem said they, with a spare in the boot. Which was flat itself. I received a frantic phone call to send someone back to "pick up your mother". Kathy had separated her shoulder a few nights before, and I was requested, before I knew the state of affairs in the hotel, to send someone to pick her up. Which I did not do. Unbeknownst to us, because the tire was flat, they had to go find air on a highway with few towns on it. This is Mexico. there is no Esso (or Petro Canada for us Canucks), on every corner. The two of them, our Chaplain and Kathy, drove on, in the second vehicle, with the flat spare tire, to find air. And wouldn't you know it. Sunday. Nada. They ended up going to several places as directed by the inhabitants of a wee town, before finally filling the tire and being able to return to the traveling farmacia. They met us in a nice little resto in Bacalar later in the evening, where some good Mexican food, margaritas, and cervezas made everything better.
|Oh would you like to swing on a star?|
Did I tell you the one about losing the brakes....? Our farmacia on wheels went right past the first mission site, which I thought was kind of weird. By the time they had turned around and ventured back, I had decided where the farmcia was going, in a most logical way, being director of, well, logistics. I went on the road to direct them where to turn. One of the missionaries, the six foot four one, was hanging more than halfway out the passenger window. Yelling at me. Me with my good hearing..."What...?" "Blah Blah!" "What?" "BLAH! BLAH!" "Sorry, can't hear you!" "NO BRAKES!!!! Fortunately, the site was on an incline, and so was easily and safely reached with no casualties, namely me.
|We were ruined...|
Now let me tell you about the amazing folks that we met. Who offered their own vehicles and time to pull our farmacia around to the various sites we visited while our truck was being repaired, because things like repairs do not happen quickly in remote areas. Who came before we were even out of our rooms to quietly hook up the farmacia to their personal trucks and get it over to where our next clinic would be. This could be a half hour or close to two hours away, depending on where we were going. And every night, they would faithfully plunk it back to its resting spot in the parking lot, usually later than when we got back. Rinse and repeat. Who returned us a repaired truck when parts were finally obtained. Without the kindness of many people, many others would have suffered.
|This should scare them roaches...!|
And so those were my little sufferings on what a very successful mission for those we served. The abuelos and abuelitas, the niños, and everyone in between.
Did I tell you about the attack turkey.......?