Our first stop on the Beach Bums Express featured a combination of ocean-side attractions. Front and center was a giant grass hut filled with the usual silly souvenirs.
For some inexplicable reason they are always heavily pitching the black coral in Cozumel. They carve everything imaginable out of the stuff and the salespeople hold each item reverently as if it were precious gold. It didn’t do anything for me, but I don’t go in for that sort of thing no matter what it’s made of. But it seemed very popular with the tourons, especially the earrings.
Little Miss Gris watched our bikes as we strolled down to the standard issue, multi-colored COZUMEL sign at the edge of the beach. These goofy signs are everywhere you go around the island, so you can snap that must have moment in the sun. We followed suit as our tour guide Sandy happily took our pictures with our camera phones.
We then proceeded out onto a dark volcanic ledge comprised of sharp, black basalt pockmarked with round, ankle-breaker holes.
We stopped on a spit of rock, jutting out into the ocean where waves were crashing in a wild cascade of rainbow spray. Embedded in the rock near the point was a tattered Mexican flag on a stick and Sandy gathered us together to talk briefly about the Maya.
It turns out that Cozumel is home to Ixchel, the Mayan goddess of fertility and the moon. She is still much revered and in May, married couples from all over Mexico make the grueling pilgrimage to the ruin where she supposedly hangs out and blesses them with children.
On our way back to the bikes, Sandy stopped by the edge of the ocean and asked us, “What do you think is one of the biggest problems we have here in Cozumel?”
Inna guessed the right answer. “Trash.”
Sandy pointed at the shoreline. “Yes. It’s all the plastic trash that washes up on our beaches every day, mostly from Cuba. We try and clean it up, but it never stops coming.”
We wandered over to the trinket shack — well, actually the lead salesman demanded our presence with his insistent gestures. We felt sorta bad about enjoying such a nice spot without at least being polite enough to look at what he was selling, even if we had no intention of buying the hideous junk.
As I was strolling as quickly as I could through the round thatch hut, my eyes settled on an attractive stone turtle with a shiny, gem-like carapace, about the size of a silver dollar.
The salesman, a swarthy gentleman in a grimy tee shirt instantly glommed onto me and starting telling me how unique the item was and what a discerning eye I had to spot such a lovely treasure.
I needed to get a gift for my old hiking buddy Jimmy, who was watching our house while we were gone. Jimmy is an environmental nut and loves turtles.
“How much?” I asked in a noncommittal voice.
Bargaining is like a multi-step dance and there are many subtle nuances.
He replied with a big smile, “For you, my friend, fifty dollars.”
I laughed and shook my head.
He persisted. “Forty-five, and we can then say we know one another.”
I turned and walked away.
He ran after me with the stone turtle in hand.
“Senor! How much do you think it’s worth?”
I turned around slowly with a shit-eating grin, acting like I was calculating a more reasonable price. The dance steps were slowly returning. And I was genuinely enjoying this little bargaining duel. “I’ll give you ten.”
He looked at me sadly as if deeply offended. But then he reached out to shake my hand. “Twenty-five.”
I shook my head and ignored his outstretched hand. “Ten.”
He frowned. “Twenty.”
“Eleven,” I said.
He looked tiredly at the ground. “Fifteen.”
I smiled and reached out my hand. “Twelve. And that’s my final offer.”
He shook my hand. “You are very good at this, Senor. We have a deal.”
I grinned widely and replied with a wink, “And now, Senor, we can truly say that we know one another.”
I walked away with my little turtle quite pleased. We had started with a price of fifty dollars. I was prepared to pay fifteen. So, I came out three dollars ahead. And the turtle probably cost the guy eight. Everybody won and felt like they had danced well; the mark of a splendid deal.
Bargaining is like riding a bike. Once you master the trade, you never really forget.
