The One Without a Hat

Exhausted, I left walked past the mob of blue uniformed police (who mostly lounged next to the water dispenser until they could pat someone down or shake their nightsticks at some rowdy young’uns.)

I had expect the taxi to be there. It was 7:55.

No taxi.

But on this dark corner, in fact, on all 4 corners, were groups of Mexican men all wearing white cowboy hats. Some were sitting on the curb. Many more were leaning against walls. Several stood together in knots. All of them took a look at me. I did not have a white hat.

To be truthful, once I stopped and paced up and down the street, not all wore white hats. A few wore baseball hats. A few were woman. A few had signs of some sort. None of them had guns or machetes or clubs but I tell you, it was quite the shock.

8:05. No taxi. Others drove by, dropped people off and I could have easily shouted for one and probably got one to take me home. But no, I said I’d see the guy at 8 and he had come at 5 so give him until 8:15. He could have got stuck in traffic. Margot would have waited.

8:15. Nothing. Worse, a police truck had zoomed up and dropped off a dozen uniformed policemen. Hefty guys, too. They went over to gather with their fellows by the security checkpoint. The white-hatted Mexicans and the police were about the same numbers. I wondered if that was a coincidence.

I decided not to wait any longer. So, I began to walk in the direction I thought might be the best place to find a taxi or a main road. Straight into the old town. Marching without a clue.

I have to say I was nervous but I thought follow where the other taxis had gone. The streets were filled with people still and as long as I avoided the dark alleys, I felt if I didn’t zig or zag too much, I could always find my way back to the sea and restart my quest.

I walked for about 4 blocks until I got to a mainish road. There, just as I reached it, a golf-cart taxi pulled onto the street. I waved at him and he pulled over. Por favour, RIU Emerald Bay? I asked. He said, sure, sure. I got in and he took off like someone had shot at him.

What a ride. He tore through dark and narrow streets with practiced abandon, me holding on for dear life as he zagged around pots holes, my poor kidneys taking a beating when he didn’t miss them. On the main road, he managed to squeeze between buses and cars and sidewalks in an attempt to keep moving at all costs. We drove by an accident, impressive graffiti that had tagged 3rd floors of business buildings (did they use a ladder truck?), past drunken teenagers and around pedestrians who took their lives into their hands by crossing the road.