Tag: Neto Flores

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Neto ~ A Mexican Champion

Neto was fourteen years old, the first time he saw someone surfing. 

Walking along the beach one afternoon with his girlfriend, Luci, three boys glided across the ocean in front of  them, standing on something that looked like a long, flat ironing board. The boys, not much older than Neto, resembled giant birds, flapping their arms as they stood on top of the water. The ocean was alive with huge swells from an incoming storm. Neto was transfixed with the magic of people dancing on water. 

Neto and Luci had been fighting.  She thought that if  Neto was her boyfriend, he should want to hold her hand all the time. He told Luci that if she would let him kiss her, then he would hold her hand.  Finally, Neto turned to her and said, “See those guys in the ocean? I’m going to do that. And if I like it, I’m going to do it forever.” 

“I knew she didn’t believe me. I wondered if she loved me, even though she said she did,” Neto told me. “If you don’t love me, then leave me. I will join those guys and love the ocean instead.”  

Neto walked Luci home, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the boys he saw riding the waves.

“I pictured myself, flying on top of the ocean, my feet planted on the board beneath me, arms stretched out, holding me steady against the wind.”

 Finally, Neto turned to Luci one more time and said, “If I am going to leave you for something, it will be for riding waves in the ocean.”

That was the beginning of Neto’s love affair with surfing. He was one of the first surfers in Mazatlán. He’s still riding the waves today.

When Neto was twenty-two years old, he hitchhiked to Guerrero, Mexico, to compete in the Mexican National Surfing Competition in Pentacalco. He was the only surfer from Mazatlán, competing against men from Alapulco and Iztapa-Zihautanejo in El Libre, a free-style event for surfers of all ages and all levels.

Neto remembers that the waves that weekend were “perfect” ~ fifteen feet tall in the front and eight feet in the back, “with lots of barrels” to ride through. He came in sixth place, overall, and was eager to compete again the following year.

For the next ten months, Neto stayed in Guerrero, training for the next competition. He bought a bigger board and surfed every afternoon. He worked as a deep-sea fisherman at night. 

“We caught swordfish, marlin and sharks in huge nets. We were in small. motorized fishing boats called pangas, not the big sport-fishing boats that tourists rent today.” Some of the fish were forty-feet long, and weighed between 500-1000 pounds. 

“How were you able to get those fish back to shore in your small boats?” I asked.

“Oh, we beheaded them so they would fit inside our boat. We threw the bloody heads back in the water.”

“That seems like an awful mess,” I commented.

“Oh, yes. When the Great White sharks smelled the blood, they came looking for us. We’d leave them to feast on the fish heads, while we headed for shore to the congelador (freezer) for processing. The next night, we’d do it all over again.”

“So, what happened in the surf competition the next year?”

“It was cancelled. The waves weren’t high enough. I still wonder if I might have won first place, but it was time for me to go back home.”

Neto still surfs every day when the waves are high enough. One of the oldest surfers on Mazatlán’s beaches, young surfers often come up to him and want to shake his hand. They affectionately call him “Ruco.” (Old Man) They tell him that he’s the “godfather of surfing” in Mazatlán. The ocean is where he belongs.

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Cooper

Cooper was Neto’s mother’s dog. He came from a long line of stray dogs she adopted, all of them named Gary Cooper. Although Zelmira liked her dogs, she loved the real Gary Cooper the best.

The Cooper before this one shared the same Golden Retriever face and body. The previous Cooper, a guard dog who lived on top of the roof, was awarded special treats not shared by most rooftop dogs ~ a tent for shelter from the sun and the rain, and bowls of water and food refilled every day. But for the previous Cooper, that was not enough. One night, he jumped off the roof, ran down the street at full gallup and was never seen again.

When the new Cooper showed up, Zelmira welcomed him in. She told him he didn’t need to live on the roof. She let him stay on the patio and occasionally come in the house. One day, however, Neto arrived at our house leading Cooper on a rope.

“Where did this dog come from?” I asked.

“He’s my mother’s dog but she got in a fight with him. I rescued him just in time.”

“What do you mean they got in a fight?”

“Well you know how my mother can’t stand things to be out of order and this dog made a mess of things. He took one of her shoes and ripped it with his teeth.”

“And then?”

“My mother started yelling at him and hitting him with the broom. I decided to give them both a break and bring him here.”

Neto always wanted a dog he could go surfing with. He’d seen dogs on surfboards in the ocean, smiling and looking like they enjoyed the ride. He’d seen dogs playing in the water, chasing waves and running back and forth to the shore. That afternoon he took Cooper to the beach. But the dog was not an ocean dog. He cowered and shook. He whimpered and cried. He simply didn’t want to go near the water. 

Not to be deterred, the next day Neto took Cooper in a small boat across the bay to Stone Island, a surfing village filled with hammocks and small restaurants. Neto figured that Cooper wouldn’t jump out of the boat into the water. Maybe a change of scenery was what the dog needed to learn to love the waves as much as he did.

Neto tied Cooper to a tree while he went surfing. He watched from a distance and Cooper seemed calm. Maybe even happy.

When it was time to go home, Neto came ashore, picked up his surfboard and untied Cooper’s leash. The dog took off! Neto is fast but Cooper was faster. He ran down the path into the jungle of palm trees. There was no stopping him. Neto was furious and then dejected. He had lost his mother’s dog. More importantly, he lost his chance of ever having a surfing dog.

But there is a happy ending to this story. Three month’s later to the very day, Neto was back at Stone Island with three of our guests ~ two boys from Finland and a girl from Australia. They were sitting at Rudy’s Restaurant, eating ceviche and drinking beer, when Rudy asked, “Where have you been? Your dog comes here almost every night, looking for you.”

“Are you sure he’s my dog?”

“Yah, I’m sure.”

“Do you feed him? Maybe he’s just some dog looking for food.”

“Neto ~ I know he is your dog. There he is now.”

As if hearing his name, Cooper came limping up the beach. He was skinny and beat up from being in a lot of fights but there was no doubt he was Gary Cooper.

The Finland boys helped carry Cooper to the ferry and take him home. We cleaned him up and gave him food and water. We stroked his back and told him we were happy he was home.

Cooper went back to live with Zelmira, no longer a frisky puppy. Instead, he was a tame old dog. He didn’t try to eat her sandals and she wouldn’t have hit him if he did. Zelmira loved Cooper and I think he loved her. They stayed together for a year before she decided to let him go to a cousin’s ranch, to live out his life chasing rabbits and avoiding waves . 

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Q and A: Week 3

This week I’m going to answer some of the questions I’ve received since I first posted from Mexico two weeks ago.

Q: What is your favorite part of being in Mexico?

A: Do you really want to know? The beautiful weather! We sit on the patio in the morning, drinking something hot (coffee for him. chai for me) and eating sweet bread. At 7:00 in the morning, I’m in my t-shirt and shorts. Can you imagine? At night, we go for a walk to the OXXO (think 7-11) for fresh tortillas or pastry for the next day. I’m going to miss this when it’s time to come back to Colorado.

Q: Is there anything that is frustrating or difficult?

A: Yes! This is not the all-inclusive life that most Americans experience. The nitty-gritty of daily life in Mexico is eye-opening and can be tremendously frustrating. For example, Neto spent an entire day getting car insurance because the computers were down at the insurance agency and didn’t resume operation for hours.

It took Neto most of last week to get his driver’s license renewed because he didn’t want to  bribe someone to speed up the process.. It is all part of being poor and dealing with a government bureaucracy that can be both cruel and stupid, in equal measures. 

Every day Neto returned to the DMV and was told he needed to produce more proof of his address ~ the house he’s lived in for more than 50 years. Having the address listed on his nearly acquired car insurance wasn’t enough. Finally, after four days of standing in line and meeting with different unhelpful clerks, he returned to the office with his old driver’s license and social security card, his brother’s birth certificate and driver’s license, and a copy of the electrical bill. Success! The photographer took his picture and he went on his way.

Q: How is the car?

A: The car needs work but is running well. We have questions about the previous owners, however. From the car’s documents, we know it was stolen in Mazatlán and recovered in Cabo San Lucas. The car used to be bright red before it was painted its current iridescent green. It has six gears plus reverse. The automatic windows are tinted dark black but they no longer work. It’s a car made for fast get-aways and who knows what else. We’re lucky to have found a mechanic who can get the windows working again.

Q: What happened to the cow?

A: As far as we know Prieta is alive and well. Neto’s uncle, Ramon Rodriguez, is the unofficial veterinarian of Hacienda del Tamarindo. He runs an animal rescue out of his tiny home and saves injured animals he finds in the forest. When he heard that Neto hit the neighbor’s cow, he went to the farmer’s house and offered to help. Tio Ramon fashioned a cast out of plaster so the cow could continue to wander and eat grass by the side of the road. When it was time for the cast to come off, Ramon made a brace to using sticks and a piece of leather to support the cow’s leg until it was completely healed.  Ramon is a living legend. A true animal whisperer.

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Wheels

This week we bought a car for $3400. I’m ok traveling around town by bus. Occasionally a musician will come on the bus through the front door and pay the driver a small fee to play for the passengers. This week a musician strummed a ukulele and belted out a beautiful Mexican ballad. When he finished, he went up and down the aisles, collecting coins for his performance. That doesn’t happen often enough.

Neto has needed a car for a long time. It takes him hours to get around the city on foot and by bicycle. And then, two months ago, his bicycle was stolen. He used to have a beautiful blue 1996 Ford truck but that was impounded when his mechanic left town to live in Brazil. The mechanic’s family had been killed by gangsters and he needed to get out of town in a hurry.  All of the vehicles he’d been working on were locked up behind a chainlink fence and that’s where they still are, unattended and turning to rust. 

I wanted a car to take day-trips out of Mazatlan to some of my favorite places ~ Brujas Beach, El Quelite, Teacapan, and maybe even Las Hacienda, the town where Neto’s mother was born. 

On Wednesday, Neto found a good car ~ a bright lime green 2007 Nissan Tiide. Those models are work horses. They can go long distances and are easy to fix. The car came without a radio (stolen the previous night when it was left outside), gas in the gas tank, a spare tire or a jack. And, of course, it needed insurance and license plates, a lock for the gas tank and one for the steering wheel. 

Driving in Mazatlán is not like driving in Denver. There are potholes and speed bumps on nearly every street and very few stop signs. Drivers cut in front of one another. They dart in and out of traffic. They make U-turns wherever they want and don’t watch for pedestrians. It reminds me of a giant bullfight. Sometimes you are a toreador and sometimes you are the bull. 

Neto’s driving ability has improved with age. It’s a good thing. One time, while taking his mother to La Hacienda in his blue truck, he hit a cow. He claims he didn’t see the cow because it was nighttime and the cow was a dark brown color. She was grazing on the side of the road when BAM! he hit her. Mamacita started screaming and the farmer came cursing out of his house. The cow was not killed but was badly injured. The same was true for the truck.

“You hit my cow, cabrone!” yelled the farmer.

“Your cow is going to be ok. I didn’t kill her.” argued Neto.

“No, but you have to pay me for hitting my cow.”

“How much is it going to cost?”

“6500 pesos.” (About $400.)

“No way. I could buy you a new cow for that much money.”

“Ok. Pay me 6500 pesos, I will sell you this cow.”

“What am I going to do with this crippled cow if I buy it from you?”

“You can take her with you in your truck or you can leave her here with me. I’ll take care of her for you.”

So that’s what Neto did. He bought the cow for 6500 pesos. He named her Prieta (dark girl.)

He continued his trip to La Hacienda. When he returned, he visited Prieta. She was fine.

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How I Met Ernesto

I’m often asked how I met Ernesto. The short answer is that he picked me up on the beach.

Here is the longer version:

It was April, 2005. I had just bought a house in Mazatlán. A really big house with five bedrooms and six bathrooms. A house full of cockroaches. A house that needed a lot of work. 

I was staying  at La Siesta, a cheap hotel across from Olas Altas beach. I didn’t bring enough money with me and I was quickly running out of cash. I didn’t know how to speak Spanish or how to use a foreign ATM. I was sitting on my bed in my desolate, miserable hotel room when it hit me ~ What was I doing here? In a strange city, in a foreign country, with no one to turn to for help? 

Neto found me sitting on a bench by the ocean, eating a Snickers bar and watching the waves wash in. He was good-looking and charming. He spoke perfect English.

“Hi, What are you doing here?”

“I just bought a house.”

“That’s nice.”

“No it isn’t. It’s a big mistake.”

“Why?”

“Because it needs too much work and I don’t know where to start.”

“Don’t worry. I can help you do whatever you need. Where is your house?”

“Right around the corner. Do you want to see it?”

We walked together down the street to my empty house on Aleman Avenue. I told him I wanted to start by putting a fountain in the courtyard.

“Can you build me a fountain?” I asked as we opened the front door.

“Sure. Don’t worry. I can build any kind of fountain you want. Just show me where you want it.”

Neto came every day to work on the fountain. Soon I realized that he had never built a fountain before and he had no idea what he was doing. He spent days digging holes in the ground and then covering them up again. Then I had an idea. 

“Neto,” I said, “This job is too big for just one person. From now on, I want you to be the foreman. You need to find some helpers ~ an electrician, a plumber, a tile guy, and someone to help you dig the foundation.”

The next day, Neto showed up with his friends, Publio and Pepé, and Señor Blanca, a plumber who arrived with all his tools on the back of his bicycle. They made tremendous progress in just one day. At the end of the day, I walked them to the door to thank them and say goodby. 

“Adiós. Graciás,” I said, as I formally shook their hands. 

“No,” said Neto. “When we leave, you need to say, “Adiós, Guapos. (Goodby, handsome men.) Hasta mañana.”