Battle of the Sexes: Round I

Your author once asked a barista, “Which is better: coffee or women?”

She responded without hesitation, “Both are delicious, but the coffee won't cause you much trouble.”

This sage wisdom more or less captures the essence of my recent trip to a Mexican coffee plantation with a Mexican hippie girl. Join me as we relive the sensual passion (and the sexual frustration).

The coffee was a fine, dark, organic Arabica from finca Don Gabriel. The hottie was a fine, strawberry-blond Bohemian with pouty, pink, always-smiling lips from the beach town of Mazunte. She was normally organic too.

Yet, her mother had apparently told her that a whole bottle of mosquito repellent sprayed on just before bedtime would discourage the dirty gringo from taking a tour of her fertile landscape as well. Bring it on, baby! It was the jaguar versus the corn goddess in a no-holds-barred luxury-suite-with-king-size-bed cage match to the finish. May the best human win.

(Though treaties drawn up by soft-handed men in Geneva and The Hague forbid chemical warfare, Mexican women and terrorists know that all is fair in love and war.)

We had agreed to meet at the sea turtle museum in Mazunte. Her smile was as sunny as the day, even from across the scorching hot street. Speaking of scorching hot, she strutted her creamy thighs in floral-print cotton shorts and gently linked her arm into mine. This tender bond allows her to lead me around as submissively as a leather thong tied to an ox's nose ring.

(I see no need to ever use the disrespectful phrase “pussy-whipped”. Every part of a woman's body, with the exception of the armpits, can perform the same function. This is why gender-uniformity feminism never caught on in Mexico. Few Mexican goddesses wish to lower themselves enough to be equal to a man.)

Speaking of powerful forces of nature, we watched the giant sea turtles gliding in their silent ballet of the depths. Later, we observed the baby turtles flopping around in their endearing pathetic helplessness. Ancient Olmecs noted the navigational prowess of the sea turtle, which employs the earth's magnetic fields, then used these observations to invent the compass.

The sea turtle migration cycle is similar to the salmon in returning to their exact birthplace. Feeling the call of nature myself, I queried my lovely companion about the possibility of me making a pilgrimage to her sacred breeding ground and laying my eggs. She rolled her eyes and said she likes me better when I don't speak. Point taken.

Near Mazunte in Ventanilla is a swampy lagoon full of mangroves, crocodiles, and thousands of nesting white egrets. A guide for the eco-reserve offered to paddle us around this wetland paradise. Walking a couple miles across hot black sand to reach the boat dock wasn't exactly a pleasure, but the trek apparently weeds out hordes of tourists who throw plastic bottles in many other wilderness areas but not here.

Fair-skinned and fat-bodied folks who feel slighted by this lack of access should remember that they have Disneyworld, which is more or less beyond the reach of a writer with a fistful of pesos. And while Disneyworld offers wheelchair pilots nearly the same access as other patrons, this bayou cruise offers visitors who dangle their fully-functional legs offside a pretty fair chance of joining their wheelchair-bound brethren. Liberty and justice for all with a harsh stoical Mexican twist. Life is tough but delicious for Mexicans; tourists are tough but delicious to crocodiles. This saga of Mexican wildlife and the bizarre mating rituals of your author will continue in our next post.