March 20, 2016: There we were, minding our own cruiser business. The morning had been the typical lazy cruiser day of dinghying to a restaurant for a nice meal, chatting amiably with fellow cruisers, and returning to The Fox in the afternoon when the typical offshore breezes began to pick up.
I heard screams, and not screams of beach-party delight.
Popped my head up into the cockpit. Screams were coming from the direction of Santispac. Got the binoculars. Saw a young woman in an inner tube being blown out to sea by the stiff afternoon breeze, but there was so much noise happening - partying on the beach, jet-skis on the water, the sound of the wind - that no one heard her or paid attention to her. I could see through the binoculars that she was paddling frantically with her hands but she was still being set on Isla Ramon or even further out into open water.
I woke GB from his daily post-prandial slumber and urged him to hustle into the dinghy with me. We scooted out, grabbed her, and began towing her back to shore and safety. The kid was about 16 years old and very scared. Since she was clearly a Hispanic teenager I just assumed she was Mexican and started reassuring her in Spanish.
Which she didn't understand a word of.
She told us she was from Southern California.
Oopsie-daisy.
Boy was my white-privileged accidental-bigot face red. And I guess, my neck too.
In my defense: we WERE in MEXICO.
At least the (mis)adventure ended well for all. Which is nice.
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