Esa cosa que me hiciste mami, me gusto!

It's been 6 long days since I last checked in, outside world.  Life has been very interesting 'round these parts as of late.  There are several stories floating around as to why exactly, but the greater Progreso area has been SWARMING with police the past several days.  Did they receive a tip that a big shipment of drugs and arms was heading this way?  Maybe.  Did someone steal a briefcase full of important documents from the governor's daughter's home?  Es posible.  I don't think anyone really knows why for certain, but about every 5th car has been a police vehicle of some sort.  This is important to me for a couple reasons, the main one being that the truck I'm driving doesn't really have all its paperwork in line.  The truck was imported by my friend's father (a gringo), and the paperwork is wrong and long-expired after his father passed last year.  It wouldn't take much for my ride to be swept away to some impound yard in Merida, never to be seen again.  In fact, I had to sweet-talk and actually bribe the police the other day to avoid just that.  I was stopped twice in the same day; drug dogs and thorough search the first time (no problema), and 2000 pesos in the pockets of the policia the second time (ai!).  I think I got off lucky, but I need to be extra careful as the year progresses and more people come to the beach area - the police presence increases as well.  I've been semi-holed up in my fortress for the past couple days, but today I decided to brave the roads, and it would appear most of them are taking a Sunday siesta or something.  Que bueno!

I did sneak up the road a km or so to see my friend Jose on Friday, his wife had prepared some fresh fish ceviche and fried up some corn tortillas (not so fresh?) for us to enjoy.  Diego and I sat with him, talking in spanish and enjoying the breeze under the big coconut palms.  Topics of conversation included me losing money to the police, which of the rich owners of the homes surrounding were nice or mean, and of course which one of the several guys in our small group of friends was the closet to a "6" on the Kinsey scale.  On a related note, I've recently discovered that Manuel's wife, when he is away working in Merida, will sell her body to the local guys for extra cash.  To give you an idea of Yolanda's standards, feast your eyes on her number one customer in the green shirt - the dashing Diego.  I do wish Jose was my cuidador instead, but what can you do?  Nada. 

I'm a little discouraged at the moment - I think my dreams of the motorcycle trip were too far-fetched.  I'm almost positive now I need to have a special license to drive an actual motorcyle, so if I want to rent one (tough enough as it is), I'm out of luck.  I could get away with one of the little scooters the tourists rent, but that's not going to cut it.  I need to talk with some more cycle owners in town, it's amazing what random bits you pick up from the local gringos y mexicanos alike.  Maybe I should just rent a small sailboat and see if I can reach Cuba instead.  There's a GREAT idea.  I'm sure I'd probably run into the only State police drug checkpoint set up in the middle of the Gulf, a little raft with a short guy with way too much grease in his hair, and a german shepard.