Yo No Soy Marinero

The day started with the lady at Hans Art's VW Repair calling to say the yearly maintenance was completed but they had found a 'few' problems. One was the valve cover gasket ($250). The other was that the two rear tires both had nails in them and needed to be replaced anyway.

But Plot knows they charge too much at a dealer or repair shop for tires, so he and Duck drove down to Larkins Brothers on South Van Ness. It would take them an hour to change and rotate and balance the tires, and to do whatever else they do to justify two tires, that are marked at $45 each, ending up costing $95 each.

"Is there a good neighborhood spot for lunch?" asked Plot, and the man behind the tire counter directed him to Los Rosales, a Mexican lunch counter on the corner.

The second they walked in the door, the fabulous smell told Plot and Duck they were back in Mexico, and when the food came, they knew. Duck's tacos were very good but Plot's Enchiladas de Mole tasted like they had just flown them in from El Colonial in Puebla. Each forkful felt like mariachi music and tasted like the Virgin Mary herself had peeled the chiles.



The other thing that made Los Rosales feel so Mexico-Mexican was that seated at the table across from El Ploto y La Plota were two sailors from the Mexican Navy, in full dress uniform.

La Plota had read the previous morning about the historic Mexican sailing vessel, or 'tall ship,' that was docked in Saint Plotniko for the week. She figured these two men had to be from the 'Cuauhtemoc.'

Now, in the hinterlands of Mexico, you often see either soldiers or sailors seated in lunchrooms, usually lording their way over the local restaurant proprietor, who is forced to bring them beers and food that they will never pay for. That's just the way it is. Here in Saint Plotniko, however, these guys were eating plenty but had their money out, ready to pay.

Spanish always comes in handy. El Ploto begged their pardon and asked if they were from the sailing vessel Cuauhtemoc. They said they were. Ploto asked if they would do him the honor of allowing him to take a picture of them, posing with his wife, La Plota. Both men jumped up from their table. The Captain removed his hat and placed it, with a flourish, on La Plota's head, with a hug or two (perhaps tres, perhaps cuatro).



Then everybody got into the act. The waitresses, the owner, the cook, his wife...everybody wanted to have their picture taken.



Ploto had a nice conversation with the sailors, who were excedingly polite and spoke about how they were normally based in Acapulco, and were always hungry because they never had enough tortillas.

"Don't you have a guy who makes tortillas on the boat?" asked el Ploto.

"Si, pues en el barco no hay abundancia, como aqui. Solo nos dan tres tortillas por cada uno."

"You only get three tortillas each?" Ploto asked and the two men lowered their heads and nodded. The owner, sitting on a bar stool, couldn't believe what he had just heard, particularly because this man's large belly looked like he could eat 300 tortillas in any sitting, with half an ox as a side order.

(LAW OF NATURE: NEVER TRUST A SKINNY COOK. ALWAYS LOOK FOR THE BIG GUY.)

Then the two sailors invited everyone in the place to come see their ship, which is docked at Pier 27, last night and today until 8pm.

Ploto y Plota decided this was an offer they could not refuse, especially because they could take a picture aboard this enormous historic sailing vessel, hopefully at the tiller, and send it to Captain Chuck with the message: "Thanks for the sailing lessons. We're on our way now to invade Honduras."



They picked up Silent Bill on the way and got down to the ship. But they discovered enormous lines of traffic along the Embarcadero. This was because there was a private party aboard the ship that the two sailors had neglected to mention. So Ploto, Plota y Guillermo el Sin Hablar were not allowed to board. They could only look at the ship from the dock.

It's quite a magnificent vessel, bedecked with flags from many countries to which it has sailed. No gay flag, though. At least, not anyplace visible.



All day long, el Gran Ploto was singing the line from La Bamba: "Yo no soy marinero, por ti sere, por ti sere." (I'm no sailor, but I'll be yours.)

Que dia magnifico.