El Padrino de Concha Bamba

Before we could count them all, we were surrounded by many of the Concha Bamba fishermen crew, ranging in ages from 8 to 65 years old. They looked around, inside and under the Turq. They approached the Turq as if he were a trapped animal and they were all part of a National Geographic rescue team. Some of the younger ones started digging underneath the Turq immediately, while the older ones took their time surveying the situation.

This is when Dave, Josh and I saw an older man on crutches approaching the Turq. He was the oldest of the crew. He took his time as we walked towards the Turq. He stared at it and began lauging out loud. He surveyed the situation and told everyone to stop what they were doing. We would later decide to call him El Padrino of Concha Bamba, for his Godfather-like status and image.

Recognizing his authority, I immediately approached him, shook his hand, and introduced myself as the Turq's representative. He shook his head, laughed out loud again, and told me that he had seen us drive onto the beach area.

El Padrino told me that had I parked the Turq a couple feet back, I would have had no problem getting out. But he told me that my mistake was getting too greedy...trying to park the Turq right on the edge. Too close, he whispered. But he quickly ushered me to the side...gave out some more instructions...and soon enough, we had two wooden boards behind each tire.

El Padrino didn't care too much about how the Turq got there, he was more concerned with getting it out. He was the commander-in-chief for Concha Bamba Beach, Oaxaca. He seemed to be the father-like figure for all these young fishermen, whose actual fathers were likely working in the kitchens of Manhattan restaurants, Kentucky ham factories or California lettuce fields. He was the alpha male of Concha Bamba, that although crippled, maintained his authority and respect. His sage advice had likely kept his beach village from falling into the Pacific Ocean many a times.

On that day in June, El Padrino responded to yet another call for help. But not for his village, but for two New Yorkers and one Angeleno.

Once the wooden path was put in place over the carved out sand, the Concha Bamba Padrino told me to reverse slowly but with force.

I nervously got inside the Turq, turned the ignition key, and nothing happened. Everyone looked at me with disbelief. I frantically tried to tell a joke...and I feared that my nervous laugh revealed my loss of control. I told Dave that the car was not starting. And he pointed out that the car was on neutral, and that I should put it back on park.

This was no time for teasing or for feeling embarrassed. It was "showtime," and I owed it to El Padrino and to his staff, the dozen or so guys helping us out to maintain my cool. I could feel the sand on my toes, the roughness of the steering wheel, and the moisture becoming sweat on my forehead.

I thought to myself, if this doesn't work, everyone will have to dig for another half hour. I had to make the reverse escape plan work. The Turq was counting on it. Josh and Dave, without knowing any Spanish also realized the pressure before us.

We needed to make this plan work. The Turq was our vessel. Our road trip depended on it. The Turq had brought us this far, and were only halfway to our Chiapas destination point. Our detour had become our greatest challenge.

But I knew we were in great hands. El Padrino looked at me as if telling me with his tired eyes, this WILL work.

I inhaled and told everyone that I would count from 1 to 4 in Spanish. At four, I would reverse the Turq back to freedom.

Uno. Dos. Tres.

Cuatro. I turned the key, the Turq started, and I put it on Reverse. I gave the Turq the gas it needed and back I went. To freedom, to escape, to no more sand. Everyone cheered and I could hear whistles all around. We had done it.

I pulled back and drove about 20 feet away from the place where the Turq had been stuck. Josh was yelling at me to stop. I stopped the car, and looked back to see this image of everyone who made this moment happen.

I went from thinking that the Turq was toast, to realizing that the Turq had just been rescued by the best beach crew I had ever seen. El Padrino and his band of brothers, cousins and amigos was indicative of this part of the world. People living on the ocean, taking one moment at a time. Fishing for food, for each other and for life in general. They helped us without asking for any compensation, or any blame for how we got into that situation to begin with. This was their playa, their beach. And we were glad to have them share Concha Bamba with us, if only for a day.