Our Friend Hector

            We entered the tiny barber shop with Hector a wizened 84 year old man who had become our self appointed “good friend”.  He introduced the gaunt elderly shop keeper to us as his bien amigo.  Two other men in the shop rose to shake hands and then we found ourselves being embraced by each of them.

            One of the men asked if I was Hector’s sister.  “No, no, solo amigo”.  This taxed the extent of my Spanish.  Hector and the men carried on a brief, incomprehensible conversation and then we bid them adios.  More hand shakes and hugs before we were on our way again.

            Hector had befriended Max on our second day in Tecolutla.  He arrived each morning on his “little car”, an ancient, junior-sized bicycle.  He was eager to show us around and wondered if we’d like to take a boat ride on the river or go fishing or visit a vanilla farm.  He had learned a bit of English as a boy; later he worked at a hotel with English speaking guests.  His English was basic but we managed to communicate fairly well.

            He was curious about the United States and asked many questions.  He usually started, “Max, more or less, would you say…?  If we asked a question he answered, “More or less…”  We learned that he doesn’t think much of the Mexican government, or of George Bush.  He approves of Obama and is a champion of most things American.

            Hector talked of his boat and the years that he’d spent fishing.  We agreed, with some trepidation to a boat ride on the river with him to see the Mangrove swamps.  We were greatly relieved in arriving at the river to find a charming young man in a well constructed boat waiting for us with life jackets.   

            Another day we had a private tour of a vanilla farm with Hector.  We saw vanilla beans drying in the sun and then went to the orchard to see them growing.  We donned masks and caps and went through the processing plant.  Throughout it all the young woman guide gave detailed descriptions.  Hector listened intently and asked her questions but wasn’t great as an interpreter.  We did get the general idea.

            Hector joined us for breakfast our final morning in Tecolutla.  We were sad to say good-bye.