The Russian at Yelapa

Our panga pulling away from Yelapa. Photo by David Lansing.

We had finished our lunch and were sitting around drinking beer when Ruso came by and we invited him to sit down with us. I asked him a few questions about himself and this is what he told me: His name wasn’t really Ruso, that was just the nickname they gave him because he was Russian, from St. Petersberg. He’d been living in Puerto Vallarta for 20 years. I asked him how a Russian had come to Puerto Vallarta and he shrugged and said, It just happened.

I don’t think so, I told him. A Russian from St. Petersberg doesn’t accidentally end up in Puerto Vallarta or anywhere in Mexico for that matter. I asked him what he did before coming to Mexico and he shrugged again and said this and that. Did you work for the government or the KGB? I asked him. He snorted. Then he said he was going to go smoke a little weed and did we want to join him. It was interesting because while he was sitting there on the beach talking with us, he never indicated to anyone at the restaurant that he wanted anything yet someone brought him a beer and then someone else came over and gave him a cigarette.

I made some joke about the Canadians sitting near us and Ruso said, That’s okay. They’re better than the Americans. I don’t really like Americans, he said. I asked him why and he said, They are arrogant and stupid. I said, You know we’re Americans and he said, Yes, I know. Then he started talking about Cubans. I worked in Cuba, he said. I hate Cuba. I asked him if he had worked in Cuba for the Russian government and he said, Yes, of course. Why else would anyone go to Cuba? The Cubans are the laziest people in the world and Cuba is the dirtiest country I have ever been in, he said. I told him I loved Cuba, that it was one of my favorite places in the world. He snorted. Cuba is a piece of shit, he said. And Cubans are even lazier than Mexicans.

You’re a bit of a racist, aren’t you? I said.

Yes, he said, shrugging. I’m a racist. So what? That’s something else I hate about Americans. They like to call other people racists, thinking they are not, but Americans are the biggest racists in the world.

This was all very interesting because here we were on the beach drinking beer in a secluded little fishing village in Mexico listening to a Russian ex-pat expound on how much he hated Americans and Cubans. I was through with the conversation. I got up from the table and excused myself, finding a chair further down the beach, but I could hear Carlos and Ruso talk about Afghanistan and Cuba and god knows what else until the Russian remembered that he was going to go smoke a joint and left.

Before he left, he told us that we could take a different water taxi back to Puerto Vallarta if we wanted. I asked him if we should look for it at the pier or in front of the beach. He told us it would be in front of the beach about 15 minutes before three. A little before three, there was no boat so I asked one of the waiters if he knew where Ruso was and he said he was having his lunch back in the kitchen. I asked him to get him for me. Ruso came out a few minutes later. Where is the boat? I asked.

Ah, he said, as if he’d just remembered. He pointed at a panga that was tied up at a short pier that belonged to the little boho-chic luxury hotel, Vernana, across the bay. People were climbing out of the panga and five or six people were standing on the pier waiting to board. That’s your water taxi, Ruso said. You should hurry. It leaves in five minutes.

We grabbed our towels and bags and hurried as quickly as we could across the heavy sand. Everyone had boarded the boat and the crew was loosening the ropes. They saw us rushing to get there and held the boat and we quickly hopped on and the water taxi pushed off. As we slowly pulled out of the bay, I looked back and saw Ruso standing at the edge of the water watching us, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He raised a hand and gave us a weak wave. I flipped him the bird.