November 1, 2011
By HanaCrave BRONZE, Burnet, Texas
HanaCrave BRONZE, Burnet, Texas
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
Whether you walk to the right or to the left, listen to the voice behind you.

Standing aboard on the bow of the Ecstasy Carnival Cruise Liner, my brother and I scanned the water for signs of a port nearby. In the far distance a long jagged line of rocks snaked over the crashing waves. As the Ecstasy glided over the crystal blue water, the locals of Progresso began to stir and hastily prepare their shops and carts for the awaited tourists to arrive onto the pier.

As I stepped off the last few stairs leading away from the liner, I merged into a sea of excited faces awaiting their turn to get in a taxi and enter the City of Progresso, Mexico. I cautiously approached the side of the barren pier and gazed downward into the aqua water. Small schools of fish swam peacefully together around a lone sting ray who plunged into the sandy bottom creating a sand storm around the flatten creature. A loud commotion occurred behind me and I saw that my party was leaving. I slowly dragged myself away from the aquatic creatures I was observing and ducked into the small taxi. The town seemed to suck the taxi cab into its mouth and we entered the rustic and quaint town. I stepped out of the cab and was swarmed with eager hands of locals pulling me towards the papala restaurants. The people were excitedly chattering to me, but my ears did not understand the voices calling out to me. A warm and familiar hand grabbed my own hand and led me out of the crowd. My mother’s comforting smile soon broke and suggested that our party of tourists head towards the peaceful beach. My walk quickly slowed as my eyes took in the scenery of the town. Down the street old, rusted, and faded cars zoomed past. Children held brightly colored trinkets out to enthralled tourists on the craggily sidewalks for a small amount of pesos. The constant rays of the sunlight beating down on the paint of the buildings were beginning to fade and peel off the sides. Swaying palm trees periodically dropped its seeds down on to the ground and then was soon to be trampled by herds of flip flops of those heading into the town’s open market. I walked under nets of electricity lines crossing the street looping from building to building. The concrete sidewalks soon faded into white sand the closer I walked to the Malecon Beach.

A young handsome man greeted my party and invited us to sit at wooden tables with dried out palm tree leaves constructed into an umbrella and offered to get any drinks that we desired. As the waiter walked barefoot across the sandy beach to the bar, small children ran with large kites and they threw their rainbow colored kites up into the air. A gust of a wind caught the thin material and soar the kite high up in the sky. The sweltering heat was making my pores sweat. My sunglasses slid down the bridge of my nose and I pushed up my glasses just in time before the sun could reach into my pupils. Finally, the waiter scurried out with cans of Coca Cola that had condensation dripping down the sides and passed around the chilled cans to sweaty hands. In the distance, a hobbling man with long necklaces made of small beads and exotic shells were hooked onto both arms. He was gradually coming closer to my table with eyes set on me. He wore loose faded clothing and was unshaven. He was an older man with a wrapped up foot covered with and he leaned upon a well worn out crutch. His eager eyes looked in to mine. My heart suddenly felt heavy because I understood why he was looking at me in such a way; selling jewelry was his craft and way of living. The local depended on the tourist attraction to live.
In conclusion of touring Progresso, I found that the atmosphere seems happy at a glance, but as one peers deeper into the society here the town is greatly affected by poverty. The local’s culture is unique and the way of living is unlike the Luxurious Americans life. Hopefully I can once again return to the intriguing Mexican town of Progresso.

The author's comments:
Progresso is a special place to my childhood.

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