waiting on the levee

Do you remember that scene in Jaws, when the the local realtors and shop-keepers are more afraid that news of a shark in their bay may start spreading, than they are concerned that the start of the tourist season may supply great white bait?

The next scene in the movie is tourists flocking off of the ferries onto Martha Vineyard. Lots of tourists.

Our little villages by the sea are no Martha's Vineyard (something we should all thank God for each morning). But, a large portion of the people who live here make their living off of tourists who are willing to exchange pesos in their pockets for good times on the beach or in pursuit of some less-salubrious pleasures.

It is sometimes hard to remember that tourist towns are still towns. Most of the people here go about their lives just as people do in other towns around the world. They work, go to school, create close relationships, fight with one another, and they get married.

One of Barra de Navidad's churches is within walking distance of the beach, and is the central point in some lives here. And because it is located in an almost-idyllic setting, couples travel from miles around to be married in the church of the messiah with fallen arms.

I see them regularly on my walks through town. Lined in almost-neat rows. Brides resplendent in princess white. Grooms with that odd Latino mixture of I-look-great-in-anything and I-hope-my-mates-do-not-see-me. Bridesmaids swathed in the universal colors-not-found-in-nature that brides choose to ensure all eyes focus on her. And the inevitable beaming flower girls posing for photographs like Paris models -- and fidgety ring-bearers.

When the priest has had his way with the couple, the photographers troop the wedding party out on the malecon to use God's backdrop -- this half-moon bay and, if timed just right, a sunset that will be a mixed omen for the now-happy couple.

But, when the priests and the incense and the in-laws and the photographers are shooed away, all that is left is a couple, who having survived their ritual ordeal, can bond in the experience just as closely as soldiers who have faced death together. They can sigh, release the tension, and ponder the fact that they have chosen a partner for life and their friendship for each other will either sustain their journey -- or not.

The best we, who stand on the malecon watching their stare into the middle distance of the future, can (and should) do is to wish them well -- as we ask ourselves how well we have trod the same path.