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“Where’s the brake?” I ask.
“No brake. Just release the throttle and you slow down. If you pull the key out the jet ski turns off.Mata el motor,” he says.
“A kill switch, got it,” I respond.
“Ready?” asks Melida.
“Yup, let’s do this,” I say.
“In this area you must go slow,” adds Eduardo, pointing to the area of water in front of us. “Once we pass all the boats and are in the bay, we can go more fast.”
“I’ll follow you guys,” I tell them.
I’m the last to push the start button and get my engine going. The low rumble of the jet ski is louder than my Vespa but has a similar feeling to it. I can feel the soft vibrations of the machine underneath my body as we slowly exit the harbor toward the bay. Melida and Eduardo are ahead of me and Amaury is slightly behind me and to my right.
“¿Todo bien, muñeca?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes, I’m good. It’s like you said, like when I’m riding the moped.”
As we approach the open bay, Melida and Eduardo rev their jet skis and take off, leaving Amaury and me behind.
“Ready,para ir rápido?” he asks.
“Yes, what’s the fun of jet skiing if we can’t go fast?” I respond, and turn the throttle, jutting out, feeling the cool water splashing on my skin. Being on this jet ski gives me similar feelings of riding the Vespa, except this adds water to the mix and makes it much more exciting. The smell of the salty water mixed with the speed of the jet ski fuels my adrenaline.
Five hours later we’re docking the jet skis at the same place we took off from.
“That was incredible,” I say. “I’ve been wanting to try jet skiing for years and so glad I finally did.” I climb onto the dock and start pulling my stuff from the storage compartments.
“Thank you for doing this, Amaury,” Melida says.
“My pleasure,” he responds from behind me.
“Yes, thank you,” I add, turning to face Amaury.
He leans into me and whispers, “You can thank me later,muñeca,” then drops a kiss on my cheek, causing a tingling sensation to run through my body.
“Should we wait here while you get the truck to load the jet skis?” asks Melida.
“No, I pick them up later. Luis will take care of them,” Amaury responds.
We gather our things and collectively start walking toward the truck, which no longer has the trailer on the back. When we’re all inside the car, I say, “I know we had lunch earlier but I’m already starving.”
“Some things never change,” Melida adds, giggling.
“Vamos al Palacio de los Jugos,” Eduardo suggests. We can drink fresh juice and have somechicharrones.
“What’s that?” Melida asks.
“Deep fried pork chunks that are ridiculously good,” I explain.
“I may not speak Spanish, but I know whatchicharronesare.” Melida retorts. “What did he say before that?”
“Oh, the name of the place he suggested but I’ve never been there,” I tell her.
Half an hour later we pull into the parking lot of an open-air restaurant. There are tables underneath an awning and when we walk inside, it’s an open space with lots of fruits and vegetables and a counter where you can order.
There are names of things I’ve never heard of on the menu. “What’smamey, maracuyá, andguarapo?” I ask.
