Utila Phil

On one of our recent bus trips - I think it was from Guatemala City to San Salvador, they showed a movie called Yes Man, or Si Senor in Spanish. There was a Guatemalan man in the seat across the aisle from me who apparently thought this was the funniest movie he'd ever seen. At even the lamest jokes he would give off an enormous belly laugh, and, when even he could predict what was coming, he would start giggling in advance, as if the anticipation of the joke to come was almost too much to bear.

I can't say the movie justified that sort of reaction (and I began to suspect my neighbour was actually just using the movie to try and start a conversation with the German girl sitting next to him, who looked distinctly uncomfortable). However, apart from a barely credible age gap between Jim Carey and his love interest, Yes Man is actually pretty good. The basic plot is that Jim Carey is living a sad and boring life, trying to get over his divorce. One day he attends a self help seminar, where he ends up making a pact to say yes to every opportunity that comes his way, regardless how bizarre or ridiculous. To cut a long story short, this leads Jim, via flying lessons, a Persian mail order bride and helping out the homeless, to his new love interest and a happy ending.

You can debate the merits of the movie, but Kate and I agreed that the basic message, that its better to say yes than no when life presents opportunities, is not a bad one, especially when you are traveling.

And so it was that when we agreed to have dinner to "Utila Phil", Kate described it as a "Yes Man moment"

Phil first came to our attention on the ferry from Honduras to Belize. I use the term ferry loosely. This was a 40ft speed boat with 3 250hp outboards on the back, that left from a hidden location under a bridge in Porto Cortes. It did occur to me that if I wanted to smuggle drugs through Central America, I would want a boat pretty much exactly like this, and that a tourist 'ferry' would make an excellent cover story. The idea obviously occurred to a few people, because no one was letting their bags out of their sights. Except Phil, who was too busy yelling into a mobile phone to watch his bags.

Phil seemed to be the quintessential obnoxious American. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a watch that looked like he'd strapped a wall clock to his wrist, and had the cropped haircut of someone who wants you to think that they choose not to have hair. And he was yelling, about a subject (the amount of fuel the boat would use) that really didn't seem to merit yelling.

While we exchanged a few rolled eye looks with each other and the Canadians on board, we didn't give Phil much further thought. That was until several hours later, as we sat down in Placencia, Belize to have a beach side beer. An already very familiar voice (you always hear Phil before you see him) next to us ordered a double vodka, on the rocks.
"Oh, you guys needed a drink after that boat ride too? Freakin hell, yeah, your dam right I need a vodka"
And from there, with very little prompting, Phil launched into his life story. Phil owns a dive shop on Utila, as well as the ferry that gets you to the island (the Utila ferry, not the drug running one).

So far so good, but beyond that it became more of a description of the wealth of Phil, and the wealth and success of his friends. In London, his friend owns "American Bar and Grill", which according to Phil, is one of London's top restaurants (I need someone from London to confirm that - Vix?)In Belize, his friend owns the airline, and he only flies for free. Another friend is business partners with Gloria Estefan, and another is (was?) married to Jerry Garcia. And so it went on.

After about an hour (and three double vodkas) of this, he asked if we wanted to have dinner with him. For a reason that still escapes me, I said yes. (At least part of the reason was that he mentioned he had a friend who owned Seattle's best steak house, and that he would get us a free dinner there - "and that's 300 bucks right there. You ain't getting out of there for less than 300, but I can do that for you")

So we met him a few hours later for dinner. The volume issues were undiminished, as he complained loudly, but with a smile, about how embarrassing the umbrella in his pina colada was, because it was tourist crap, and they were making him look like a tourist. Fair point too - when I order something as hip and local as a pina colada, I don't want an umbrella spoiling my street cred.

And then began the monologue began. More friends in high places, more money etc.
Apart from being a little crass, it began to become difficult to know whether we were talking to some sort of Tsar of Central America, or someone with some pretty serious delusions. The dive shop was now "the number one dive shop in the world. Been number one for so long, we're not even allowed to say it anymore" Somehow, I couldn't see Phil showing that restraint. Before his sea change to Utila in 1998, he had been VP of IBM in Latin America for 23 hears. I would estimate that he was 50, no more than 55. You do the maths. In the Southern Hemisphere winter, he goes down to Chile for two weeks to teach the men's downhill ski team.

Tiresome though it was, I have to admit I found him entertaining. The sheer will power to talk about yourself for an entire dinner, including dessert, without asking one single question about the others at the table, seems somehow impressive. And he did give us some memorable quotes.
"Party like a motherfucker" (in response to the question - what do you do in London? About the only thing he didn't elaborate on)
"You stayed three days in Utila without air conditioning? What are you stupid? It took you that long to figure it out? What are you, idiots?"
"Some of those guys on the motorbikes go real fast in Utila. I don't go that fast, I go pretty fast, but I'm usually loaded" (loaded was said with a drinking gesture, to ensure we go the point)

Perhaps the crowning glory though was after dinner when we said our goodbyes. He'd clearly forgotten both our names by now, so when he said goodbye to Kate, he leaned in for the peck on the cheek and said "good night, baby"

For the record, the friend in Seattle did not come up again, so I'll have to buy my own $300 steak. Serves me right for accepting a dinner invitation with an ulterior motive, I guess.