A L S O__T O D A Y This week in travel T A B L E_T A L K Passenger goes nuts on airplane: Have you seen it happen? Join the discussion of "air rage" in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk R E C E N T L Y Herbal ecstasy By Mark Jenkins By the spoonful, a restaurant in Singapore supposedly cures everything from sexual ennui to diabetes (10/15/98) A two-wheel tour of Holland By Cynthia Gorney A vacationing family finds pleasure and peril among a nation of bicyclers (10/14/98) Waiting for Hurricane Georges By Jennifer Moses Preparing for disaster in Baton Rouge (10/13/98) Under the moon at Angkor Thom By Karin Muller An idyllic picnic is interrupted by soldiers (10/11/98) Seduced by Kenya By Don George An interview with author Francesca Marciano about Africa's attractions and contradictions (10/09/98) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner S A L O N E M P O R I U M FREE! 12-ounce bag of Salon Blend with a purchase of $30 or more. While supplies last.		_____________________AN INNOCENT ENCOUNTER TURNS CRAZY _____FOR TWO TRAVELERS AND A HEARTBROKEN, _________GUN-TOTING MEXICAN SHERIFF. _________BY MAXINE SCHUR | The hot breeze sailed over the scrub desert and into the open blue door of the dockside cantina where we sat drinking beer. Stephen and I were heading toward the Carmen Islands -- a detour on our way to the Yucatan. By this time we had been in Mexico five weeks and our travel had become desultory. We moved from town to town more like itinerant peddlers than tourists. We traveled indiscriminately, going anywhere as long as it was someplace we hadn't seen before, someplace new to experience. The next town was a drowsy place, a few shanties, a church and this cantina. The cantina was like so many we had seen in Mexico -- concrete floor, aquarium-colored walls and a slow-moving ceiling fan. There was an amazing assortment of wall calendars, some with pictures of Jesus and others with pictures of scantily clad women -- as if Heaven and Hell were vying for souls in the bars of Mexico. Heat lay heavy on the town and the ferry to the islands wouldn't leave for another hour, so we sat at a small oil cloth-covered table nursing Tecates in plastic glasses. Someone a few towns back had told us that the short voyage to the Carmen Islands could be rough. Because I was 22 and naive, I had downed a Dramamine -- actually, I had taken two for good measure. Now, as we sat drinking beer, I noticed the world starting to get wonderfully vague, as if the other customers were merely stage actors and all of us were in some kind of production playing passengers waiting for a ferry in a Mexican cantina. While Stephen and I chatted idly about Mayan pyramids, a blind woman walked in. She was in her 30s, plump, wearing a soiled cotton dress; her bare feet were dark brown and leathery as if years of want had forced them to become shoes. Her eyes were pale blue marbles. At first I thought she was a beggar who had come in to sing for pesos, for along with a large sack, she carried a guitar. But no. She sat down at one of the tables and from the sack pulled out a doll big as a toddler, a doll of good quality, made of bubble gum-color rubber and with blue eyes and blond hair. But the doll, also wearing a soiled cotton dress, was old and the rubber skin was dirt-stained and the nylon hair sprouted from its head in matted patches. The woman sat the doll on a chair next to her and, strumming her guitar, began to sing. Perhaps it was the beer or the Dramamine, but at once I fell in love with this woman's singing. Her voice was low, resonant. And as she sang, it became clear that it wasn't for money. She was just waiting for the ferry and comforting herself with songs. Time passed. A black mutt lying on its side yawned, letting out a kind of squeal. A few more passengers strolled in: somber men in black cowboy hats; housewives carrying plastic baskets of food; an old woman bent over like a nail hammered wrong; a teenage girl with gold teeth carrying a net bag of vegetables; and a short, chunky man in his 40s with a grizzled face. We were all sitting in the cantina quiet as churchgoers when the owner brought us two more Tecates. The bright red cans frosty and cold shone like Christmas. "I'm sorry," I said, "but we didn't order these." "Don't worry," he replied with a backward nod. "Señor Gringo, he is buying for you." We looked toward the table in the corner and saw that the chunky man was raising his glass in a silent toast to us. We smiled and lifted our fresh beers in return. "Gracias, Señor!" we called across to him. Taking that as his cue, the man stood up and walked over to our table. "Mind if I join you?" he asked in a Southern accent. "Please," we gestured toward the empty seat across the table. "Please join us." N E X T+P A G E | And then things turned crazy