It’s All A Blur

From the where the blogs come

From the where the blogs come

Itchibumbumpa God of Crocs

Itchibumbumpa
God of Crocs

It’s all a blur. At first I was intent on recording all I’ve seen and done on this trip but soon realized that I was beginning to produce yet another “Binderdundat. 

In the pink

In the pink

Another weary travelogue of then I saw, then I did, then I ate. I tipped that little train off its track. I set out to loose some weight, clean my attic, get away from a dreary existence at home through yet another wet winter and make some decisions about how I’m going to live out the remains of my life. The intent of writing about Mexico is to try and share the feeling of the place.

Gotcha!

Gotcha!

When I grow up!

When I grow up!

Now that I believe I have found the real Mexico, which I deeply love and feel at home in, I have to decide if I want to enjoy it aboard my boat or if I should focus on a traveller’s life ashore. There are advantages to each and it will not be a light decision. How I will support myself is another challenge. You don’t need much, but you need

Next please!

Next please!

something.  However those are decisions for the future and all I have is the moment. What a glorious one it is.

Over coffee this morning an idea arose about a thermometer for we gringos in the sun. It would work much like the thermometers used to tell one when the turkey is cooked. This gadget would tell you when you’ve had enough sun and are starting to burn. You could insert it in a few places as per your imagination. I’ve also considered solar-powered roadside crosses. They would have flashing led lights and perhaps play a short Mariachi tune on occasion. The Mexicans, I’m sure, would love them and I’d make my living here.

The dream is alive

The dream is alive

On the hook in Melaque

On the hook in Melaque

I am staying in La Manzanilla, one of three closely-located communities. The others are Melague and Barra De Navidad. Back at the US Border, the Mexican guards had not heard of these places. That, I took as a good sign. I was right. About a four and one half hour drive south of Puerto Vallarta, three days from the border, this area is also accessible by air with flights to Melaque and Manzanillo, a little further to the south. Most gringos come here for at least two months in the winter. Accommodations of any class are cheap, as are groceries and restaurant meals. I have not had a bad meal yet, in fact the fare is excellent. It is healthy food, tasty and affordable. The locals are very hospitable and I have been warmly welcomed every where. Al I have to do is use my smile and display a contrition about my pathetic Spanish skills, as well as an intent to learn another bit of vocabulary. There IS contempt about the many Quebecois who come here. They are noted for being rude, insular and demanding. Despite my aversion to categorizing anyone, I’m afraid and embarrassed to have to agree that their nasty reputation is often well-deserved. I have lived and worked in Quebec. I love it there and I am frustrated to be caught in the middle on this issue.

Cuchina window

Cuchina window

Driving here is a full-time job. There are scorpions and stingrays to step on. Those are the dangers. The Mexicans are friendly, warm, industrious, honest and possess a love of life that we northern folk desperately need to learn. The climate here is sub-tropical, it is lushly green and full of life. Amazing insects and lizards from tiny geckos to huge iguanas and crocodiles abound. The birds are fantastic and the fish stocks are amazing. The ocean is bath tub warm and the snorkeling is fantastic.

Coastecomates Main Street Rush hour

Coastecomates
Main Street
Rush hour

My computer crashed and the local computer store has bent over sideways to get me going. They took the laptop apart, disconnected the keyboard and gave me a Spanish keyboard to plug in and use while a new one arrives. (You’ll notice some weird punctuation in my blogs.* They are thanking me for my patience. The total charge will be about twenty-five dollars. A complete oil and filter change for the truck was ten dollars. Meals average under 100 pesos, about 10 dollars with tip.

It is, however,  all going to hell fast here. All this beauty and graciousness may soon fade.The big money is here, the infrastructure is slowly making its cancerous way south from Puerto Vallarta. The villas and golf courses encroach on the villages and quiet bays. A few years from now this paradise may well be paved over. The moment is the thing.

Last weekend was a Constitution Day, yet another opportunity for holidays and boisterous parties. There was a massive rock concert at the far end of the beach, about five miles away. It sounded like it was next door. Let’s just say there is nothing much tougher than a Mexican boom box. They love music and it must be LOUD! This weekend is La Manzanilla Days or “La Rodeo”. It began yesterday, Wednesday. Last night the stage competitions of folk dancing and break-dancing went on into the night. Cowboys on beautiful, high-spirited horses filled the cobbled streets with children, mothers and families as well as masses of bemused gringos. It was absolutely beautiful chaos. Tonight a Mariachi jazz band is overwhelming the town square. A mile away, I can clearly hear it as I write. It is lovely. A Mexican lady here in this campsite rendered bushels of green tomatoes into salsa over a wood fire. She has finished now and relaxes with some sewing after a fourteen hour day.

Copra smoke from the salsa cuchina

Copra smoke from the salsa cuchina

Last night a small Mariachi band serenaded outside the home of a local prominent family. It is the same place where a week earlier, I was invited in from the street to a birthday party where local musicians played and sang traditional local music. A group of women danced in the cleared-out garage. I was coerced into joining them. If anyone knows me they will be amazed that this leaping ox, with all his injuries, enjoyed himself immensely. I now have friends here.

Run through the jumgle

Run through the jungle

A block away from there, the mangrove swamp reaches down to the sea.  A casually fenced-in portion, complete with suspension bridges and an egg hatchery, contains several huge crocodiles. Apparently, until a couple of years ago, there was no fence.  It is yet removed during the summer rainy season to again allow these beasts complete access to the sea and the beaches. A sign does suggest that there should be no swimming, fishing or pets. I’ve found no coughed-up flip flops or flowered shirts….so far.

 Next to the crocodile swamp


Next to the crocodile swamp

Fortunately the local fisherman’s co-op provides an ample supply of fresh fish carcases.

The local fleet of pangas provides a steady supply of fresh sailfish, dorados, snapper, parrot fish, mahi mahi, albacore,  mullet, octopus, lobster and shrimp. I want to do a trip with them, but the co-op says no.  I need to improve my Spanish. There is a lovely language school here.

Galapagos Next stop!

Galapagos Next stop!

In a few days, I must begin making my way back toward my existence as a northern gringo.

Great snorkeling among the rocks

Great snorkeling
among the rocks

There are deadlines and commitments, bills to pay and decisions to make. I have to pay for this trip and prepare for the next one. I’ll embrace each moment there but I’ll leave my heart here. I’ll be back as soon as possible to this town on the edge of the sea, 19º north latitude. That is 30º of southing, about 1800 nautical miles closer to the equator than where old “Seafire” sleeps tonight, waiting for me. The same ocean beneath her keel is lapping here on the beach, one hundred feet away. I feel the connection. It is strong.

A distant anchorage near La Manzanilla

A distant anchorage near La Manzanilla

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