Wednesday, February 19, 2020

Adios Means Hello



Leaving the warmth of Colima behind, our journey continued as we rode the ETN bus to Guadalajara.  On the loop road on the outskirts of the city the bus suddenly pulled to the side of the road and stopped, dust billowing forward on the busy highway.  The door to the driver’s compartment slid open and, being the closest to the door, I saw the driver appear with a strange look on his face.  He was saying something I could not understand.  I looked across the aisle at the woman sitting there and said to her, “I don’t speak Spanish.”  “He’s saying ‘Help.’”  I stood and looked at the driver who was certainly in stress then I turned to the bus full of people and said in my captain’s voice, “We need a doctor or nurse up here!”


A woman quickly approached. “I’m a nurse.” I got out of her way and she went forward into the driver’s compartment and talked to the driver who had a severe muscle spasm in his back.  She had him stand and lean against the wall and then manipulated his left arm while pushing on the muscles of his back.  His face showed pain.  Then she carefully led him outside the bus to walk him down the side of the road.  I went to the middle of the bus where there were some people I’d talked to earlier and explained that the driver was having some sort of health emergency.  A man nearby said, “I’m a doctor. I’ll see if I can be of some help.”, and joined the driver and nurse outside.  

I looked back at the people on the bus and they all sat in silence, just waiting patiently, staring straight ahead.  We could see the nurse outside giving the driver a pill, and him swallowing it down.  Hopefully this was not a heavy narcotic. Presently, the doctor, then the nurse, then the driver got back on the bus.  The driver kept his compartment door open so I could see him and we drove off to our next stop at the airport. 
  

I watched his feet so that I knew which petal was the brake and prepared myself to go for that petal if the driver passed out.  I had it all worked out how I’d push him aside with my body, go in with my left foot on the brake and grab the wheel.  Fortunately, none of my commando preparation was necessary.  The driver successfully negotiated the tight quarters at the airport, brought the rig to a halt, and discharged all but four of us passengers.  Would we get another driver?  Nope.  The driver talked to the personnel on the ground and didn’t seem to mention the incident to anyone. Then he came back onboard and drove us to our destination at the central bus station in San Pedro Telaquepaque.

I’m supposing he did not want to jeopardize his job standing by admitting that he had had a medical emergency.  As the coach used to say, “Just walk it off.”
Tuba is fermented coconut palm sap, sweetened with fruit and topped with peanuts
Carolina’s Airbnb was in the midst of construction but she had a nice clean room for us and we settled in with our luggage, retrieving the Pythagorean harp and our extra bag of winter clothing from their storage room.  Two days later, after some careful packing, and some nice walks around the neighborhoods, we set our alarm for 5:30 AM for our trip to the airport. We checked in with Carolina who promised to arrange an Uber for 6:00 AM. I awoke to the sound of a little beep, like a text notification on a cell phone.  Did I really hear something?  It’s still dark…  Is the alarm going to work?  Worried, I got up, found my headlamp and shined it on our digital alarm.  A blank face!  Batteries dead!

I like Tuba.

I checked the phone, which said 6:00 AM and read Carolina’s text asking, “Are you ready?”
To Connie, “We gotta get up.  It’s 6.”  She shot out of bed like a rocket and went into mama rescue mode, which means, she was moving fast.

I texted to Carolina, “Our alarm failed.  Ready in 10 minutes.”   She shoots back, “Perfect.”
No it’s not perfect. We overslept, the Uber is waiting, and we’ll be late getting to the airport.
Before you could say, “Telaquepaque” we pulled on our clothes over our PJs and started carrying bags downstairs.  Minutes later, Connie was forced to speak Spanish with the Uber driver without the benefit of caffeine.  Hair in tangles, we counted our bags, came up with the right number and rode the Uber through the dark and quiet streets to the Guadalajara International Airport. 

Half asleep, we contemplated our next challenge.  I’d been worrying about how to get all of our oversize and overweight baggage onto the Volaris plane to San Antonio.  We’d had problems on the Interjet airline flights with overweight carry-on luggage.  For this flight home we were bringing even more weight in the form of a big conch shell, more books, clothing, and a big Pythagorean harp.   An attendant, roaming the mezzanine looking for confused travelers,  checked our papers and noted that we didn’t have boarding passes printed.  I pointed out the harp and all the Fragile stickers.  She scooted us over to the “special needs” line.  There we met Juan, smiling Juan, our savior.  He arrived to his shift and opened his station just when we arrived at the head of the line.  “Good Morning.”  …English, a good sign.  I lugged our heavy bag onto the scale; half a kilogram under the limit.  We pointed to the harp while hiding the accordion behind us, using the art of distraction.  “It’s fragile. It can’t go under the plane.”  Juan looked very serious, checked his computer, then his face brightened.  “No problem.”

Holy Cow, he’s going to let us carry that big thing onto the plane, along with the oversize ukulele case, the overweight accordion stuffed into a carry-on bag, and our two “personal” bags stuffed to the gills?  No argument here.  He pointed out that we could go print our boarding passes at a nearby kiosk for free or pay him 200 pesos each for him to print them out at the counter.  I looked across the rapidly filling concourse at a sea of people and choose the former.   At this point, our Mexico money had begun the transformation to being funny money, colorful but not legal tender in Texas.  Let’s just pay the man.
Julian had plenty of room for us

Before Juan could call us back we rushed our five carry-on bags toward the security checkpoint where we filled up the conveyor belt with all our stuff, got ourselves xray’d, struggled our cabin ready possessions down a quarter mile of hallways and found ourselves in a towering atrium filled with brightly colored breakfast opportunities. 
 
There we had our most expensive meal in Mexico.  Later, at gate 23B we got in the wrong line, were corrected with a smile, and ushered into a bus that took us out to the plane, where we climbed the stairs with a couple of dozen other passengers.  Ah Ha! That’s why Juan was so unconcerned.  Look at all those empty seats.  There was plenty of excess overhead space.   Our seats were at the emergency exits and I was so very pleased with the extra leg room and being able to cross my legs comfortably for once. We settled back in our seats, holding hands with smiles on our faces. 

Our most expensive meal in Mexico

Our fifty days in Mexico this winter started with a month long, simple stay in a small town and ended with a flurry of activity as we flew, bussed, and taxied to the coast in pursuit of some quality sea and beach time. We’ve seen ten different destinations, three flights, six long distance bus rides, and twelve taxis.  Our housing averaged $19 USD per night, which is a good number.  But somehow we managed to spend another $58 USD per day on food, wine, airline tickets, bus tickets, car rentals, taxis, musical instruments, clothing, gifts, and tips.  Most notability, we had fun and we wandered where we wanted, opening ourselves up to last minute changes and interesting opportunities.

We had three things to accomplish.  One: we escaped the cold and wet of an Olympia winter.  Two: we celebrated Connie’s 60th birthday in a setting of her choice.  Three: we explored various possibilities for winter snowbird living.  I have to say that the central highland of Mexico is not a place I’d want to settle down in.  The air quality and the population density proved to be a challenge for us as we tend to enjoy quiet, nature filled spaces.  Two things we grow tired of are barking dogs and church bells.

The coast has much cleaner air and wonderful scenery.  However, the cost of living is higher than inland.  While the small towns on the coast are fun for a while, the tourism gets to us pretty quickly.  We found ourselves looking for restaurants and hotels not populated by large, white English speaking persons from Canada and the U.S.   There is nothing so jarring as being assaulted by a booming, male white voice rattling on about nothing of importance, while seated near you in the palapa restaurant.

And so we’ve gone full circle, realizing that the Pacific coastal cruising life that we pursued eight years ago truly was the perfect blend of nature, quiet, climate, adventure, and people.  While coastal cruising, we had plenty of interactions with the local population without living in close, constant contact.  Again, barking dogs and church bells get old fast.  When at the anchorage or marina, the gringo ex-pats are there when you want friendships but you can always retreat to the boat for peace and quiet.  When we get the itch for a change of scene, it’s easy to up anchor and move on to yet another clear blue water, sandy beach, salty air, wild life filled destination.

A new plan has formed.  We’ll probably take a road trip next month from Arizona down to San Carlos, Sonora, Mexico to look at a boat.  There are sailboats a plenty down there, left behind as older cruisers decide to take their lives back to land.  Our journey continues.

Tuesday, February 11, 2020

Costalagre - Cuyutlan and Beyond



Cuyutlan is a sleepy little town just south of Manzanillo in the state of Colima.  Time has not been kind to Cuyutlan as there is evidence that it once was a booming beach town.  Closed hotels, abandoned buildings, empty streets.  Hotel San Rafael  stands one block off the main (paved) road.  The fairly impressive entrance leads to a white adobe walled complex and a large palapa area with tables.  We chose an ocean view room on the second floor with a west facing patio with chairs so we could sit and watch the people walking on the malecon.  We shared that patio with four other rooms.  Our neighbors heard Connie playing music and they applauded so she came out on the patio and did a quick Spanish set for them. 

That first day, there were no people walking on the malecon, in fact there were few people visible anywhere.   The room was sparse but clean, no screens on the windows or doors, and no way to secure the window or door against intrusion.  That’s OK, we’ll take our wallets and passports with us when we go out. They can have the accordion if they dare take the karma risk.


On the sea side of the malecon, numerous palapa restaurants advertised with faded signs a multitude of fresh prepared seafood.  By late afternoon there were a few people on the beach but not enough to provide any sort of business for the dozen or so seaside restaurants.  How can the food possibly be fresh if there is nobody here to consume it?  The problem, we realized, was that it was Thursday.  Wait until Friday, then that’s surely when the hoards will arrive from Manzanillo.   We went out in search of food and wine.
 
There are four small tiendas (small groceries) open in Cuyutlan.  On Thursday, not one of these had a bottle of red wine.  On Friday, a shop opened that advertised itself as a Vinateria.  They had one bottle of Runite Lambrusco which we’d seen around the corner at another place but had rejected because I just could not bring myself to drink Lambrusco at that price.. or really, at any price.   The vinateria lady was asking 180 pesos.  I offered her 100 pesos and she lowered her price to 150.  No thanks…. We’d seen that sweet wine in Manzanillo for 85 pesos.  And also, we realized that she had upped the price on us because of racial profiling.  This happens to us on occasion in Mexico where we are charged a higher price because of our skin color and height.

The surf is steep

While I’m whining about inconsequential things, let me comment on prices.  It’s amazing how often the price of an assortment of vegetables or a taxi or a meal is an even amount, often rounded to the nearest 50 pesos.  We go to the store and whatever it is… the total is 100 pesos.  Or 150 pesos.  I can understand this because nobody has any change and ... we are rich gringos.   When we get money out of the ATM we get a stack of 500 peso notes.  Then we wait for a big purchase such as a dinner or a bottle of wine and we try to use that 500 note.  That way we get some change.  We learned to always offer the large note and see if they can make change.  Often, they don’t have the change and we have to dig into our little stash to come up with smaller bills and change.  Sometimes they take the large bill (100, 200, or 500) and run down the street to a friend who might have change.  Picture us surrounded by a bunch of people all opening their wallets as they try to help make change for a 100 peso note.  Of course, the upside to all this is the exchange rate and the low cost of everything in Mexico.  100 pesos is only about $6 dollars and for 100 pesos we can have breakfast or lunch for two at a cocina economica.  
Seafood restaurant named after Steve Lucino

Here is our recipe for success:  If you find an ATM that issues 200 peso notes instead of 500 peso notes then use that ATM.  Take every opportunity to break larger bills and hide those smaller bills (20s, 50s, 100,s) in your wallet.  Don’t let anyone see those or they will point at the small bills with a smile of their face.  "Ah ha!" When getting a ride in a taxi always ask for the price first.  Sometimes a “taxi” is not a taxi but somebody’s buddy, and that’s perfectly fine as long as they give you a good rate.  If a price seems high, say no, then offer less.   It’s smart to ask a local how much a ride should cost before you hail that taxi.  That way when the driver slyly tells you it is 70 pesos, you say no and hand him a 50.  He shrugs, you laugh, he laughs, he takes the 50. Then I tip him 10.   Sometimes we tip the taxi, sometimes not.  I don’t think they expect a tip.  At the restaurant we tip about 10 per cent, which is normal.  But if we really enjoyed the interaction we lay a fat propina (gratuity) on them and get a big smile and a thank you have a friend for life…. Or the duration of our stay.

Back to Cuyutlan, we found a little street cocina run by a woman I call Aunt Tito.  When it’s 7 PM and everyone else in town is closed, she can make you some enchiladas or soup.  At first she had a stern, severe, no nonsense look on her face.  Later, after I ordered more food, then thanked her profusely and gave her a tip, she finally broke out the smile.  A serious woman and a successful entrepreneur.  Giving up on finding wine, we bought an old bottle of Bacardi Carta Oro we found on a dusty shelf in the tienda.  The screw cap was somewhat rusted and we had to clean the bottle off with soap and water but the rum inside was just fine.


Friday night we expected more people and more food choices but ended up wandering down the deserted street to Aunt Tito’s again.  Saturday afternoon saw a few more people checking into our hotel and by Saturday night the place was full of families with kids.  Lots of kids.  We chose that night to have our special palapa restaurant seafood dinner, thinking that now we might be getting fresh food.  The shrimp was fantastic, the margaritas not so good.  But we enjoyed sitting at a table in the sand, under an umbrella, watching the ten foot high waves crashing ashore, scaring all the brave young men who were trying to swim out beyond the break.
 
On Saturday, we had the front desk call a taxi and a guy named Mario showed up in an aging unmarked Nissan.  How much? 80 pesos.  OK.  He took us down the road to the Tortugario where we saw iguanas, crocodiles, and two species of ocean turtles.  The research center’s job is to find turtle clutches on the beach, dig up the eggs, bring them back to the Tortugaio for hatching, then monitor a controlled release into the ocean.  The center adjoins a huge lagoon complex, the largest and most diverse on Mexico’s west coast.  It only recently became a protected area in 2011.  Before that it was well on its way being developed for salt harvesting and clearing for coconut and banana farming.


Sunday, the day we left, we finally found bottles of Concha de Toro vino tinto (wine, red) in the local tienda.  Evidently, the long awaited delivery had happened. Now that there was wine, sadly it was time to go. We hired Mario to take us 45 km to the bus station in Manzanillo.  500 pesos.  He got lost but didn't hesitate to pull over and get directions from a group of guys on the sidewalk who all pointed in different directions.

At the bus station, the ETN attendant was rude to us when we asked where the bus would board.  There are some people who just don’t care about their job and others who approach their work with a happy attitude.  More often or not, it’s the young people who are rude, and have no patience with older gringos like us who struggle with the language.  I must say, though, the majority of the time, we are treated respectfully and cheerfully here in Mexico.  Hey young woman/man, put down the cell phone and be civil, por favor?
 
An L7 at the El 7

Our luxurious ETN bus took us smoothly across the coastal plain and up into the mountains to the plateau where the capital of Colima state, Colima City resides.  Another old yellow Nissan taxi took us the short hop to the center of town for a mere 25 pesos and we found our nice room at the La Merced Hotel, right on the square next to the La Merced cathedral.   




 Now we were in a town that would have wine, and restaurants that were open, and fresh fruit and vegetables! Maybe a salad. 

We found Bierra de Chivo.  Goat soup.

 I went right out and bought a bottle of Concha de Toro, Camenere.   Then we walked to another square where we found a huge event going on with wine tastings, food tastings, and big screens showing the Super Bowl football game between the San Francisco 49ers and the Kansas City Goofballs.   We ordered two giant salads!  Gosh we miss salads.

We saw J. Lo and Shakira dance and sing the halftime show, shaking everything in every which way and sliding up and down poles.  While those two icons of the music industry were making young and old men’s eyeballs pop out, right next door the cathedral was packed with supplicants asking for their sins to be forgiven.  They should have gone outside and dragged those heathen party goers inside for their just deserts.  That poor priest, trying to remember his Latin while the boom, boom, boom was going on outside.  J. Lo and Shakira showed us their posteriors a final time and the third quarter began.  We got the heck out of there, jinxing the lead that the 49ers had going before the halftime dance fest. "I knew we shouldn't have left!"

Two nights and two big salads later, we brought our luggage to the front desk and asked for a taxi.  Bright yellow taxis kept stopping at the hotel entrance but the concierge kept waving them off.  Finally an unmarked white car pulled up and we were told that he was our ride..  Well… OK.  Then we forgot to ask him the price!   After a round-about route to the bus station, he dropped us off, not at the taxi zone but at another curb.  “Cuanto cuseta?”  I asked, handing him a 50 peso note.  “150 pesos.”, he answered.   We’d been charged only 25 pesos for the same ride just two days ago so we knew the fare.  Clearly, this was a special ride, in a special car, arranged by a "special" concierge.   I told the driver a firm NO. Told him it cost 25 pesos in a regular taxi and that’s what we asked the front desk for… a plain old taxi.  We left him standing there complaining with the 50 peso note in his hand and we marched into the bus terminal hoping he would not be coming after us with hate in his soul.
Later we called the La Merced and complained.  Connie went on a rant. They listened quietly.  She asked if they understood what she had said. They said yes and she said Thank You Goodbye. 
Out on the bus departure platform, the attendant was very pleasant and the guard most friendly.  Neither one was hypnotized by their cell phone at the time. Colima was a good stop for us, a colonial town, clean and rich with history.  Not one stray dog was heard or seen.  Church bells aplenty, though. I know a certain concierge who could benefit with a little time in church.

We kept seeing this drug store guy. Would you trust this pharmacist?

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

The Costalagre - Two Towns on the Coast

Early in our winter journey we visited central interior Mexico towns: Tepoztlan, Puebla, Cuernavaca, Tlayacapan, and Guadalajara/Tlaquepaque. Now we wanted to sample some Costalagre (Happy Coast) seaside towns.  Since we know the town of Barra de Navidad pretty well already we booked an airbnb in nearby La Manzanilla for four days staying with an expat woman named Annette in her rental house four blocks from the beach.

Playa Careyes 81

Our taxi from Tenacatita arrived in La Manzanilla mid day and we tried to locate our accommodations using google maps on our smart phone, getting dropped up at the top of a steep hill which was a block away from the residence down below.  Not knowing where we needed to go, we talked to a gringo couple living at the top of that hill and they only scratched their heads and wished us good luck before they shut their big metal garage door.  Well, that was not helpful.  Then the door across the drive opened and revealed a younger Hispanic man getting into his car.  I asked him if we could get a ride down the hill. " Sure!"

He asked us what we were looking for then volunteered to help, spending a half hour driving us around before finding the location of our airbnb at Playa Careyes 81.  He was pleased with himself for finding the address. He said he thought he knew Annette. We thanked him profusely.  Isn't it interesting that the gringo couple, our compatriots, were no help, and the Mexican national was nothing but helpful.  Different cultures!

Crocodile Cafe

At Annette's, the time was well spent washing the salt out of our clothes, walking the beach, planning our next legs of the journey, and having plenty of time for Connie to practice her music. While Barra de Navidad seemed to have a good number of large, pale US senior citizens, La Manzanilla was favored by slightly more tanned large, Canadian senior citizens.  With my fledgling tan I felt a little more at home in "La Manz", as the boaters call it.

To the West

We shopped our food locally and cooked most of our meals at Annette's. The Crocodile Bar was one of our favorite places, right on the beach facing west.  We met some musicians there playing Gypsy Jazz and we had quite a fun happy hour dancing and talking with new acquaintances.  On our last night, Annette threw a party, inviting some musician friends and some music appreciation friends.  I watched and admired how Connie interacted with the local gringo musicians. It was a nice variety of instruments: an autoharp, 2 ukes, guitar and harmonica, accordion and, of course eveyone's voices!

It didn't take long before they were passing around sheets of music, (and libations), and swapping the lead. The non musicians started dancing, a great time with great folks.  Personally, my appreciation for my lovely wife only increases when I watch and she draws everyone together in harmony.  What a nice evening it was.

The next day we packed up our bags and got the heck out of there.

Manzanillo is the busiest port on the west coast of Mexico

To make our exit we needed a taxi.  The two phone numbers we had for taxis didn't connect us with anyone so we walked down to the town square and woke up this old guy who had an ancient bright yellow Nissan cab parked at the curb.  He was happy for our business and we had a nice bumpy ride up and over the hills and down into the nearby town of Barra de Navidad where there was a small ETN bus station.  We checked in there, were told (by a young man) that all was well and that our seats were reserved.  Later, once the bus was present and ready we were approached by the station boss woman who wanted our printed tickets.  We don't have printed tickets. We do it all online.  So I fired up our big black laptop and found PDF evidence I'd stashed on the desktop to prove that we paid for our two seats on the outgoing bus.  This is a normal Mexico thing we've found...  one location or one person will tell you things are one way then the next time it will be all different. We just smile and show them whatever we have and it usually works out just fine.

Vida del Mar

The two hour bus from Barra to Manzanillo was 200 pesos (~$10 USD) for the two of us.  Then we got a taxi (30 Pesos) at the bus station to take us to a nearby Walmart where I guarded the bags while Connie did a master shopping job buying just the right amount of food and wine to get us through four days at the Vida del Mar condo resort. (Look up Airbnb - Condo Los Chatos in Manzinillo) A woman named Mirlo Berenice picked us up at the store and carried us to the outskirts of town to our luxury Airbnb accommodations overlooking the blue Pacific.


So nice to have a fully equipped kitchen in a nice condo for a while
The big complex was built in the 70's and is as beautiful as ever with manicured lawns, flowering shrubs and trees, and palms, palms, everywhere.  Our porch faced south with a full view of the wide pacific.  We had a really nice kitchen to cook in, a large shaded porch facing the ocean and a big soft queen sized bed.  Now we're really coming up in life!  About $50 US per day, our most expensive but well worth it stay.  We swam in the ocean, sunned and read at the pool, hiked around, and visited the nearby La Boquita beach where we'd anchored our boat many years ago.


The four days flew by and soon we were in a VW diesel driven by Mirlo's friend Victor who for 600 pesos ($35 USD) took us 67 kilometers down the coast to Cuyutlán, Colima, to the old seaside hotel San Rafael.  During the ride we talked a little politics, all agreeing that our president was crazy.  Victor seemed reassured when we told him that most people in the US also think Trump is a criminal... and crazy.  We learned that their new president, Andrés Manuel López Obrador, had suspended tolls for passenger vehicles on the Colima-Manzanillo highway. Hooray! 

We love watching these banana boats at the beach



 He's also in the process of raffling off the presidential Jet, a Boeing 787.   Like many of the ways Mexico controls traffic, there was a simple solution to implement the toll removal,  make a portal at the toll booths restricted in height and width.  If the car fits through, there is no toll.  Another smart (but annoying) thing they do with traffic is they install topes (speed bumps) everywhere.  In the US, we put up signs, install MPH readouts, and have police with radar guns to keep people from speeding    In Mexico, they engineer the road with topes so that if you speed, you’ll tear your vehicle apart.  Simple, but effective, no cops, no equipment to fail, no speeding.


In Mexico, there is so much that makes sense, and so much that doesn't.   We continue our coastal hopping in the next episode.  I can't wait.

Big White Belly