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?