Bulletin from Zihuanatejo
Seeing Magda pale and tired we felt vindicated and at the same time sorry for her, so we decided that she deserves a boost. Thus for the first few days it was playa La Ropa - complete with golden sand, balmy sea, hot sun, romantic palapas, cervesa con sal and limon. And a fully grown crocodile - the first one I saw, in all my travels, openly sharing beach with the public. I mean, it's a wild beast, not chained, tamed or anything such - and it is not a baby either. It emerges practically every day from a small estuary, climbs on the beach and takes the sun, sometimes with its mouth wide opened. It looks plump and relaxed. Unless it is vegetarian with the preference for coconuts, one must suspect that it feeds on either dogs or local children, there is plenty of both and they seem to be completely unaccounted for. I think that that one day it will take a tourist, judging by the behavior of most of them (the tourists) it must happen eventually. I hope to capture the event on film, the light here is always excellent for an action shot, and my chair is only 30 meters from the animal. I already have the background photos of "Magda and the crocodile", "Krysia and the crocodile" etc. - these were easy, the "what happened next" shot, still pending, is the real challenge.
We are parked at Rodrigo's, a local lawyer who decided to convert part of his property into an RV park (the conversion is still going on). Playa La Ropa is conveniently situated about 200m from our trailer.
But to continue about Magda and my cold: this is her first visit to Mexico, so in the afternoons we were window shopping her (like in "driving her crazy" or "making her laugh") in Zihuatanejo, naturally mainly for silver and "crafts" - just to break her in, Zihuanatejo being different than dreary Ottawa with its fixed prices, giant sales and such. She developed avid interest in silver, so we decided to go to Taxco, from here about 500 km one way. Leaving Zihuanatejo at 05:00 h - some 2 hours before sunrise - we took HWY 134 to Iguala and then HWY 95 to Taxco. We reached Taxco around 14:00 h, somewhat tired, and full of respect for Sierra Madre. HWY 134 left me not so much with the image of mountain vistas as with the impression of unending sequence of "curvas peligrosas" (it sounds even better in Polish) -
I was able to have a look around only when we stopped. One definitely should not tow a trailer there. We took only the Silverado, and even then it was not so much dangerous as tedious and tiring driving without much of a scenic pay-off, though the frequent hand-written signs advertising "aqui venga mescal, primera cualidad", suggesting a thriving local culture, should be mentioned (mescal and tequila are the equivalents of moonshine and whisky - same raw materials and process, different technology).
Taxco is situated considerably higher up than Iguala, there is a decent two-lane highway which in town itself dissolves into convoluted multitude of Fiat 500-wide streets, going only up, down, left, right (never straight and level) and filled up with moving VWBeetles, scooters and, this being Sunday afternoon, pedestrians. There is also free-for-all parking everywhere. The street spirit is great - when I got stuck and had to back out for some 20 meters not one of the drivers in 5 or so Beetles behind me (which consequently have had to sort themselves out going uphill in reverse) reacted in unfriendly or ungentlemanlike manner. This put us in a good mood straightaway, and it (the mood) was getting better with every passing hour: K&M got totally immersed in silver jewelry, Magda found two pieces she liked and could afford, we have eaten a very good pizza (zocalo, next to Borda's house, on the second floor, once seated you will be approached by an elderly well groomed gentleman in tie and conservatively cut dark gray woolen suit. He is the owner, but, I think, he tries to show you the unfulfilled side of his inner self. He will give you a leaflet informing you which classic composers he will be interpreting on a piano tonight; in the meantime, the Rudolph Valentino - era music wafts from somewhere while you wait for your medium-size pizza, 65 pesos and enough for three. Half way through my second wedge I noticed a 70+ lady in a beautiful fur coat, in full maquillage, with cigarette in a long holder and a great face. She was standing near balustrade looking at zocalo. Her thoughts must have taken her back to her own Sunset Boulevard - she looked quite far away. I am mentioning her here because only recently - after I passed 60 years of age - I have begun to notice elderly people. I dread the time when I will be starting the newspaper from the "In Memoriam" section), and finally got a room in a charming Posada San Juarez. PSJ is obviously a result of conversion of something else, but whatever it's origins, the end product is absolutely great. It even has an enticing swimming pool. Note that "enticing" is the key word here - swimming pools in Mexico are penny a dozen.
Next day was Monday, K&M disappeared in those shops with silver jewelry which were closed yesterday because it was Sunday. I put a 35 mm wide angle on and started photographing the town. There was bank robbery in progress (at Banamex near zocalo), police was arriving by truckloads, VWs blocked streets solid, we all waited for the shooting to start, but there wasn't any. I have discovered an unreal mercado below the zocalo, and a bakery with excellent rolls. Near the cathedral (everything in it is solid gold, as advertised, and the walls are pink) I noticed a tourist reading a guidebook on Mexico in Polish. The book was a fair challenge to Michelin, the reader was an engineer specializing in pollution. He flew from Warsaw to Mexico City (U$700 return), then traveled by bus in San Salvador, Guatemala and Mexico. Today was the last day of his vacations. "But" - he said - "I shall be back in two weeks - I have got a job in Costa Rica". I write about this because, for a change, it was nice to meet a compatriot with this type of "goods for sale" on the global market...
We decided to drive back on HWY 95 Libramento, via Acapulco, then to take HWY 200 north to Zihuatanejo.
HWY 196 which branches off towards Zihuanatejo earlier, before Chilpancingo, looked on the map too snaky going through Sierra Madre. We reached Acapulco around 18:00 h - it was the rush hour and the traffic was crazy - Magda expected a collision every few minutes. Still, in comparison with Guatemala City the traffic was quite friendly and almost sedate. We saw a glimpse of the bay (bay like bay, I am sure it has golden sand etc.), and fortunately the ladies were not interested in more detailed exploration of Acapulco's charms. We needed petrol, and at a Pemex I pulled up behind a van with Arizona plates. The van was taking its time, it seemed that they are adding oil pint by pint, paying for each can separately. I went to investigate, there were about ten people of assorted ages in the van, they did not look like a family. Nobody spoke English. Two boys - eighteen or so - had peroxide blond crew cuts and sported nose rings. The van was full of mattresses and pillows, it was hard to figure out how all the passengers fit inside. They were neither aggressive nor friendly, it could have turned either way. My Spanish does the trick and we are all smiling - no, they did not break down, they will move in a minute. They did move as promised, attendant started to fill my tank, and I kept thinking that Pawel (in Warsaw) could use this encounter to write a sociology paper. The van was quite new, worth some 10M U$ in Arizona, at least twice that much in here. So it likely was a success story - owner gone to USA for some time, now coming back to impress the village. The rest - passengers - chipped-in for the petrol. They too must have been away for a while - one does not acquire a nose ring and dye job on a weekend visit to Phoenix. Their zero English suggested that while in USA they have lived in a Mexican ghetto - but they could not have been illegals, the risk of such a "home visit" would be too great. So why stay in a ghetto? Pressure of what peers made them go for such aspects of American culture as nose rings and dyed hair first ? Driving from Tecate through Baja California to La Paz, and then from Topolobampo here, I did not see a single male Mexican teenager with died hair, let alone nose rings (but, for all I know, it could be all the rage in Mexico City and in Guadalajara). Whom they were trying to impress here ? Is this how the NAFTA works "at peoples' level" ? In situations like this I feel the inadequacy of my Spanish most acutely irritating.
By now it was night. The HWY 200 is, with few short exceptions, mostly straight, the topes in villages are the main hindrance. This was my first long distance (230 km) night drive in Mexico. I have made it unscathed to Zihuatanejo travelling 100-110 km/h for most of the time. The drive remained me of Quebec: there was always somebody overtaking me, no matter at what speed I was going. The trick is to follow the overtaker at a safe distance, keeping your lights short. The rule that you are likely to pass where he did few moments ago usually does work, it helps if you too keep your eyes open. The horror stories found in every guide - about cows, assess, goats and drunken native drivers seem to be grossly exaggerated - the surviving local livestock must be intelligent enough to go off the road at night to somewhere else - I did not see a single one (and they are easy to spot - I vividly remember zillions of small deer socializing at night on highway in QCI). Native drunken drivers could well be out there, but their presence is surely compensated by the absence of elderly gringo drivers (and their big slow rigs) who are scared off the roads by articles they read in every guide about horrors of night-driving in Mexico...
We came back from Taxco convinced that all the best pieces produced by local silversmiths must have been sent out of town - there was really nothing original among thousands of pieces exhibited in local stores. We (read: Magda) have hoped that Ixtapa might have something better to offer, with all those discerning rich Americans being in plentiful supply, thus the trip I have mentioned at the beginning. Unfortunately the merchandise was the same as in Taxco (still, Magda found one nice piece), but the ambience was different - shop owners have all installed gigantic air-conditioners and I immediately felt back in Ottawa - fifteen below zero with strong wind blowing. By the evening I was sneezing, yesterday I was rather sick with cold, today both K&M say that I look better and that I am on the mend.
Zihuanatejo is our longest stop since Courtenay. We shall stay at Rodrigo's for approximately a month, and further route is still not quite decided upon - even continuing south to Costa Rica is a possibility. We hope Stefano (Rome) will be able to join us for a few weeks - he should, I think, enjoy Mexico very much, and his company will be great to have.
We were equally ambiguous when leaving Vancouver - it could have been either Utah, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, or Washington, Oregon, California. Or we could have sold Mavourneen and settle on Vancouver Island without going anywhere. Coming to think of it, we were facing a real freedom of choice - situation which, though available to most of us, is acted upon by only a few. Those few have to have, I think, enough information (adequate data base) to spot the unusual but tempting possibilities, and an ability to use their imagination to see further than the immediate and obvious consequences of them making an unorthodox move.
We have decided to take the shortest route south for two reasons: my data base indicated that we may go bankrupt during a prolonged travel through the US, and Andrzej, my friend from Los Angeles, an expert on Baja California, told me that November is the best month to travel there. Since the early sixties, when still in Poland, I wanted to make two trips:
(1): a drive from Cape Town through Karoo, Johannesburg, east to Lourenco Marques (Maputo) and then north along the east coast of Africa to Kairo, and
(2): an exploration of Baja California. Although I have made it to Cape Town in reasonably good time (March 1963) and subsequently spent some 14+ years in South Africa, the first trip has never materialized - mostly because of known circumstances beyond my control, and also because of my getting involved with the wrong woman (my ex-wife) who never liked to travel in my rag-top MG TD 1954 and who refused to use the tent in the bush (she had but dim perception of other factors, never being interested in geography, history or politics).
It took almost 40 years, but I think I have learned my lesson: Krystyna loves to drive the Silverado and she can sleep anywhere. As far as Baja California was concerned, history and politics were no longer the adverse factors, and geography was taken care of by purchasing the "Guia Roji por las carreteras de Mexico, generacion 2000" (a Mexican road atlas, 2000 edition).
Thus we decided to go directly for Los Angeles, along the West Coast of US, and then enter Baja at Tecate.
Crossing into Washington cost us our apples and some of the potatoes from Vancouver Island (those grown on VI and purchased there were a no-no, those grown on VI but bought in Vancouver were deemed to be OK) - they were confiscated by a couple of apologetic functionaries from the US Department of Agriculture (USDA) to be destroyed because of some rampant virus infection. The doors to their office were opened, and pulling out I have noticed that our apples were placed in a big carton marked "Jane" - his box, in which went our potatoes, was unmarked. I remember saying that this indicates either their individual preference for today's dinner, or highly specialized methods of disposal. K was quite happy with the outcome: Jane&friend did not find our a large carton full of vacuum packed salami, prosciutto, polish sausage etc., to say nothing about fourteen 750 ml bottles of "Gnieznienska gorzka zoladkowa" ((GGZ), a 40% proof remedy against any physical, spiritual or political adversity we were bound to encounter. After our previous experiences in Guatemala and Mexico we were, this time, coming prepared. I saw K's point - it was easy to imagine that the USDA couple knew also about some mutant virus infecting the choicest items in our larder, and they would not have had any problems in disposing of them either, there being a very large fridge in their office. To digress: the GGZ is an unexpected find which - as far as I know - can be purchased only in a hard to find Polish delicatessen in Vancouver. I have never seen it in Warsaw, Montreal, Toronto or NYC. It is sort of an aquavite/digestif, and considering its magical properties when imbibed it is, at the price, a donation not an expense. Our stock is now down to 5 bottles, so I know what I am talking about.
Other food items were bought in Vancouver in view of the fact that, in general, the prices of foodstuffs in U$ are, while numerically the same as in Canada, in U$ - an immediate 40+ disadvantage. This is true for the ordinary supermarket items. For "delicatessen type" stuff the factor is even higher - to purchase something of good quality (try cold pressed oil or cheese) would cost a fortune. Travel through Oregon etc. proved that we have made a wise decision.
I have no memories from the state of Washington. Oregon, however, an entity previously unknown, left me with impressions of fantastic shore line, very few tourists, miles of imposing sand dunes, scarcity of sani-dumps, lots of uncollected mushrooms everywhere. Big boards at every beach kept informing us that we should expect to be robbed - we were not, perhaps it's a seasonal thing. I have no opinion about RV parks - we did not visit any, not only in Oregon, but during our whole stay in the US. Either the friendly natives were telling us where is it safe to stop for the night, or we were enjoying the hospitality of a Wal-Mart. One surprising observation: in our drive through the coastal Oregon we did not see a single African-American. Also, there was not a single billboard extolling the virtues of Al Gore as a future President. Could there be a connection?
All of a sudden the price of petrol jumped to more than U$ 2/gallon - we were in affluent, eco-conscious California. We continued on HWY 101, after Oregon its (California's) famous shoreline seemed to be "more of the same". The general feeling was that everything in Oregon was neater, sort of "better taken care of" than in CA. We discovered that in CA every small village (even Elk, population 300) has an empty square of no obvious destination, excellent for parking. The trick is to arrive after sunset and not to ask anybody's permission - the natives in CA are less friendly, but once faced with the fait accompli do not want to be involved. And in the morning there is no "fait accompli" any more...
Going south from Tulare we have taken a "gray" (it had no number on the map) road to Los Padres National Forest - Frazier Park - Tejon Pass. It was only 2 lanes, but well paved and maintained. It was devoid of any road signs. On both sides there were "exclusive communities with houses nestling in magnificent scenery" - the real estate leaflet's description was very apt. Entry to each was through an arched gate adorned by hand-crafted, circular wooden shield bearing inscription: "Admittance for residents only" or words to this effect. I kept thinking of "Nür fur Deutsche" plaques of Warsaw's WW2 occupation vintage, but I admit I must have been oversensitive - American democracy has many faces and the locals obviously accept this "exclusivity" as normal.
The area is practically void of people, the scenery is superb, there is no traffic. The tourism is certainly not promoted - in Frazier Park we were unable to find a single blurb about the "local attractions", or a more detailed map.
The "gray nameless road" soon divided into two (both leading to HWY 33), there was no road sign, so we took the right branch - it seemed the more used one. Since we were planning an early arrival to Ojai this was a mistake - after few hours we have reached HWY 33 close to Cuyama, not to Scheideck. We had no regrets - the scenery was awesome, climbing up and down we saw the same sunset several times, every time the color of light and, consequently, of the mountains and valleys was different. At some point we entered a camping area called "National Forest Department - Pine Forest Club" (somewhere in Pleito Hills). It had no facilities except a building with hot shower and a printed sheet on the door telling the campers "not to befriend squirrels and rodents" because there is plague in the area (a curious distinction: it suggests that neither the National Forest Department nor the locals know that cuddly squirrel is also a filthy rodent. A Walt Disneyan slip ?). The camping fee was, nevertheless, U$15 per night (except for the "exclusive" people - they had it, I think, for free). We chose not to indulge.
It was almost dark when we have reached the junction with HWY 33. There was a fantastic moon, so we decided to continue to Ojai, through Las Padres National Forest. There were two road signs: first one said that "the road to Ojai is closed, expect 1 hour delay". The other, come 60 km further, was warning that "road could be closed at any time". By this time it was pitch dark, except for the moon, we ignored the signs thinking that if it will come to a crunch, we shall camp then and there. The signs translated into some roadwork, we proceeded to Ojai without hindrance of any kind. I kept thinking about the feelings of a tourist from Germany or Switzerland in this situation - they tend to take road signs seriously there.
At Ojai 8 gallons of propane (no pounds or kilos here, it is liquid so it is in gallons; why then crude oil, a "liquid gold", is measured in barrels and not in fluid ounces ?) cost U$17.01. Same tank was filled in Courtenay, BC, for C$16.00.
After Halloween in Ojai we went back on HWY 1, then continued on HWY 405. Nothing outstanding there, though the super houses around Malibu and Santa Monica do catch the eye.
In Tulare (and in the LA area) there are stretches of major highway (HWY 95 for example) made of sections of concrete and looking brand new. For some reason they provide a "washboard" drive - one feels like on the red-earth country road in rural South Africa. I was trying to adjust my speed so that I can "skim over the top" and thus minimize the vibrations (in SA 80 km/h usually did the trick), but even at 110 km/h it felt terrible, we were shaking everything to oblivion. One can not help but to think that the "Three Sisters" must have covered most of the cost of construction - this would explain the design.
But it was not "downhill from here" - LA was friendly us in many respects. Costa Mesa allowed us to park for a week on a huge concrete space in front of a very large building with cinemas, spa, and ice ring. We were not molested during the night or robbed during the day (Mavourneen was often left alone for hours). We visited a flea market - an overwhelming assortment of useless things at NYC's 5th Avenue prices (except for clothes - K bought a 5th Avenue jacket for U$1). A 15 years old enthusiast introduced me to the intricacies of customizing a motorized scooter (hulajnoga) - I was fascinated listening what needed to be done to reduce weight by 230 grams and to boost the power of 15 ccm engine. Well over 200 hours of work resulted in 2.5 mph increase of speed - and, as he demonstrated, it was now much easier to do a wheelee (spelling?). I was impressed, even more so when he said that it could be mine for U$350 - he wanted to upgrade. I declined but we parted friends. We were shown Russian delicatessen - excellent sour cherry jam, sausages, cold meats. We were fed superb meals by my friends. We rode with them bicycles along the river with the greatest concentration of birds I saw so far in the US, to see a local specialty, the sunset, from the seashore. We bought a car & trailer 1 year insurance for Mexico for U$350 - an excellent price considering that AAA wanted to charge us U$1,380 for, I think, only 6 months (I hope we "did not get what we paid for" - I feel that it rather was a case of AAA skinning their members alive).
We also drove to Hollywood and came back with firm impression "glad we have seen it, and never again". The Sunset Boulevard is, I am sure, full of memories, but a) - I am not of the proper age group to fully appreciate this aspect, and b) - one can not see the memories for dirt, tackiness, general dilapidation. We were quite amused by the prices at shops catering to beautiful people. It appears that either the city must be closing the area to the public when they shop, or they do their shopping from catalogues. I mean, in some 3 hours there I did not see anybody actually buying anything. While in NYC one can still find value for money - here I saw just excess.
But we met a chap driving a brand new "Sparrow" - an absolutely snazzy little eco-car for two which can be yours for U$ 14M. Fellow's name is Anthony Luzi, his e-mail is anthony@ecarmotors.com, and he has a web site: www.ecarmotors.com. We met "Najmici" (www.najmici.net) in flesh and spent some two hours making notes of their recommendations re Baja California. We parted not only much better "oriented", but also carrying a book about camping in Mexico which they lent us for the journey - a gesture we appreciated every day since, it proving to be the source of excellent information.
Our last night in USA was in El Cajon - not by design, but because we got lost. There were no road signs showing how to get onto HWY 94 south - to Tecate. We were so pissed-off driving around that we forgot to buy petrol at $1.73 gallon in El Cajon. The petrol station on American side in Tecate had three pumps: two were padlocked, only the one with 97 octane was opened (it looks like this is a permanent situation). This was the first time when Silverado was filled up at U$2.50 or so per gallon.
The crossing into Mexico was uneventful. The Yanks were nowhere to be seen - an arrogant rather than friendly absence, coming to think of it. The Mexicans were friendly and helpful - seeing my "clenched teeth" attempts at backing the "Mavourneen" up in the narrow street they decided to ignore the fact that it was practically blocking the custom area and left me in peace. It took me some 30 minutes to convince them that I do need all the papers I asked for, and we left with two tourist cards, and with the iridescent car import permit sticker on our windscreen shining in the sun.
The drive from Tecate to Ensenada was uphill - downhill, with Domecq vineyards and large round boulders of unfathomable (for us) origins everywhere. Pemex in Ensenada was the only one accepting credit cards - it was to be efectivo (cash) only from now on. The main advantage of Ensenada was that it was easy to by-pass, and we headed for Bufadora (a natural cave with vent in the rock through which waves blow a spectacular geyser of water straight up - like a bull snorting [bufar = snorting]). We spent the night in front of a restaurant, 200 m from the occurrence. In the morning we saw it for free - the season did not start yet and there was nobody to collect the fee. It was worth seeing even with the ocean being relatively calm, with big waves it ought to be really impressive.
From there to Catavinia there were no highlights. The scenery reminded me of some parts of South Africa, minus the fauna - except for an occasional buzzard in the sky and plentiful local blackbirds there was nothing visible moving in the desert. The road was made remarkable by the amount of rubbish accumulating everywhere, even far from human settlements. This situation should cause an explosion of rat population, but apparently it does not - there were no appropriate posters and we did not see a single rat anywhere. K observed that this tolerance for litter is indeed strange in view of the fact that the Mexicans, even the poor ones, are clean, though it's hard to guess how they do manage to achieve this level of personal hygiene considering the general scarcity of water and the conditions they are living in. It (this acceptance of filthy plein-air) must be something in national psyche - the earth-moving machinery is visible everywhere, the labor is cheap, still no one thought of digging out holes to put it all in. Instead one occasionally encounters - in the most surprising places - the somnabulic road-gangs using machetes to remove dry vegetation from both sides of the road. I never saw one of them to pick-up any of the rubbish.
Catavinia was all what was (by "Najmici") promised. I am sure that if this area would have been originally inhabited by an European tribe there would be a fable about a giant who wanted to build himself a castle, and who, being lazy and stupid, decided to bring all the material he needed at once, in a giant bag. He overloaded, stumbled, fell, the bag broke and the boulders killed and covered him. His blood turned earth red (German fable), he is still moaning somewhere under the stones and can be heard when the wind is blowing (English fable), his beloved keeps looking for him and can be seen when the moon is full (French version), she sings as she wanders around (Italian twist, I hope Stefano will approve), he was also carrying a barrel of excellent mescal, and it remains, still unbroken, to be found (Polish fable, us being the romantics and eternal optimists).
Catavinia is indeed a challenge for photographer, everything there offers a promise of great photo but at a cost of hard work - there is no guaranteed "scenic view " spot anywhere.
In Santa Rosalia we have discovered that N$50 Lada telephone card lasts some 3 minutes when one talks to Magda in Ottawa - rough equivalent to C$ 3/min. But I managed to give her the number of "Terco's Pollito" (where we were eating an excellent chicken dish), she used her DT card and five minutes later we conversed in Polish for C$ 0.1/min. It was a noisy place when I picked up the phone, nobody was talking when I finished, all eyes were on me. Spoken Polish can have this effect on people when heard for the first time.
Santa Rosalia's SEMATUR (ferry) office told us that the prices have been changed, and it will be N$10,300 to cross to Guaymas from here (14 meters of truck&trailer + 2 passengers), or to Mazatlan from Pichilingue. But they still have a "special price" of N$6,380 for crossing from Pichilingue (La Paz) to Topolobampo. In October SEMATUR's web site quoted N$1,104.80 for the Pichilingue - Topolobampo crossing, but it was no use to fret about this 580% increase, we felt lucky that they have this "promotion price" and hoped it will hold until we reach La Paz. This "dwell on the positive" attitude, important in all aspects of life, comes particularly handy when travelling in Mexico - your "vacation fun" is bound to be ruined without it.
After Santa Rosalia, some 35 km before Mulege, we veered off the HWY 1 to Punta Chivato - 20+ km on a dirt road. Being washboard most of the time it was a painful challenge to Mavourneen, but passable at a slow speed. The road ended at a long beach with hard, compacted sand. The whole area was neatly subdivided into generous rectangular lots, and several nice pastel-colored houses were already built, but they appeared to be uninhabited. We decided to stay for the night (the time was around noon, but K wanted to hunt for shells), and I started to walk around in search for just the right spot. The closest pastel door opened - a nicely dressed woman standing in them was telling me in clear American that although she personally has nothing against us camping here for one night, Jose, the local groundkeeper, temporarily absent on an errand, might, since he feels responsible (translation: he is paid) for making sure that only the residents and their friends are allowed in (translation: for keeping trash like us out). She suggested "just the place" at the nearby estuary, she has yesterday directed two RVs there, we will have company. She proceeded to gave me directions. "OK," said I, "Thank you, this sounds much better than stopping here". She went inside, I started to make an U turn, eventually I was closer to her house than before. She opened the door again - "Would you like some ice?" she said "I can give you a bag". I should have answered "No, thank you, we are teetotalers, you know", giving her puzzle for puzzle, but I only managed "No, thank you, we are OK", and we drove off. Ten minutes later we were hopelessly stuck in a mud. Her instructions were good, and, going through a flat terrain which obviously was flooded every rainy season, we saw, in the distance, two RVs as promised - but in front of us the track disappeared into an enormous puddle. The obvious thing was to get out and walk through it to "feel the lay of the bottom", I learned in Mocambique that one has to do it every time and there are no excuses. But the flats around looked dry, they were covered with tire-marks, and it seemed that the two RVs have already taken all available parking space. So I did not climb out to investigate, but drove off the track and started to turn around. I did not go far, just far enough to sink in the thick mud, sink irremediably, up to Mavourneen's axles. GMC spun only its rear wheels - although it was in four-wheel drive, the front ones were not rotating. K - I must give it to her - blanched but did not tremble. "It was a temerarious decision to go off the track like this, I am really sorry I did" said I, only suspecting that the word I used is appropriate, but hoping it will show - much better than the expected string of profanities - that I am cool, and still in control. K later explained that it worked for a different reason: when I acted like an ass getting us for no reason into a hopeless situation, she was furious and ready to tell me what an idiot I was at length and in no uncertain terms, but when I started talking funny she thought better of it, thinking I'm becoming irrational, and her self-preservation instinct told her to do her best to help instead. The point is that my method of propitiation has worked, whatever the psychology, and I can recommend it for those who tend to put their partners occasionally under the unexpected stress.
I walked to the two RVs to ask for help. I was met by two American couples and 12 assorted dogs. The men were incapacitated by back problems, but agreed to help once I explained that all I need is a tow and that I will do all the necessary lifting. It helped when K became an immediate friend with all the dogs, she is unbelievable with all animals with the exception of spiders, mosquitoes and ants. The men said they were keen to try out their new winch. So far so good - we were in luck. They positioned their truck (a Ford Ram of some sort, with a diesel), connected the steel cable to the GMC and started pulling. Sitting in my cab I was sure that, considering our relative weights, the winch will simply pull their truck in my direction, and I still do not understand why it did not happen - the winch pulled me out, their truck did not budge. It must have taken an hour and their truck had to be repositioned twice, but at the end I was standing again on the firm ground. This was an awkward moment - I had to express my gratitude, but how ? I couldn't bring myself to say "thanks a lot, how much do I owe you guys ?" - one never knows what figure might have been mentioned, them being Yanks, thinking in U$, with 12 dogs to feed and in possible need of expensive medical treatment. So I depleted our stock of GGZ by one bottle and left them convinced that this herbal cordial was helping Poles with back problems for generations. We shook hands and I departed in the direction of Punta Chivato. We passed the pastel-colored house with the extra bag of ice inside, and decided to camp much further, at a stretch of empty (but already bulldozed level) shore, above the beach. There were some pastel-colored houses here too, but far away. I wanted to turn us around, to face inland (it's always wise to be ready for a speedy departure), and decided to make an U-turn - it seemed easier than to follow K's advice to back up etc. rather than go through the sand. I promptly got stuck once more, GMC (in 4 wheel drive) was - again - turning only its hind wheels. This time I did not make any smart-Alec remarks (one develops this feeling for "enough is enough" after a while) and gave K the floor - but she was speechless. Her calm and poise are etched in my memory forever. Within two hours we were rescued by an American from the closer house - it was easy, GMC needed just a touch of help.
We saw a hotel's ad on our way here, I invited K for a beer. We left Mavourneen, the location seemed safe enough. After some 10 km, a filthy native slum-village, and a landing strip, there was whole suburb of expensive-looking houses and one very large building with impressive gateway, so large we took it for the hotel. It was a private house - at least 50 rooms in the middle of the "suburb" but without a direct access to the ocean. Hard to guess who was the owner - Clintons have just bought a house somewhere else. Somehow with all these money spent on accommodation nobody bothered about streets - they were all dirt, and in a bad shape. Obviously it was better business to buy a Jeep Cherokee than to invest in the Mexican infrastructure. Eventually we found the hotel too, very posh and "Mexican-cozy" in style: tiles everywhere, bungalows, plants, big restaurant with tremendous view of the ocean, and a pretty hostess form Chile speaking excellent American. It (the hotel) was, of course, ochre-colored. There were no guests to be seen. The hotel had a promotion: one night was U$150 with breakfast, U$150 for a "junior suite" (no pesos were mentioned, obviously this place did not cater to peso-thinking clientele). The menu in restaurant started at U$20 - we did not bother to find out how much they wanted for a cold Bud... We drove back under a superb moon. Mavourneen was still there, waiting for us and intact.
Next day we have discovered that there is no IC (Internet Café) in Mulege. We met my rescuers from the mud with their 12 dogs. Men thanked me for GGZ - their back problems were gone. The women were also all smiles - it was evident that GGZ had beneficial effect all around. We saw a mission, left Mulege, and camped at Playa Requeson - right on the beach. There were no facilities, only few RVs, plenty of beautiful scenery and an overflowing rubbish drum. A very businesslike young woman was walking around collecting a fee of N$40/night. "What am I paying for" I asked her "there are no facilities here". "For the beach" said she, scoring a point for Mexico.
We stayed for two nights - with a generator or solar cells it would definitely have been longer. Only when leaving we realized that our neighbor in a VW Westfalia is a Pole - Maciej Bielecki from Brooklyn, NYC. He told us to make a side trip - without the trailer - to Puerta Agua Verde, some 50 km south from Loreto.
It is south from Mulege that Baja California begins to be up to its billing - the highway runs high over the ocean, it twists a lot and just about every turn offers new fantastic vistas. Next stop was Loreto - in my opinion second (Santa Rosalia was first) Baja's town with some Mexican (or should I rather say "mainland-Mexico's" ?) atmosphere. We parked at "El Moro" - a property of Aristides Hernandez Solis, a Lebanese of many languages and engaging personality, now settled and married here. The fee was U$10 day, pesos were accepted but not exactly welcomed.
Loreto has an internet café, a terrible one, with slow computer, exorbitant prices (N$60/h !) and a female teenager attendant - painted like an Easter egg, incompetent and arrogant. Next door there is a "Café au lait" - the focal point for the exchange of information. On its notice board somebody was advertising a very interesting house for 79M U$ - we decided to have a look. The owner was a charming first generation Hungarian-Mexican (he spoke fluent Hungarian and regularly visited family in the old country), settled here for years. His very pretty and vivacious wife was a native of Loreto. He was an expert on building golf courses (he mentioned names of few of his creations). It immediately transpired that our visit was a misunderstanding (the property was selling for U$ 479M - the "4" somehow disappeared from the ad) and I said so - but his charm did not fade and we were given a tour of a whale of a house, with everything custom made or imported, and not necessarily from the USA. On a side table I saw (but was not shown - that was the touching difference very much appreciated) two framed photographs - on them presidents Regan and Bush were expressing, in long-hand, their thanks for the hospitality received under his roof. Our host was also building townhouses - we saw them later - and if any of you plan to settle in Loreto, I will gladly provide an introduction.
Next day - Nov 15 - we left Mavourneen with Aristides and drove to Puerta Agua Verde. The drive is rewarding, but not for faint of heart. It has 2+ km long stretch of a rocky track so narrow that GMC's precipice-side wheels had, several times, no clearance to speak off - definitely not a spot to have a flat (remember to leave your Firestones at home). K said that she sort of felt suspended in the air, rather than sitting in the cab. Every few hundred meters I went on foot to memorize the "lay of the road" - this was not the scene for improvising on the fly (a particularly apt idiom considering the circumstances). I was inspecting a really bad section when I saw an aged Nissan pickup going in the opposite direction. It carried a tethered horse. I have left GMC standing in a niche in the rock, so the pickup could pass, but if we would have met anywhere within the next 500 m, there would be no option but for one of us (me, as it happen - I was the one going downhill) to back up. Climbing this road in GMC in reverse would be an act of Faith - and being a lapsed Catholic I really think you would not be reading this if I had to do it then and there. Long ago, with Adam (now in Calgary) we were driving, during a cloud burst, a Jeep in Lesotho - it was a memorable experience, but this was much more exciting.
We reached the sea level uneventfully, it was an anti-climax, just another rocky beach with a dilapidated palapa. A large 5th wheel was corroding next to it. It must have been brought here either by sea, or by helicopter. There was nobody to ask - the woman in palapa, seeing us, departed for the hills. We walked on the beach - no shells, but we found a camp of kayakers, with nobody around. Map said that the road continues for 14 km, but it looked like it was going to rain and we decided to turn around rather than trust that the "road" will be still there after the event. Going back was OK, except that in this direction it was me sitting in the air - and I have fear of heights. The rain did not materialize.
We drove from Loreto to La Paz in one day, going straight for Playa Tecolote. Great place to camp, there is always somebody else there and one is right on the beach. Continuous strong wind is refreshing and keeps insects away, but it could become bothersome after a while. Puerto Balandra, a beach and bay of unreal beauty are 2 km away - we were told the mosquitoes there (there is mangrove swamp) can eat you alive. There are good trails for mountain biking. There is a restaurant. And all this is next door to SEMATUR's ferry point of departure (Pichilingue) - very convenient, since we were going to take a ferry to Topolobampo.
SEMATUR's procedure of getting on the ferry actually achieved the impossible: it surpassed, in its bureaucratic idiocy, the reservation procedures practiced by BC Ferries. Pichilingue has nothing to do with ticket sales or reservations. For this you have to drive your rig to SEMATUR's city office, located at a street in the center, with no place to park but at the curb. This is a problem only if you persist in your gringo mentality - those "mexico-adjusted" do, if there is no space at the curb, simply double-park on the street. Nobody minds if this creates a traffic jam for a cuadra (city block) or two, providing that your partner, left in the cab, sticks to English only and plays an "idiot gringo" to the hilt. K is a natural. What's more, when excited, she speaks only Polish. She always is left in peace. You, in the meantime, go to the clerk's window, arrange the departure date, make sure that the ferry on this day will be of the "pull-through" type, present all papers, wait for the photocopies to be made, then wait some more. Eventually two ladies with a tape will leave the office and go with you to your rig to measure it. You follow them back to the office, pay with your credit card, and wait for your ticket to be issued. When your ticket and receipt are stapled together one of the ladies will tell you that as a matter of fact the ferry you are going to board is not of the pull-through type: you will have to back in, drive out. I hope that those of you who will follow on this route will appreciate this information - it should help defuse the frustration one is bound to experience.
We liked the La Paz - Tecolote combination, and stayed for a few days alternating between the "El Cardon" RV park (N$130/d) and the beach. In La Paz we discovered the "Le Bistrot Francais Café Restaurante" (calle Esquero No.10), with good food in the N$60-80 range and good paintings on the walls.
From La Paz we drove to El Sargento. The drive was remarkable by the longest straight descent I saw in a long time. I mean, there are no curves - the road is ruler-straigth for, if I remember it right, 7 kilometers, and the angle is quite steep. At the bottom you turn left at the tree on which branch a dead cow hangs suspended by its hind legs. There is also a road sign.
El Sargento has a long, permanently windy beach, and a large RV park with no facilities - but one should be able to fill up with water, some rigs were connected to pipes sticking out from the ground. Once a day a shy old man appears, collects N$50 and gives you a receipt. All the best places were taken up by devotees of para-surfing etc., who regularly come here for a few months every year. They were not particularly friendly - nobody ventured to start a conversation with us - we were "noticed but ignored". I admit we did not fit in - the wet suit (with zipper in front opened half way down) is an accepted attire for walking around, and our shorts and T-shirts were frowned upon. We explored the vicinity in GMC and on MBikes - the latter proved disastrous, both my tires were punctured by small spiky seeds which were everywhere. Most of the beaches we saw were stony, all were practically the same. But the trip (by GMC) to Los Barriles was different. The road was a dirt track through the mountains - the same as one to Puerta Agua Verde - but it was going above the Bahia de los Muertos and views of the ocean and shoreline were out of this world. It was like a slide show - just about every turn was equivalent to a new picture - and every one was technically perfect, in 3D and FUJICOLOR.
There were many small beaches, some were accessible by 4WD. On one of those we found a gentleman from Utah who camped there in his dilapidated RV (no electricity, no water) for months each year. He was living off the ocean (fishing was good) and drove 20+ km to Los Barriles to do his shopping. I commented on his solitude - he said the ocean and desert provide incessant diversion, he reads a lot, and his girlfriend, who drives to join him from NWT (North West Territories, Canada), should be joining him any day now.
Near Punta Pescadero we suddenly came upon a very serious - very wide and very long - landing strip. On it were standing tens of assorted "executive jets" (not a single Cessna among them). Such strip here was so surprising that I took photos. The mystery was short lived - next turn revealed another "suburb" of pastel-colored houses, much larger and much more opulent than the one at Punta Chivato. It seemed that this was "one jet one household" community.
In Los Barriles only the village's name was Mexican. The prices in restaurants and in the shopping mall were in U$, the passers-by conversed in loud American. It happened to be Todos Santos - the only manifestation of which was a sort of mercado with impromptu stands. The trash on them (mostly children toys) was all plastic, useless and appallingly ugly. Most of it was made in China, India or Philippines. It was sort of perverse joy to see that things "hecho en Mexico" were practically non existent. I wonder why - it's surely naïve to hope that as yet there is no manufacturer in Mexico callous enough to make money by polluting the imagination of children.
When we returned to El Sargento we found the door to Mavourneen wide opened. Incredibly, we forgot to close and lock it when leaving. There was nothing missing, it was also obvious that nobody have been inside during our absence. None of the "permanent residents" approached us with a comment - although we were gone for the whole day, and the situation must have been noticed. Next day the shy man asked for 100 pesos (a 2 days' fee) - he certainly noticed our absence, he said that yesterday he has called twice and we "weren't there".
Nov. 27 was the "D-day", we drove from Tecolote to ferry's terminal at Pichilingue 3 hours before the departure, as requested. I immediately found an expert SEMATUR driver who promised - for 10 pesos - to load our rig in reverse on "Loreto" with no problema. He did, I was so impressed that I gave him 40 pesos. By now I am not so bad behind the wheel myself, but it was like seeing the impossible happen. Then we watched the virtuosity of SUNATUR drivers backing up enormous trucks onto the ferry with centimeters to spare - unerringly, quickly and always with no problema.
We spent the night sleeping in the airline-style chairs - they were quite comfortable, considerably more so than those found on BC Ferries. We were in Topolobampo on time. My dream trip No.2 was completed 40 years after its conception. My impression was that perhaps I waited too long. Driving down the length of Baja California I was witnessing the replay of the XIX-th century conquest of the Wild West. This time there is no no cavalry and the wagons are replaced by jets - it is the conquest by wealth. The settlements, though, are still being built. The whole process is made much faster by technology and more insidious by lack of open conflict. Construction of a private airstrip or completion of one more "settlement" with pastel-colored houses remains unnoticed - only putting one of them to the torch would bring the world-wide TV coverage. But there are no Apaches here to do it. Mexicans are fierce nationalists, proud of their history and of their fascinating culture. It would appear, however, that those Mexicans live on the mainland Mexico. Baja California, largely a rocky desert devoid of people, is left to its own devices. It has no natural resources to speak of - except its beauty. With Mexican government seemingly not interested (a false statement if you approve of Cancun, Acapulco, Ixtapa etc.), this beauty became the commodity traded by developersand real estate agents. There are no restrictions. It's cheap at the price only for Americans - in a real estate agency in Los Barriles there was no house to be had below U$180,000.
Thus the California moves south at the speed of executive jet. It could well come to pass that twenty or forty years from now the cost of replacing "Baja" with "Lower" in the today's name (in US dollars, of course) will be a well-known economic statistics. Researchers would generally agree that it was a good investment, notwithstanding the new territory's rampant crime rate and appalling pollution. Topolobampo is 1,650 km from Zihuanatejo. We should be averaging 183 km/day to be there few days before Magda's arrival.
The long stretch to Mazatlan does not have much to offer - the towns look like Hamilton (Ontario), the terrain like Manitoba. We arrived to Mazatlan late in the evening, still it was easy to find the "La Ensenada" RV park - the access from the HWY 15 is well marked and very convenient for those coming from the north. "La Ensenada" is for sale and, consequently, it is in the state of disintegration. The caretaker does not take care of anything, is not to be found, and appears only once a day to collect N$150. I think something unpleasant must have happened to the owners and caretaker has no income other than the camping fees. The place is huge and used to provide full hook-ups, but we spent quite some time to find a site with everything working - I would say that only 30% of facilities remain operational. The ambience was rather eerie - out of 200 sites only 4 were occupied by long-term residents in huge motorhomes. Two embellished them - and an adjacent tree - with blinking Christmas lights. They spent their time inside, presumably watching TV - the rigs bristled with antennas. We soon relocated to a nearby street ending at Playa Cerritos and joined several RVs already there. But each night we drove from there to La Ensenada to take a hot shower - two out of original 20 were still working.
Mazatlan has a lot to offer. It has a really well informed Tourist Information Center (Coordination General de Turism-Sinaloa, Av. Camaron Sabalo esq. Tiburon, Edificio Banrural, 4to Piso) which, knowing its value and competence, does not advertise - the office is actually hidden in the building of the bank (Banrural) and there is no sign of their existence visible from the street. But they employ Senor Jorge Barraza, who speaks excellent English, is patient and courteous, and who really knows what happens in the city and its vicinity. Senor Barraza recommended "Tunel" - a restaurant with genuine local cuisine. We found it opposite the quite impressive theater "Angela Peralta". AP arrived to Mazatlan in 1883 and died of bubonic plague before she ever appeared on stage. Even so she is, obviously, well remembered. The "Tunel" was remarkable by its good authentic food and its waitress who looked like a mime - she has had a snow white complexion and displayed astonishing number of even whiter and very big teeth. Both "Tunel" and AP theater are in the old city, which is quite big and full of interesting houses at least century old. Many are abandoned, many must have been purchased recently and are being renovated. This is real Mexico, it's well worth seeing.
Zona Dorada is is a different story - a tourist-oriented (read: American tourist oriented) agglomeration of posh hotels, shops with mass produced arts and crafts, and overpriced restaurants. And there is an astonishing number of outlets of "Mr. Frog" - a shop offering clothing for the fashion-conscious sportsmen. In Zona Dorada we purchased two tickets (N$80 each, credit cards accepted) for Isla Venado, being assured that this is the place abundant with shells. The passage itself was quaint, on a cross between WW2 landing craft and earth-moving machine with huge wheels, but the trip was a waste of time: Isla Venado offers just another beach, there are no shells, most of the shore is rock, there is no shade, one can not even have a decent walk - there is nowhere to go.
Next stop was San Blas and a night at RV park "Loco Coco" - we paid N$100 for electricity only, nothing else was working "as advertised", except mosquitoes. The owner, sinister looking and suspicious, befitted the place.
San Blas has a proper zocalo, we went there late in the evening and caught the end of a fiesta. A local talent review (not a contest with 1st, 2nd etc. places) was going on, there was a microphone, big loudspeakers, the works. A chap played guitar, another sang about the sad state of his corazon (heart), there was a local (announcer proudly emphasized this) poet reciting several of his poems, and there was even a rough looking fellow who sang in American. I do not think Ottawa could muster such a show - during my 14 years there it certainly did not. But then there is no zocalo in Ottawa - and the space before the Parliament is suitable for political gatherings only.
After a night at Sayulita (U$12, excellent RV park, everything works) we arrived at Puerto Vallarta around 11:00 h, left Mavourneen alone at the outskirts of the city, and spent few hours finding out what has changed since our previous visit. Chilaquilas con huevos (my favorite) and huevos motulenos (K's choice) at Posada El Roger were still excellent, but at about twice the price. Nearby, at calle Basillio Badillo #274 we found a new shop "Viva" which is "Representing 135 jewelry designers from around the world. French Ballet Slippers, hand made espadrilles and hand bags", to quote from their leaflet. It's posh, expensive, and different - pieces are unusual, some of them are very good indeed. There was even amber in silver mountings which we thought to be Polish, but were told came from Russia. The city itself did not change - the big bronze "fantasy figures" were still standing on malecon, maybe there were more of them. I think they are by Bustamante, still there is not much Mexican about them. They are simply good art, they would fit equally well in any city.
We leave Puerto Vallarta late and night catches us in, I think, Chamela - a nothing village favored, for some reason, as a night stop by drivers of big trucks. It was after 20:00 h, but a one-room bicycle repair shop was still open, the owner had nothing against us spending night in front of his house. He was on the point of closing for the day, we drank a beer I offered, but there was no conversation - we were both tired. In the morning he sold me a bicycle tube for N$20, exactly the same as one I bought in La Paz for N$35.
We hoped that during this trip we find a place which will be a discovery, and Tenacatita was it. It was recommended by Tomek from Nairobi via the e-mail. Three years ago he visited me in Ottawa and was enthusiastic about my favorite spot on Lake La Peche in Gatineau, so, knowing that "we like alike", I was expecting something special. Tenacatita delivered in spades. It is one of those places you may not find even if you are there - it is guarded by a rather repulsive village called El Rebalsito, with a plant (processing coconuts), few dirt streets, and a standard beach with unappetizing palapa - type restaurants. You must trust Tomek to persevere, take the right turn at the T junction, ignore the apparent end of the road, proceed about 300m uphill-downhill on a track seemingly impassable to a travel trailer (for the first time I had to engage the low gear when in 4WD, and for the first time K lost her cool and wanted to get out), but once there you know it was worth it. The area is small, even, excellent for camping (though there is no shade). It separates two bays and it is cut off, on the two remaining sides, by two hills. One bay offers excellent snorkeling (it has a coral reef of sort), another has serious waves. The nearer hill offers views, sunsets and solitude of intimidating magnitude. The other one looks less promising, and we did not climb it.
The first hill we did explore, quite extensively, during the day or our arrival - K was looking for her "special cactus", I was photographing. But it was during the night, under the full moon when Saint Exupery's Little Prince (I was never Peter Pan's fan) came sliding down on moonlight to join me on its top. We pushed the clock back and tried to sort out those many years I have lived through but somehow never have had time to really think about.
With only one other trailer (Arizona, elderly couple, entrenched for the winter) and a few people snorkeling near the reef we had the area to ourselves. I noticed that an attempt was made to develop it - there were electricity poles in place - but the work was discontinued. It's frightening to think that in a year or so one will find here a cluster of pastel-colored houses and a marina (there is not enough space for an airstrip).
Passage through Manzanillo (our next stop, we parked for one night at an empty lot behind the Information Turistica's office) was a mess thanks to the colossal road works conducted on the main crossing of main highways. But for the help of police we would be still there trying to find the way out.
Driving from Manzanillo to Lazaro Cardenas we saw quite a few enticing and wild coves with white sand - accessible only from the sea. I made a note to propose to Piotr and Iwona a joint trip - half of the party driving on the highway, another half proceeding in their boat, with the exchange of crews at pre-arranged point. And with the long stop-over at Maruata.
Maruata deserves a chapter, not a mention. It rivals Tenacatita, but it's beauty is different, more National Geographic/Wonders of Nature in style. It is an ensemble of several coves, some very secluded, all with sandy beaches, separated by rocky fingers and ridges descending into the ocean, with a natural tunnel which is full of ocean or half empty, depending on tide, through which, if you made your last will, you can let the current carry you, an estuary of a shallow (it was dry season) river complete with fishing boats and plethora of birds, and a bufadora. All this is dominated by a Finger of God and a ridge with one side perpendicular but other accessible. You can easily climb a hill close to the Finger of God, and if you do, you sort of feel His hand everywhere, the views are so spectacular. On the crest of the ridge you can rent a very primitive shack with a hammock - in the evening the sight of these shacks contoured against the skyline make anything a big city can offer very second rate indeed. It is a place where one would expect to see, at the table in palapa-on-the-river, Shakespeare writing a sequel to "Romeo&Juliet". We have had a fried fish with few beers there. There was no William in sight, but we had a full moon, reflecting in the water and looking at us from behind a palm which curved over the lagoon. A huge toad was drumming, loud and very close, in most peculiar way. When it quieted, somebody's trumpet, coming from the rocky ridge above us, brought a very good rendition of "Saint Louis Blues". Pity that these parts were colonized by Spain - if Maruata would have been acquired by Poles the attainments of our romantic literature would surely be twice as impressive.
Local people are friendly and, to our surprise, not "tourist oriented"- places to camp are plentiful and nobody asks for payment. The only down side is that the Maruata is well known and it could be inundated with people. We had it all to ourselves - there were but few other gringos around.
The RV park at Hotel Playa Azul (N$150/d) should be avoided. The access is difficult, over terrible road, the parking space awkward and very limited.
On Dec. 11th we camped (N$50/day with electricity only, in front of a local fisherman's house, 20 m from the beach) at Troncones - some 40 km north from Zihuanatejo. The village is a mix of Mexican and pastel-colored houses. The beach is long, the sand clean. People are few. We would have stayed few days, but for one problem: we kept shortening our host's electrical system. You should see this installation if you feel that your faith in Providence needs strengthening. He kept fixing it but it was obvious that with us connected a major disaster must happen. In my mind's eye I saw his house catching fire - burning to the ground - himself and his family of five joining us in the Mavourneen - serious compatibility problems developing within a few days. So we left next morning, leaving him busy rewiring the portion which melted, quite spectacularly, during the night.
The rest you already know: we were lucky to find Rodrigo - no guidebook mentions his RV park's existence. We will be there till the end of January. It's a lively place, company is great and things happen all the time. Detailed description will follow - wait for the next update.
I owe everybody an apology for missing December 24th - the date I was aiming at - to send you all this together with appropriate wishes - from Krystyna, Magda and myself - of Feliz Navidad and prosperous New Millenium. It did not happen for a variety of reasons, important at the time. Please accept them (our wishes) now, and please keep in touch.
Internet Cafés are many in Zihuanatejo, they have good computers and my e-mail address remains
wjz_00@hotmail.com
from Mahahual, Quintana Roo, 24 Feb 2001
Abrazos afectuosos, WJZ i K 00-12-23
