Layne's sister rented a large seaside villa just north of Zihuatanejo for ten days during the grandchildren's Spring Break. That this is also Semana Santa was a happy coincidence for us in that we can escape the worst crowds and fireworks and noise of the busiest holiday week in Mexico. We did that by the simple expedient of parking at their rented place.
Geeta's youngest son and his wife are here, at the surfing spot where they met more than a decade ago and where they come back from time to time to surf the point at Saladita Beach. We aren't surfers and wouldn't normally seek out a beach with huge waves but under the circumstances we couldn't really just drive by.
We get to live in the van but this being a tropical beach we don't do much more than sleep in our own bed which is lovely of itself. The house has warm showers, WiFi, a swimming pool and flushing toilets. So what would you do? Drive by and ignore the family? Of course not! Wash dishes using your own limited water supply? I think not.
It's tropical living, with a massive terraced area with a kitchen, a sitting area (above) and shade during the day. There are small people present, known to some as grandchildren, but I think they have been warned to leave the grump bear alone when he seeks solitude and so far I have found sufficient seclusion to spend time at the laptop.
I can sit at the dining area table in the breeze, listen to the waves crashing and compose masterful essays for my web page. Not too shabby, and a cold glass of Bohemia at one's elbow doesn't hurt at all, I hope.
I got up just before dawn yesterday and slipped out of the van with Rusty and my camera for a beach walk. I was glad he walked with me at first along the beach, just the two of us at first, as we like it.
He had a hard time when we first arrived when the family took a walk toward the point on the beach. There are surfer rentals opposite the waves and their dogs came out in a group and intimidated Rusty, who very sensibly started for home. I went with him and met a few oddball characters on the strand one of whom took my picture for me with a complete stranger:
As a result of all that Semana Santa festivity I turned in the opposite direction when we left the house in the gray light of dawn, hoping we would have a quiet walk together. He came a short way with me, paused and turned back. I was scornful but Rusty was the smart one as it turned out. A leggy black dog, similar to a Doberman wearing a proper collar came barking at me from one of the large beach houses. I thought it might have been a former street dog taken in by a surfer and wasn't the least bit worried as it circled and barked. The owner came out and started yelling at it ineffectually and as I turned to him the dog ducked in behind me and tried to bite me, getting a mouthful of shirt instead.
"Uh, sorry about that," muttered the young imbecile trying to control his dog with his voice and ineffectual gestures. Not what I would call an apology or effective control so I picked up a stone and the dog understood that gesture and ignoring us both, the brute ran back to the house. This beach was not working for me and I got no decent dawn pictures either.
Later in the day brother in law Bob said he wanted to go body surfing with one of those foam bath tub surf boards, the ones you use by lying flat on them dangling your feet and letting the wave carry you. I'd rather swim personally.
The Pacific Ocean is restless, and that's the reason I am looking forward to Baja beaches in a couple of weeks on the Sea of Cortez where Pacific swells and cold air will be absent. The water here is not very cold at all, especially now I have been trained to ignore cold water and to simply get used to it after a few minutes immersion.
The difficulty lay in the frequent dumps of heavy foamy salt water every few seconds or minutes as the surf rolled in. This is why we generally avoid surfer beaches. However I had watched my nephew Aidan hopping through the waves the day before and I gave that a try.
Yes I know it looks absurd but it was actually fun. I was standing in water no more than waist deep on firm level sand underfoot. The white water crashed...
I hopped, holding my nose as I am not fond of burning my nostrils and then took a few quick strokes toward the next wave. And so it went. Bob came up to me laughing as he had just caught a wave on his body board and he timed it so perfectly he rode it to the beach. He claimed I brought him good luck, which I was happy to accept though I thought it unlikely. For myself there was a new breakthrough, so simple so obvious it shouldn't need saying.
I got tired of hopping like a bunny rabbit so on the next crashing wave I waited till the last minute and went under. Completely brilliant! The wave passed overhead as a dark band, I felt the back of the wave with my raised feet and I popped up into smooth water and started swimming. That what I was doing is normal form for surfers gives you some idea of how little I know. And I lived twenty years in the surfing capital of Northern California (a disputed title!) in Santa Cruz.
Up came the wave, I pointed my waterproof Panasonic TS7 at it, then down I ducked...
And up I came to continue swimming in the smooth water behind the wave.
I enjoyed this pattern for some considerable time and eventually, reluctantly returned to civilization at the beach. Megan met me there and I told her of my discovery of how to deal with surf. Her eyes widened.
"You just this moment figured it out?" She high fived my discovery, it was a signal moment in my surf development.
Later at the pool Jessie explained that surfers call that maneuver the "duck dive" because you are ducking under the strength of the water and at the same time you look like a duck popping up from the depths. Apparently surfers also use a similar avoidance technique when they are riding long heavy boards and they call that the turtle roll. They flip on their backs and hold the board above them, and ride through the foam that way. Which maneuver he said does not always end well.
I swam some more in the afternoon and I tried to teach 5 year old Everett to swim, pushing through the fear in his eyes and after dinner, two pastas cooked by the sisters (Layne's was better of course though I ate plenty of both, in solidarity you understand)and we played Texas Hold'em. I lost which is all I need to say about that except that Megan won and she enjoyed it, the winning.
Which reminds me, I owe her 200 pesos. I think I had better go duck diving to drive the bitterness from my heart.
