Ejido

Monday morning at Tenacatita is the quiet day, the restaurants are closed and everyone is counting their takings from Sunday, the peak beach day in Mexico. We weren’t entirely alone with four youngsters spending  Sunday night on our small beach with a campfire and songs and laughter while the New Mexico Sprinter van with the two large dogs took itself apart and parked on the hill above the beach. It gives a broad view of the beach but limits contacts with passersby. I took this photo from the spot while they spent Sunday in seclusion somewhere else. 

Our buddy Ron’s comment on the aerial parking spot was that he wasn’t that keen to be the center of attention. I miss Ron. He’d have enjoyed my walk this morning. I got stopped by an armed man.

It happened like this: Knowing the beach would be empty I decided Monday was the day to set my Panasonic FZ1000 to black and white and seek out some contrasting compositions in morning pictures. Not every sunrise has to be recorded I hope, lest we get boring. Well here’s one more! 

As Rusty and I walked into the restaurant area a private insecurity car drove by. The occupant mumbled a good morning back at me as he filmed me with his phone. You know it’s been a dreary night shift when me walking Rusty is the highlight of your shift. We ambled on. I saw a restaurant table trying to make break for it, so in similar fashion to the security guard I made the wild action of the poor table the highlight of my morning! Exciting stuff! 

Rusty wanted to check out the road into the beach area so off we ambled, taking turns to sniff and photograph.

Naturally Rusty got bored first and turned back whereupon I turned onto a side road to play with those long tall coconut palms that remind me of home.

Whereupon a man composed of six parts muscle and two parts armament approached and asked if I spoke Spanish. “Por suppuesto” I replied as though every lonely lunatic gringo speaks the lingo when cornered. This is private property he said. You can only walk and photograph on the beach and the road which are Federal property. I was suitably chastened and polite to all six of them and promised not to do it again now I knew and everyone smiled, including the thin wiry guy with the gold capped teeth and we got to chatting. I commiserated with them about the trials of night shift and they introduced me to their dog who Rusty had met on the beach previously.

I called Rusty but had to whistle twice to get his attention. I do the same to my wife I said sadly. The first time she calls I ignore her. Much hilarity.  We turned for home and they waved good bye. A nice clean report to file to end their shift. The dueno’s (boss’s) property rights maintained.

Which brings me to the title of today’s story: the Ejido described in the dictionary as a noun:

(in Mexico) a piece of land farmed communally under a system supported by the state.

"Mexico's unique ejido land tenancy system"

There’s a bit of history here so skip this if you aren’t interested. When Mexico won independence in 1810 the idea of freedom was a noble one and presumably everyone would benefit from Spain’s departure and self government would spread the wealth. Oddly enough that didn’t happen. So a hundred years later after many governments and many coups and much wrangling the full blown revolution got fired up and involved those names familiar to you, Villa, Zapata and so forth. Americans lined the border to watch Mexicans battle for their ideals. The outcome led to nationalization like Pemex, Mexican Petroleum, that held a monopoly on Gulf of Mexico oil extraction, processing and distribution until undermined by the North American Free Trade Agreement which allowed competition ( and construction I am grateful to say of modern gas stations with clean toilets everywhere). 

The other thing the Revolution did was it finally established land reform. Hopelessly impoverished peasants no longer had to toil as indentured servants for absentee landlords but they could, after a fashion, own their own means of production in a uniquely Mexican concept: the Ejido (pro: hay-hee-dough). This was not collectivization Soviet style, so fashionable in Russia in the 1920s but a Mexican form of shared opportunity.

The Federal government owns the land and the occupants can neither buy or sell it. They get to live on it and cultivate it and enjoy the income. In its own way a smart thoughtful way to lift the hopelessly poor out of the mire. By the 1990s it had become obvious ( to some wealthy investors) that ejidos didn’t work(for them) and were holding back development or some other bromide as was the fashion of the day which said privatization was the path to progress. We’ve seen that in the US and Europe too since the end of the Cold War.  Many ejidos do still exist and you will see roadside signs to ejidos along the highway but many were disbanded and guess what? The occupants did not benefit from the “liberalization”. Which brings us to Tenacatita. 

The bay is beautiful, the snorkeling is said to be the best on the coast ( don’t expect much the waters are too cold for corals) and powerful people in Guadalajara saw the potential for development. The story since we were here in 1998 has been one of forced evictions, road closures, court cases, abandoned properties and resilient locals bringing in food trucks where previously they had structures. Working class beach life continues despite it all.

If you would like you can Google “Tenacatita evictions” and read stories from a dozen years ago and save me the limited bandwidth of copying and pasting. You can draw your own conclusions and decide from a distance who is right and who is wrong. In these cases I find myself pulling for the underdog even though I have no knowledge of the legalities, of course. 

We live the privilege of being outsiders with nothing at stake though I am clear in my own head I never want to own land again. The remaining years of my life, wherever I live in the US or abroad,  will see me as a renter such that I can move at will. It is conceivable my rather sturdy defense of renting might change but there will need to be a lot in favor of buying to convince me to do so. 

I like being footloose and I accept I am an oddity in that I don’t feel attached to the land but for those that are, for those who tie their identity to land and making a living from it and raising their families on it one can only wonder at the pain of separation. 

I wonder what Tenacatita will look like in ten more years?

Sunday On The Beach

A Mexican in an SUV came in to the dirt parking area hot raising a dust cloud, but he was ready to get down to the water with his girlfriend. He missed Rusty sitting in his dusty hole and quickly set to unloading his car for the beach. He approached. “Would you like beer?”  Cheers! We drank his health in Corona. He smiled and strode off humping his ice chest as I reached for my phone camera. This right here is Paradise. I’m sitting in it. 

Not everything is free here on the beach and on Sunday food is flying in at a rapid pace to satisfy the masses. Our man Ivan was riding back and forth like a blue arsed fly on his motorbike.

For us he brought chilaquiles, tortilla chips in sauce accompanied by an optional fried egg, beans and salad. Oh and a large bag of fresh squeezed orange juice. So where did you have brunch?

Rusty spent the day napping and watching the beach goers drive up and unload their cars. Everyone will warn you about noisy beach goers on Sunday but these folk didn’t even play music. They enjoyed the natural surroundings.

We had previously bought a watermelon from a kid who stopped us on the street so why would we say no? We always carry a supply of twenty peso notes ($1) in case of begging or selling. It was delicious. 

Later a dude walked up and took two of my 20 peso bills and gave me a skewer of grilled shrimp with a lime on the end. You squeeze lime on everything in Mexico. A great snack brought to my front door.

We flagged Ivan down later and had ice cold margaritas delivered to our van… there was more! Layne was remarking it was good we did our exercise routine first thing and took a good long swim, all this food. 

Which was about the time the banana bread lady showed up and sold us our after dinner pudding for a buck and a half. I’m not kidding. It’s so good Rusty licked his bowl clean with his share. “El Trockay Dorado” is where we have our food sent when we call. 

Another van occupied by two rather odd people and their very large friendly and overbearing dogs told us they were going away for the day to avoid the crowds. It’s one day in the week and it wasn’t that bad. Free beer, food delivery and cheerful passersby wishing us well as they fought the soft sand.  

I walked Rusty and Layne prepared left over fish so it wouldn’t go bad more than as a response to hunger. As we ate a pick up failed to start. I joined the pushing team but not that nor jumper cables helped. They parked the truck and took off on foot to call friends. 

Our buddy Ron left today to start the trek north to work back home. We feel privileged more than ever to have no deadlines or timelines or appointments. This isn’t a bad place to take a break. Even without all day food delivery. 

Amazing Mexico

You go to bed after a Saturday like yesterday (it was Saturday wasn’t it?) and little wonder  you are exhausted. It started with a morning walk with my little buddy and ended with a little beach drama.

First a few pictures of Tenacatita Bay on our morning walk. 

After the walk we filled the solar shower to get a warm evening wash after our last swim of the day. Ron showed up and the three of us braved the pebble strewn beach to go swim the clear waters of the popular beach. We had swum the waters of the north beach on first arrival and were told no one swims there for fear of the undertow. Oops! That north beach with its steep black sand is reserved for sunset watching. We had the popular beach to ourselves in the morning hours before the weekenders showed up. 

Ron communicating below. If he gets motivated he may start north today to get back to his business in the States. We have no such plans. 

He helped us stake out the Moonshade awning against the increasing breeze and we sat in the taut shade and watched the cars arrive. It was a peaceful family scene with picnics and swimming and not even music to override the sounds of the ocean. 

The black sand is a deep fine powder and very difficult to drive on. This truck was incautious and barely backed out in time. Even his ATV had a hard time after he unloaded it. Nice guy, lots of waves and smiles. 

Ivan came by on his motorcycle and took our lunch order which he delivered shortly thereafter. Delicious of course.

I had breaded fish for lunch and Layne had octopus ( below), $15 for both. 

Ivan offered to take our trash to the dumpster and delivered Layne a $3 margarita… service! 

Americans and Mexicans and French Canadians all hanging out enjoying a day at the beach from their rental homes often in Barra de Navidad half an hour away. One guy was down from Colima in the mountains and keen to practice his English. 

After our swim we decided to go for a walk over the hill and just to give you an idea it’s quite steep. The hill separates our small beach area from the scene of the main action out of sight and hearing where we are parked.  Our heavily laden Promaster created quite the dust cloud scrambling up here. 

Before I knew what was happening Ron and Layne were looking at a menu:

We took a table in the sand and placed our orders. Layne required me to order something other than breaded fish again so I had buttered fish. Never headed of it before but it was delicious.

Our beach dinner was delightful and serene. It’s not fashionable to think of freedom hiding out in Mexico but our meal was emblematic of the true freedom of life you can’t imagine. 

Layne ordered her fish in an almond sauce and it too was lovely. We both had left overs for fish sandwiches for Sunday dinner. No frills, no huge sides. Rice, salad and a huge fillet on your plate. 

The vendors wandered between tables, families stood waist deep in the water chatting. Children played out of sight of their parents with no fear of kidnapping and all that weirdness that creates fear and paranoia in the US. Children are cherished in Mexico. 

We had seen this little guy and his very pregnant mother on the beach earlier and he was totally engrossed in his own world, disturbing no one and undisturbed. There were no tantrums or cries for attention. He was free to play. There was a sense of contentment across the beach. 

Rusty got some quality time in as well and after sitting next to me wandered off with his new pal. No health department warnings either. 

Ron had no idea what he had ordered and he received a rolled up fish filled with shrimp smothered in almond sauce. He pronounced it more than he expected to get.  A $35  dish in the US cost almost $9. 

We watched a large family order dinner then one of them got up and went for a swim.  When their food was ready he came back and sat down in his trunks dripping wet. He took his beer, stole some of his wife’s French fries and started telling stories as he toweled off with his t-shirt. No shirt? Dripping wet? No problem! 

Ron and I were laughing about how we will cope back in the States. 35mph? We’ll just pull onto the shoulder to let traffic by. And the magic third lane? We’ll miss traffic pulling to each side to let a passing car through the middle. I don’t know how I shall cope with angry drivers. I’ve lost my touch. 

We found the river we used to take our dinghy up to look for beach restaurants across the isthmus when we sailed here in 1998. In those days the river opened into the bay and you could motor up the river in a shallow boat. Not anymore. It dead ends here. Hurricanes shift sand. 

The walk back through the tropical dusk was spectacular so Rusty and I held up progress as he sniffed everything and I couldn’t make enough pictures. They looked like this:

But by the time we had trudged back over the hill in total darkness we discovered shock horror drama had swept “our” beach. 

Of a dozen vehicles that had pulled up to see the sunset two had got stuck in the fine grained sand. An older Mexican man rangy and tan with gray hair and an air of experience was directing the recovery. Ron and I joined in and I brought along my folding entrenching tool in the vain hope it might help. The man who took charge of the recovery efforts was the owner of the Tracker is dressed in orange in the photo below. He and his wife have an elaborate and sophisticated camping set up on the beach. His four wheel drive Tracker was the only car on the soft black sand. 

Actually of all the trucks and SUVs at the beach none except the director of operations had a shovel so after I exhausted myself shoveling sand a young Mexican took over from me digging with my tool. Many hands make light work and with a tug from the four wheel drive Tracker and all of us shoving we got the first one out. 

Similarly with number two and everyone was chatting and laughing. No one talked of liability or of calling a tow truck. We as a community got the job done talking amongst ourselves and making friends. I learned there are lots of shooting stars to be seen -estrellas fugaces. Who knew? 

As they drove away calling out good nights Ron and I reflected on the old fashioned fear-free sense of camaraderie we had witnessed. 

Think of all the stories of reasons to be fearful of Mexico and think of my actual experiences, and wonder why one reality does not match up to the other. Damned if I know why. I just know what I see. I saw a lot of good people living well yesterday. I was happy to be among them and to top it off Layne calculated all the food and drink the three of us ordered all day amounted to less than $45. Mexico is amazing.