Road Update

Barra De Nexpa, Michoacán 

Our actual position as of Thursday 10th of February is in a surfers campground (!) on the bank of a river. They surf in the ocean and we swim in the river. 

$7 a day means we may stay a few days. This lost coast is like that. We got trapped in a beach camp with no network services but an astonishing beach so I had to write the posts offline and I am now going to post them by schedule to catch up. 

I do apologize for the silence but I really enjoy writing my posts and keeping track of our route and events along the way. I will look forward to reading this diary in eventual old age. It’s just that sometimes Telcel has no signal and WiFi is not yet considered the essential service we may expect from campgrounds. 

Anyway back to normal I hope for a while. 

Cheers, Michael and Layne and Rusty

GANNET2 

Promaster 3500 Ext 

Manzanillo To Cuyutlan

Van Life influencers in the US will tell you staying at Walmart is a good way to spend a night on the road. We prefer rest areas but finally here in Manzanillo we got to stay at a Walmart and it was a good spot for a quiet night, oddly enough. No one cared to even notice us. 

Rusty and I got up before dawn and took a walk. I could hear the huge Pacific Ocean swells crumping hard on the sand with a thump like thunder, from a block away. I passed a night guard getting ready to go home from a gated community he had been guarding all night. I had a few words of sympathy for him after my years of night watch at 911 in Key West. The sign we saw at the beach warned us not to interfere with hatching turtles. 

Manzanillo is only slightly tuned to tourism. Freighters were anchored offshore waiting to use the port facilities. The beach was empty as the sun came up around 7 am Central Time. By the time we got back Layne was awake and I dropped Rusty’s morning egg into the public trash cans before the city workers showed up to clear the trash, carefully separating cans. I wondered if aluminum is a tip for the workers. 

We liked Manzanillo and the neighborhood where we had done our chores. We determined to go back so we loaded with water putting thirty gallons into our 35 gallon tank. Google maps works as well here as it does in the US so we entered car wash (auto lavado) into the search and found one that had a good review and wasn’t far. Off we went down those neat, tree lined avenues. 

They wanted 120 pesos to wash the exterior of the van. We’d cleaned the interior at Walmart as best we could in the parking lot. The dust and sand from the beach was everywhere. Another security guard walking home paused, not to annoy us or move us on but to ask if we had a problem and needed a hand. 

We gave them 200 pesos ($10) and made three workers very happy with a modest four dollar tip. Our weekly budget in Mexico is $625. Our last week at Tenacatita we spent $205. This week we ended up spending $365. I’m not fussed about giving money away to people working in a country where $10 a day is the minimum wage. 

We drove by the roast chicken lady called Elizabeth who gave us curbside service handing over her aunts $1:50 home made cheese -queso blanco. 

Shopping in Mexico is Layne’s hobby in between walking neighborhoods of hunting swimming beaches. 

We made a final trip to the restaurant next door to Lavanderia MAR where the night before we bought pozole (hominy stew) and where the cook gave us a tasting of the best spicy grilled shrimp tacos we’ve had. He offered us ceviche in a glass and a ceviche taco which he described as in the Mazatlan style. 

Our lunch was delicious with Layne going for the shrimp tacos while I tried a meat roll up (rollo) with bacon and vegetables inside the roll. We left stuffed with thanks to Jose and Edelmira for their hospitality. 

We followed Google maps blue line out of the city. We tried to get Aristocort at a readers suggestion to deal with sea lice itching. The pharmacists knew of it but didn’t carry it. We found a cortisone cream in our first aid kit which has helped. In the end though we had clean clothes, a clean van inside and out, a full water tank and empty trash cans. 

We took the Cuota south paying not a single toll on the road and I don’t know why they were waving everyone through. I approached the toll booth in the car lane as that is what we rate and to my horror there were height restrictors over the car lane. We need three meters and they offered two and a half…the trucks in the right lane were stretched out in front and behind us. As I paused checking my options the truck to the right saw my dilemma and stopped to let me in. I waved my gratitude and it was no problem at all.  

The northbound lanes of the highway were jammed. For miles. Somewhere out of sight there must have been an accident. The jam, trapped by a cement divider sat quietly in line waiting. I was so grateful that wasn’t us…eventually the Guardia Nacional had a road block to divert traffic off the freeway. We pressed on in the afternoon sun passing ocean glimpses and coconut and banana plantations. Our plan was to stop at s wild camp on a beach road. 

The beach road was smooth as a billiard table lined with expensive homes most for sale of rent overlooking another endless beach. This was the wealthy street loosely attached to the little town of Cuyutlan. We were racing sunset to check the campsite would work. You never know if reality matches the Internet report and our alternative was another uninteresting truck stop on the toll road. 

We needn’t have worried. The turtle eco center at the end of the road was closed for the day and we found a tiny turn out to accommodate our modest 21foot home. The surf was huge so swimming wasn’t an option. Rusty and Layne and I went for a walk. It’s always tiring working your way around a strange city doing your chores. 

A couple of cars came by on a Saturday evening to watch the sunset. A smile, a wave, some red tail lights rapidly disappearing up the smooth road. We were completely alone watching the golden moon set over the silver ocean as night fell. It was lovely. 

This was the start of our Internet connectivity woes! We were slipping out of the Mexican coast dotted with towns and cities. We were going to Michoacán a stretch of wild empty coast with valleys filled with tropical plantations and cliffs dropping into the water like California’s empty Big Sur Coast of eighty years ago. 

Colima is a small relatively wealthy state with decent infrastructure including well paved roads. Michoacán is a sprawling mountainous state, a source of field labor in the western U.S. where farm workers will tell you this large poor state is their home. There are Indian tribes here largely ignored by the central government and resentful of that deliberate forgetfulness. 

To compensate for agricultural poverty Michoacán has a reputation for drug trafficking which holds back tourism despite the lack of connection between tourists and drug dealers. California has its emerald triangle on the Oregon state line but when it’s a Mexican issue there is joy in exaggerating dangers and dealers and all that pleasure in fear mongering. 

It will be an interesting drive on a winding mountain road between lonely beaches and small villages. Connectivity will be sparse until we reach Zihuatanejo so be patient and I look forward to showing you the fearsome and delightful Highway 200 through the land of the best ice creams Mexico has to offer. I can’t wait. 

Manzanillo,Colima

We meant to spend half a day in Manzanillo (Chamomile Town) but we ended up spending the night and nearly spent another we liked it so much. I think the reason we enjoyed it was that purely by accident we did much of our business in an unpretentious working class neighborhood that you’d never see if you stuck to the arc of the splendid waterfront. Broad modern avenues, palms and in the distance the cranes of the industrial harbor: 

We never even saw the main waterfront as we drove into town to look for another folding office chair to match one we had bought in Culiacan to replace our broken expensive Pico camp chairs. First we did some food shopping at Layne’s favorite grocery store. 

Then the chair:

Then Walmart with its odd mixture of American brands familiar to any North American as well as products decidedly aimed at the local market. These days if you travel south you can rest assured you can find most of what you need in Mexico and you don’t have to lug suitcases filled with what you are used to consuming at home. 

And if you need a motorcycle or scooter they sell those too. This rather attractive Vespa lookalike goes for US $1500 approximately. I saw a few on the roads too. Divide pesos by 20 to get the dollar amount. 

We wanted our clothes done so after we dropped them off at a laundry we found at random on Google maps we walked the neighborhood. Layne has long wanted to be back in the land of whole roast chickens sold on the streets. 

Come back tomorrow she said, I’ll be selling my aunt’s home made cheese. We said we would even though we planned to leave. Across the street we stopped at the bakery. Pick up tongs and a tray and help yourself. 

Colima is a green zone in Mexico, a Covid rating of low infection. The further south we have traveled the less mask wearing we see. 

Manzanillo is a street filled with trees, wide avenues and medians. Rusty made himself at home in various shady spots as we shopped. 

The cobbled streets are a pain in the ass, literally in the van. Some have cement strips which help but there are topes all over the place that cause our van to lurch. Just like this:

Our laundry wouldn’t be ready till 7:30pm so we decided to stay in town for the night. Maybe we’d get the homemade cheese after all. 

I was waiting for the laundry admiring a Honda 160 parked on the street when a distinguished looking man in his 50s showed up and got astride. We ended up talking motorcycles, as you do. He keeps a bigger machine for road trips but the little 160 does well around town. He’d like a van like our Promaster, Marcos said, as he could take his family camping with him. He noticed my Italian accent and said he had visited Italy recently. Mexico is very similar I said. Yes he said but Italians are much louder! 

Night was falling and the little businesses were closing up. Lavanderia MAR had shown us a whole separate side of Manzanillo. 

Van lifers in the States frequently talk of sleeping at Walmart. We never have, preferring freeway rest areas for quick stops while traveling. This was our first ever stop at a Walmart. Not romantic but so useful. A quiet peaceful night on the streets in Mexico. 

Highway 200 Southward

 

Barra de Navidad, Jalisco

To drive through Mexico is to transform oneself into a different driver. I am happy rolling at 35mph down the highway, window open smelling the dust and checking out the sights.  Our friend Ron coined the phrase "the magic third lane" for a particular driving technique enjoyed in Mexico, where many vehicles can't go fast even if they wanted to. Highways have to accommodate elderly agricultural pick ups, small motorcycles doing duty as family sedans and fast modern sedans driven by rich young heirs to family fortunes. It could be complicated. Fortunately common sense prevails.

The sign above on the roadside in Colima says "Use the shoulder to allow passing" and I ask you to imagine that sign in the US where passing someone is a defiant act of terrorism designed to make the person passed feel small and insignificant. In Mexico passing is a choice, the passed carry on with their lives unhurried.  In this next photo observe the truck passing a slow moving tractor and where the shoulder runs under my van. And yes I took the photos while driving, using a telephoto hence you will notice some reflections from the windshield and occasional odd angles. 

This is what Ron calls the magic third lane which appears on normal two lane highways when someone wants to pass. No muss no fuss no aggravation. I pull onto the shoulder when cars or 18 wheelers come up behind me and they pass at their leisure when they see a more or less safe space. I find this style of driving very relaxing as no one is honking or tailgating or pushing, and everyone does what works for them. You might call it the sensible freedom of driving, Mexican style. And I know this attitude flies in the face of all you have heard about crazy Mexican driving styles and I know I won't change your mind, but this works for me a lot better than an angry American getting road rage and waving a gun at me.

On our honeymoon sailing the Caribbean we first saw banana plants wrapped in blue bags. It was on the island of St Vincent where we rented a car, an precursor of our travel style always looking to explore by driving, and here we were again. Funny how here thousands of miles away they use the same identical technique to speed the ripening of the fruit. Don’t worry though because US consumers only get the most perfect fruit. Americans may get the perfect fruit but travelers on Highway 200 get to enjoy the views, and when you are enjoying a well funded retirement the views suffice.

I’m not going to minimize the hard work for small returns because I appreciate my escape from a life of agriculture and I know these farmers have less than anyone I know but for me the arrival in the tropics, the familiar trees and bushes, is a source of pleasure. In summer we’d be hopping between RV parks to stay plugged in and operating the air. We can run air conditioning overnight off the batteries but that requires driving the next day to recharge them if there is no shore power. Our solar panels keep up with minor electricity use not heavy prolonged discharge by the roof top air.

After passing the Colima state line and after getting over the tropical scenery I noticed people sitting roadside selling tubas. A little known fact is I used to play double B flat tubas and sousaphones in my youth.

I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know much about Colima but I planned to find out more. They have a surplus of tubas? Excellent. Do they ship, I wondered? We stopped to check out the tuba scene roadside. 

No surprise I was bound to be disappointed, but not too much. In Colima where they have usurped the language, tuba comes in a to go cup. A drink made of fermented coconut juice can be quite delicious, it turns out. Throw in some ice cubes a handful of peanuts and you are set to keep driving. Unless you are married to Layne the inveterate shopper.

“I see fruit,” she said with a tone of excitement equal to that of someone who sees dead people. What she meant before she disappeared in a cloud of dust was that she had spotted the makings of fruit salad. I looked sadly at GANNET2 parked Mexican style.

My inner gringo manifested himself and I backed off the highway and found a spot away from the road. A man appeared. “Am I molesting you?” I asked. I love the Spanish word for disturbing or upsetting “molestar” because I think laterally when I’m navigating more than one language. 

“Not at all,” he said. “You’re from Florida?” Yes I nodded. 

“Oh,” he said breaking into fluent English. 

“I lived twenty years in Indiantown! Do you know it?”

Well yes I’ve motored the St Lucie canal from Lake Okeechobee. We chatted. No problem he assured me as Rusty took up residence in the shade of his house.

Back at the road side fruit stand Layne had met a Mexican who has a business in Nebraska and was showing his American sons where they were from. His family was traveling in a white Nissan van, a popular low slung model widely used as public transportation in Latin America. Worry warts nag me about ground clearance on a Promaster but they haven’t seen the low slung Nissan…

Layne got her sliced fruit sprinkled with salt and chili flakes and the Mexican from Nebraska exchanged WhatsApp info which is how you communicate in Mexico. “Come by my place on your way North,” he said smiling. “I’ll show you the real Mexico!” Remind me again how scary Mexico is? We left them to their long ride packed into their Nissan van. Nice people. 

On the road again. Destination Manzanillo, the big city with all needed services.