Punta Perula

Ron showed up yesterday and brought us $4000 which in Mexico means two hundred bucks in pesos which has cleared the way for us to sit still and do nothing. This photo is for Wayne who whined at me yesterday I don’t post enough beach pictures. Sigh. 

We have found the RV campground to be to our taste. And despite some cases of Covid among other campers we find ourselves sufficiently isolated we continue our lives unmolested. The other campers in this place treat each other with respect and everyone maintains a proper distance. The operators of the campground do their thing and never appear except to collect the modest campground fee.

I can’t tell if the seawater temperature is warm or if it is simply much warmer than the frigid waters we got used to north of here on the beaches of Sinaloa and Sonora. Whatever it is I spent two long stretches of time in the water yesterday and came nowhere near freezing. I regret the number of days we didn’t swim in the Keys because the “water was too cold.”

I got up early today, all of 7 am which because we’re in the Central Time Zone is just about when the sun rises so Rusty and I could meander the beach.

I was so tired last night after two swims some walks a few glasses of wine with dinner and conversation with Ron, a traveler with stories, I passed out.

A former colleague texted me the temperature forecast for Key West and because Rachel loves the cold I rejoiced for her at the prediction of 46 degrees.

I also got a message yesterday asking if I was homesick. One doesn’t want to be rude but home is where I park it these days. I miss the things, the people mostly, everyone misses when they are on the road and I shall miss knowing the reliable mechanic at Shifting Gears on Stick Island when the van breaks.

I miss bumping into Doug and envying his retired status. I miss ordering fried calamari and the eggplant stack to go from Square Grouper and riding the Vespa in the dusk to go pick them up. I miss dinner and conversation with Wayne and Chuck. I miss live theater and a con leche on the Bench during sound checks at the Green Parrot. I miss the mangrove walks with Rusty. Among other things. 

I don’t miss the state of public discourse in the US, the hair trigger tempers, the threats and the violence. I miss the self confidence of the country I emigrated to and the sense that if things aren’t right we can make them so. I don’t like the need by radicals to paint their political opponents as evil, or hell bent “on destroying America.”

To be a visitor in Mexico is to live in a serene bubble on the edge of world affairs. Without making any effort I have lost weight thanks mostly to the loss of inner turmoil worrying about the future of the 911 center and my suggestions to find a way ahead being ignored by my superiors. I guess they were right: no functions have been lost without me. 

Everyone is useful and no one is indispensable I reminded myself and walked away. Ron has to go back to the States  to work and from time to time Layne has to remind me we suffer no such constraints.

I hope when we return to Key West I will recognize myself as the traveler not the pasty tired office worker. I have no idea what lies ahead, illness exhaustion, mechanical failure, injury, one never knows. But that’s true anywhere and the best I can do is remind myself that the life lived to that  point is what counts. I had a motorcycle accident after a half century of riding. All the outsiders saw was me in the wreck, but what I saw was all the journeys, the commutes, the fun and the misery, the rain the cold, all the good and the bad that led to that moment. 

There are those who read these words  who get angry at me for defying convention and for “taking risks” and I wonder why anyone would follow this modest journey with that attitude. We aren’t pioneers, we aren’t carving new tracks across the planet, and god knows there are thousands of people wandering around living their own dreams on the road that you never hear from; trust me they are there! 

Mine isn’t a journey away from home, away from Gary and Barbara in Tennesse or Webb in South Carolina. It’s not a life that produces a sickness or an exhaustion, it’s given us opportunities to go and see and share lives otherwise not known. Watching snowflakes with Cousin Lynn (okay they were tiny but it was definitely snow) or climbing a saguaro canyon with Cousin David.

Punta Perula isn’t home and on Saturday we plan to get on the road and move our home down the road thirty minutes to a wild camp on the beach we’ve read about. It may work out or it may not. It’s how we live and as odd as it may sound I am happier than I have been in decades. No fixed abode suits me.

That’s about as honest as I can be to answer the question: am I homesick? I regret very little in my life and the regrets I have are the same ones you have about failed relationships, hurting people usually by accident and failing to measure up to one’s own standards. Nothing that happens on the road shall I regret. It’s not in my nature.Now I have to go for a swim and hunt down lunch in the village. Then a nap and another swim and a few more chapters of Nevada Barr before it’s lights out. How’s your day looking? 

A Serpent In Paradise

I found myself day dreaming at the wheel as we drove out of the mountains south of Puerto Vallarta along Highway 200. I jerked myself out of it because dropping your guard can be quite shocking in Mexico. The roads are full of potholes and cows and people and topes (speed bumps) and all manner of sudden obstructions. Yet here I was drifting along at 60 miles an hour like I was driving through Central Florida on Highway 27 without a care in the world.

Call it miraculous but after the appalling potholes and bumps of Highway 200 coming out of Puerto Vallarta, the dystopian city of rain and traffic jams and crowds and ugliness, we broke out onto a ribbon of smooth black asphalt climbing into the mountains through small picturesque villages and miles of canopy shading the sun that had finally broken through the cloud cover. I was obviously exhausted and it was two o’clock and we hadn’t eaten. My wife instructed me to find a space to pull over so she could make lunch. Her wish was my command and I magically caused a disused sand quarry to appear. 

She opened the Gannet Café while the Chief Security Officer and I went out to check the perimeter. As we ate our salmon salad I dropped a suggestion in the ships suggestion box, pretty sure it would sink out of sight. “We could spend the night here.” I was exhausted after all the dodg’ems in the Big City. “Okay” she said. And just like that we did. 

She amused herself deploying the Instapot while I took a nap with Rusty and dug into a Nevada Barr novel recommended by Bruce  a former New Mexico resident. The clouds dropped their loads and a light rain spattered GANNET2 making the dust speckle to look like camouflage. All we could hear was the occasional drone of traffic on the highway below punctuated by the roar of trucks using their Jake brakes to slow their descents. Night fell, and just like that we were alone.
It would be satisfyingly dramatic to report that we were set upon by bandits but our lives are surprisingly not the scene of a melodrama and in due course the sun came up and I dragged myself from my comfortable bed to take the hound from hell on his morning walk, the unvarying routine. 

We dodged cow pats and fences and followed a trail up into the woods above the van and the road far below, the only signs of life. 

Of course when we got back on the road we immediately encountered people shattering our feeling of being alone, first a work crew rebuilding a culvert and as soon as we crested the pass we saw a restaurant offering breakfast and pretty soon the perfect black ribbon of asphalt brought us to a market town, Tomatlán where Layne shouted “Tamales!” a secret code word for “Stop the van!”  She went shopping while Rusty put the fear of God into a sweet local resident with her tail between her legs.  I tried to offer her a chicken strip but she was too beaten down to take even that. I uploaded my previous day’s blog as we had internet service again. That’s why yesterdays entry came late. Today’s is late because I sat out in the sun too long  and went to bed early feeling feverish. I missed the tropical weather apparently and enjoyed too much all at once.
Herself came back with a cabbage and carrots a mango and tamales and I don’t remember what else for seven bucks  and all the activated memories of the fun of shopping in the local markets in Mexico.

We drove on until we got to the approved iOverlander stop at a gas station. Truck parking in back, clean bathrooms and a convenience store and restrooms. What else does a traveler need?

These places are easy and free and convenient but they aren’t any more pretty than they are in the US. The food is good though and filling. We ate for four bucks. My wife took a flattering picture of The Author At Lunch.

I cannot deny I was regretting introducing my wife to the iOverlander app as she was now ferociously looking up campsites along the coast. My suggestion of a wild camp at a side beach at Tenacatita Bay was swept aside by a sumptuous description of a small campground at Punta Perula some thirty miles north.

I’ll give you one guess who won that debate?

$17:50 a night and we got a waterfront spot in this tiny park thanks to a low hanging wire that puts less intrepid campers off taking this prime spot. 

The nice lady in charge used a kayak paddle to lift the wire and in we snuck. Perfect! We went for a swim and the water was warm especially after our cooler experiences up north. I love the coconut palms that at last remind me of the Keys ( and I don’t have to trim clean and pick up after them!). A neighbor came by and introduced herself from Michigan and invited us to a dinner they hold every week in town as a local fund raiser. We were set. 

She even solved a slight bit of stupidity on our part. We had arrived with only $75 in pesos. We had been reluctant to hunt for a bank ATM in Puerto Vallarta in the chaos so, experienced travelers that we are we set off into the mountains and this underpopulated coast with little cash. Brilliant! The lady from

Michigan even changed a hundred bucks for us to extricate us from our derangement. Pretty nice.

We were set. Then our neighbor, a nurse, came back by with some bad news. The French Canadian woman in the van two spaces away was in bed with Covid. Two other anti- vaxxers from Canada also have Covid. We canceled  our participation in the dinner and got to thinking.

We had to make a rational decision and set our anger and irritation aside. We are self contained so we can live apart in this splendid spot for a couple of days at least. We were actually talking about staying a week if our friend Ron shows up in a couple of days with more pesos in hand (His comment was that the worst decisions make the best stories as he laughed at our sudden involuntary poverty. He’s dead right!).

At this point I don’t know what we will do. The town of Punta Perula needs to be explored as it looks interesting. The idea of staying here and having a community of businesses and restaurants at hand is so appealing. But there is the big but.

We have avoided Covid for two long years. It would be a shame to end that winning streak now. Especially with Layne’s immune issues. 

Gringo Land

I have never seriously entertained the notion of retiring abroad yet it is a popular option for Americans who want a cheaper life in Mexico among other countries. The appeal of retiring on the cheap is undeniable. But there are aspects that I find decidedly unattractive.

The bust of Emiliano Zapata a mythical Mexican revolutionary stands at the entrance to Punta Mita a former surfers beach hang out when we sailed here from California at the end of the century. His glowering presence is hugely ironic given that today this town is devoted to serving Americans living either in Mexico or surrounded by Mexico. 

Of course there are different ways to live in Mexico but we spent Monday on a slightly sentimental journey through the Bay of Banderas, the body of water that Puerto Vallarta sits upon and which we visited in 1998. It was a different world of course now, like any other population center that has evolved over twenty years.
We remembered La Cruz de Huanacaxtle as a little village with fishing boats pulled up on the beach and a few sailboats anchored inside a small municipal breakwater. We anchored outside and brought our dogs and our dinghy to land in the calm waters in front of the cruisers hangout, a little waterfront cafe. Now there is a marina and a wall.

Cruisers who want to get out and eat a bite in Mexico van cross the wall and sit on a street far outside any water view.

We found a space for  GANNET2 at the Benito Juarez park and took Rusty for his usual stroll. I was keen to see the waterfront. Easier said than done.

There are people still out there sitting in their boats. I don’t envy them. I enjoy driving and wandering through small Mexican towns and when it rains I turn on the windshield wipers. I don’t miss dragging anchors and sitting around talking about the cost of all things boat related. 

I am in a minority in these things I know, but I’d rather see the old village back. I know the clock can’t be reversed. We were here in a moment in time. The same way Key West has evolved and changed and taken the promise of wealth. I saw signs in English filled with prohibitions as we walked off the sand and came through the marina. 

I put Rusty on his leash and we walked back through the gate as though we belonged. Back to the world of  things slightly askew and potholed  streets. No drinking of intoxicating liquor in public places. A shame that as I was feeling low. 

An angry Mexican walked up to me in Punta de Mita while I stood outside the van and maybe was inside on the loo. Yeah I know, it happens. In this case this guy who was moving some trash or something was angry about something and started yelling at me and when I replied calmly in Spanish he switched to fluent English.  He told me to fuck off and this was his town and I stood there telling him to back off. It was actually quite funny as I couldn’t get into  the van or Layne would have killed me! I dared not turn my back on him as he was fingering his pocket like he was going to pull a knife. Great I thought to myself. I’m going to have to punch a man at my age. I’d better make it good. No knife appeared and I told him I was leaving. He could keep his town. He wandered off mumbling and finally Layne was ready to receive visitors. I guess I was handling it okay as the chief security officer was sitting behind a light pole firing the exchange. 

In my world view the fact that there was a resentful angry Mexican taking out his anger on foreign incomers reinforces my feelings about foreign enclaves living apart in Mexico.

Puerto Vallarta is a big city. I find it rather touching that Layne points out the Starbucks and Subways as though she is still surprised by the hegemony of American culture. I enjoy poking around Mexican tiendas and watching Layne exploring new flavors for her kitchen.  

The fact is we all like the ability to reach out for the familiar when we are away. Layne and I have been traveling for three months and the normal exhaustion that comes from constant novelty hasn’t made itself felt.

The reason is we have a life aboard GANNET2 that is as far from Mexico as Cudjoe Key. We close the door on the world and we are gone. We watch silly TV, we eat familiar food, consume familiar art and we refresh ourselves for another day of Mexico and the unfamiliar.

But we don’t want to immerse ourselves in expatriate culture. As much as Covid allows we float through the fringes of the world we have come to see. And that isn’t the world of yacht clubs or gated communities but I’m glad they are there for those who want them.

Mexico is huge, larger than you know, and most of it will never see an American. The fear and the myths and the reports of drug violence that have nothing to do with visitors keep people away. Obviously I don’t fit in that camp and I hope it’s obvious by now the dangers of Mexico are overrated. 

In these modern times the Internet makes travel easy even if you don’t speak the language. Being able to converse will add depth to a visit but  using electronic guides will get you where you want to go. 

Understanding the culture helps but you don’t need to speak Spanish. The trick is to understand the hints and not to cross invisible lines. Making assumptions and presuming will bring down the guardians of the rules. 

In La Cruz there was an unattended hose in the park and I wanted to use it to hose off the dust that has built up on our home since our last dirt road exploration. However there was no one in the park to ask permission. Should I have used it anyway? 

Layne has enjoyed visiting Mexico all her life so she needed no persuasion to make a turn to the south. I enjoy the variety from both sides of the border and I am aware of the privilege of being able to cross at will. 

I don’t recommend visiting as giving advice is generally a waste of time. But I’m glad we came.