There are North Americans who will tell you that Highway 200 which traces the Pacific coast of Mexico is bandit country. Not so far it isn’t. It is a land of milk and honey, Mexican style.
We left Tenacatita Bay with some reluctance.
Rusty the wild dog loved the freedom of spending all day watching people come and go from his various hidey holes, unconstrained and free to do as he liked. He was reluctant to leave.
Layne enjoyed ordering food for delivery by Ivan, not only as a happy opportunity to not have to cook but also as a way of interacting with Mexico. This was the best swimming beach. She was reluctant to leave.
We were running out of supplies and I cannot deny I suffered from my ever present curiosity about what I might find around the corner. Luckily I enjoy driving our van. I was secretly excited to get back on the road, a fact I hid from my family with probably not much success.
Our plan was to drive around the bay and check out the communities of La Manzanilla (Camomile Town) and Bocas Del Iguana whose lights we had seen twinkling across the water at night. Google thought this was the fastest way to Boca from Highway 200. It's a great mapping service but it has difficulty discerning secondary dirt roads from faster paved ones, sometimes.
It was cool and sunny at eight in the morning and we were in the mood to see and explore after so much time spent sitting still. Google sent us down an absurd dirt road to the sea. We admired the cultivated fields and stands of tropical fruits but it wasn’t where we wanted to go, we thought. We weren't looking for an isolated RV park but a community with local culture and shops and stuff. We passed some joggers and figured we needed to get back to the main road as we were seeing nothing here, except papaya.
We turned around with some slight difficulty but luckily I am good at backing up. We found and followed the paved road reading the map ourselves and passed the two gringa women jogging who seemed startled to see us again. We arrived at Boca, a lovely tropical setting of palms overlooking a swamp wherein we are told crocodiles lurk. Not that we saw any but we drove past the campground and onto the beach on a road that shrank to the width of GANNET 2, more or less.
There was a parade of umbrellas on the beach, too early to be occupied. I could see lots of Mexicans camping and Quebecois RVers parked in one spot for the winter with all accessories out. We walked Rusty on the beach not planning to stay at all long. The waves onshore were rough making swimming unlikely, and we are explorer/swimmers not given to sitting in one place for six months at a time. That must be obvious by now if you have been following along since we left the Keys October 25th!
In the distance I could see the main sailboat anchorage where we had parked 24 years ago when we were youngsters and traveled with two large dogs. Layne took command of the dinghy here, rode the waves and found her confidence. It was a stellar moment in our cruise. Yesterday it just looked like an anchorage...
The beach was pretty as of course they all are but it did not seem friendly to swimmers with large waves crashing on the sand throwing up a mist of spray. There was a reason everyone here had come to our spot across the bay to sit on a quiet beach, easy to swim and snorkel.
Everywhere North Americans are to be found (with their dogs) there is much jogging going on apparently. We pressed on toward Layne’s sentimental favorite, Melaque where she and Nora had vacationed 45 years ago when she was attending Hastings School of Law in San Francisco. She was eager to see her old haunts, an inn near the beach particularly. The streets of Melaque, exhibiting the sort of street culture and shopping we were seeking. But first we had one more exploration stop.
In that spirit of discovery we drove through La Manzanilla a small seaside village of no particular merit as far as we could see. Lots of North Americans crowding sidewalk cafes but no sense of place for us on our flyby visit. Nothing to see here so we moved along as we bopped along the coast following any road that appealed to us. It was great fun being explorers.
We had been told of a worthwhile ATM (“cajero”) to get money by a visitor to our beach. He said the machine charges relatively little and gives a good exchange rate. He said it was at the Army base and so it was as disbelieving as I was. Therefore I had a gringo moment here. As you can see from the Google map below Highway 200 is a four lane main road entering what is formally known as San Patricio (St Patrick)-Melaque. The ATM is clearly marked but I sailed on by on our first attempt. Banjercito means Army Bank and is the government bank used for transactions like paying for fees and so forth. That they had a public ATM at an Army base boggled my mind slightly. I am always ready to give it a go, no matter how stupid the idea.
So I made a u-turn by turning right and and doubling back on a side road, and then I passed the ATM on the wrong side of the median with no parking. Then I had to make another tight u-turn before driving back to the ATM in its booth by the side of the road in front of the army base. Phew! I will confess I saw nothing good coming from blocking the entrance to the base with my huge tin box on wheels. The entrance was protected by some huge spikes in the ground but in the US blocking a military installation would not go over well. Imagine. So I pushed Layne out and told her to get on with it while I did my merry go round act a second time. I was stressed. This below is an Indian copy of an Italian Ape and is used as a taxi in Manzanillo:
I took no photos of the actual location but Google street view works in Mexico as well as it does in the US so help yourself…On my third pass Layne came out and said the soldier at the gate told her I was an idiot (more or less) and to park my elephant in the right hand travel lane of the road. As you do in Mexico. So I did and no one hooted or got confused as they would in the US. They just drove on by. Obviously. We got $700 in pesos so well worth the stress. Thank you First State Bank of the Florida Keys for guarding our retirement checks so zealously.
So far so good. We were in Melaque, I found Laynes old haunt Posada Las Gaviotas (The Seagulls Inn) and we discovered Melaque’s streets are narrow and very busy and not to undertaken by the faint of heart. We parked the van in the main square (the photo above the map up the page) and went for a walk around town as anticipated. 
It was not a success. I had to keep Rusty on the leash as the traffic was intense: gringos wobbling on bicycles, Mexicans making urgent deliveries on motorcycles with cars and trucks blasting through the mess with inches to spare on the narrow crowded streets. My head was spinning even as Layne tried to reconcile her memories of being the sole American in a sleepy beach town nearly half a century ago. “I remember this alleyway” and I took a grumpy photo.
Nostalgia is a grumpy beast and demands so much of us, our attention, our memories, our hopes, our beliefs and so often returns not just nothing but full blown disappointment and we always are ready to go back for more. Melaque delivered disappointment in spades. Layne sat silently next to me as we left town with me feeling crappy I had not found the little slice of Paradise she remembered and we nearly forgot that we actually enjoyed a little of what we found! Silly us.
We found an empanada place and decided to take a seat and watch the street. Our order never arrived, not even our drink, as little meat pies were cooked and handed out to regulars asking by. We got up and left feeling even more disoriented. Then we got back to the van at the plaza and found a lady making tacos in the Tuxtla style. Which I have no idea what to is but was ready to try.
First she poured us a huge cup of horchata which is my favorite Mexican drink, better than chocolate (fighting words, I know). Its sweet rice water with a vanilla flavor and ideal for cutting the spiciness of typical street food. Then she threw our four tacos on the griddle.
I ordered two potato tacos as I'd never heard of them before, so if it doesn't sound gross I'll give it a try. Spicy mush was the verdict. And two chicken which had more texture. All of that for $3:50 and a smile.
Rusty was having fun watching the world go by. So after all that excitement we got on the road. We got back into the van and drove through Barra de Navidad another town of fond memory. Barra was more what we liked, slow paced and pretty but by now we knew trying the futility of tryin to recreate the past. So despite memories of a fabulous stop here two decades ago with friends while docking at the not yet opened grand hotel's marina, we pressed on. Friday was our work day after the days of lounging at the beach depleting our supplies and our target was the city of Manzanillo. It lies an hour south along Highway 200 where San Kloo (Sam's Club) would yield another folding office chair and Walmart and Soriana Supermarket would fill the fridge and food lockers for another extended stay at the beach, we hoped.
I know it may sound odd that we seek out American stores but there is a reason, even if you would prefer we shop only at little stores in the villages. As you will see we do stop at the Abarrotes and roadside vendors but for us this trip isn't just a vacation, it's our life. which is to say we like to recreate foods we enjoy at home as much as we like eating Mexican food. Shopping in a large US box store in Mexico is much like doing the same at home with added Mexican variations of course. But we still need shampoo, and razor blades and we like non Mexican cheeses and non tropical fruits. We have found pears along the road but guess whose stock stickers they carry in even the tiniest of stores? Everyone shops Walmart in Mexico. Tomorrow I'll show you what we find along the road decidedly not big box store style.
