Playa Azul, Michoacán

I am a superb plan maker. Give me your parameters and I’ll make you a plan. I am excellent at it. I am so good I can make and remake and later modify that plan. I can figure out alternative plans. And then I can stand on the sidelines and watch them all collapse into a pile of unplannable wreckage and rude words.

The idea had been to stay in Barra de Nexpa for another week and then tootle down to Zihuatanejo three or four hours south and take up residence next Monday in an AirBnb Layne had discovered in the city. Pet friendly, swimming pool, air con, WiFi. $42 a night. Brilliant. 

Then we got water bombed, presumably by the entitled young Mexican surfers who gave us such an unpleasant vibe. So I grabbed all plans and tossed them into the river. And just like that we were on the road once again with no internet connection and just Highway 200 to give us an idea where to go. Ohmigod! Plan-free! Help! Barra de Nexpa to Barra de Potosí = 117 miles of topes and just a few profoundly spectacular potholes. 

We were left discombobulated by the suddenness of the water bomb attack out of the dark campground we had considered a refuge,  and a gloomy mood descended over the crew of GANNET2 as we took to the road. We tried a few side roads to places labeled “playa” but none looked interesting. We found an old dirty white dog snoozing in one parking lot overlooking a beach and I took a bag of prepared dog food we carry for street dogs and dropped it off for the surprised creature who woke up and started eating as though food from nowhere was part of the day’s plan. I saw another dog napping in an intersection in one town, ignored by traffic, an unintentional symbol of the poverty of Michoacán State. The more dogs you see on the streets the poorer the community. 

We stuck to the coast wondering what to do with ourselves for the week leading up to the apartment rental. Layne nixed my idea of driving four hours to Uruapan, an inland city, to gain elevation and escape the heat. Too far out of our way was her veto. We stuck as close to the coast as we could and came to Playa Azul ( Blue Beach ) some 12 miles north of the industrial port city of Lazaro Cardenas. We stopped for breakfast at 10am which was odd for us as breakfast is a meal we usually skip. With huge glasses of fresh orange juice we had a robust meal to last the day. 

Layne had a big bowl of barbecue beef soup, the worlds weirdest breakfast and it was rich and delicious. I had my usual non fish standby of Mexican beef steak, cubed beef in tomato sauce and we both marveled at the thick home made warm corn tortillas. She won the menu choice but it was a cheerful friendly stop. 

Rusty took on his “when in Mexico” act and curled up off the sidewalk after stalking out of the restaurant seeking his own alone time.  

The only known camping spot was at a nearby hotel (with swimming pool) but didn’t allow dogs (mascotas). We would have liked to stay in this resort town for Mexicans  and in answer to the fearless Layne’s query the restaurant owner said park on the street here, you will disturb (molestar) no one. We had a back up plan. How to spend the day? At the beach of course. We took off down the coast road (Boulevard Costera) Highway 37 toward Lazaro Cardenas. 

It was an odd road made of cement in four lanes with a wide median occupied by a tree lined two lane cement bicycle path! Some local dignitary presumably liked cycling and had the influence to get a totally useless bike path built for a dozen miles to nowhere. We found the roadside bakery (above) and bought four large rolls for a buck and got a cinnamon cookie thrown in for free. Mexican hospitality once again.

We drove a few miles down the astonishing highway, smooth yet littered with unmarked purposeless topes (speed bumps), but only found one camp ground that, in a local plan of some nefarious sort, also didn’t allow dogs. Were we supposed to ditch Rusty? We asked workers  building an elaborate gatehouse if the beach was accessible and they shook their heads. Eventually by simply taking side roads we found a restaurant with a space for us to park. 200 pesos ($10) and we could crash. The restaurant owner had worked for a couple of years in Minnesota (!) making tortillas (!!) in a factory. Typical of the immigration debates you never hear are the Mexicans who work a few years in the US, a hostile social environment for them, before they go home and use the money to start their own business. His kids, disconcertingly, found us fascinating. 

We chatted with Samuel and Homer but we really wanted a day off Mexico. We needed a cultural retreat to reset our inner tourist. We closed up GANNET2, turned in the a/c and fired up a downloaded TV show on our iPad. Periodically we napped and occasionally we ran the engine to keep the batteries charged. Layne made pasta for dinner and we walked the beach after dark to be alone when all activity ceased. We really needed the  time to be together and ignore the world. 

It was a pretty enough spot but even with a shallow water swim in the estuary we failed to shake off a feeling of despondency. Fortunately we are old enough to remember these feelings from previous trips and we knew the required treatment: time. 

We had thought of staying a couple of days, we had time to spare, but the loud competing music from different establishments, the nosy bored kids stuck at home because of  their teacher’s illness (they said) and a general feeling of wanting to move  to leave our blues behind, meant we changed that plan and decided to leave in the morning. 

We said goodbye to the huge surf with one last Rusty walk early in the morning. GANNET2 was loaded and buttoned up and we took to the highway. 

We were ready to see what the port city of Lazaro Cardenas in rush hour could throw at us. Our plan? To go shopping and do some chores. Nothing more complicated than that! 

Nexpa

I would like to say we found a slice of what we were looking for on the banks of the Rio Nexpa, and yes that first week was delightful but it didn’t end well. 

Emily is the second generation that owns the compound of several areas to park fronted by rental apartments and restaurants and there is even a skatepark built in the grass. Several dogs live loose in the campground and for most of the week they and Rusty got along just fine. Their current guardian is Kevin a chef from France turned avid surfer.
Will is the taller of the two surfers and he’s from Colorado. He has surfed all over Central and South America, a really nice guy on this trip staying in one of the tiki huts for rent on Emily’s property. The dog Kevin is playing with turned in Rusty one day when we  were all out walking and they piled on him. An incident one cannot describe as blameworthy but it made Rusty cautious and stay closer to us. 

I asked them to pose for me as I wanted to send the picture as a birthday card to a gay friend of mine. It went down well. I like them both. Kevin introduced himself by saying he noticed Layne and I were always laughing. Will’s rented palapa, really cool way to live in my opinion: 

The village of Rio Nexpa has a couple of stores like this and two laundries. We picked the one closest to the surfer campground and got rather badly folded damp laundry back which for a cost of nine bucks somewhat annoyed the Admiral.

Banana bread, pecan pies, and flan for a buck and a half apiece delivered to your door by Mariana who comes by twice  a week.

Will Kevin and Jim from Los Angeles, shooting the breeze. They kindly included us non surfers in the “Swamp” in the middle of the campground. 

We walked Rusty and spent time reading and swimming in the river and doing the odd chore. I took it upon myself to pick up trash and empty the sole small trash can. Chicho whose name is the center of the complex came by to make sure we weren’t parked under the coconuts. Squirrels leap through the trees and dislodge  them. 

We felt it was a magical spot. 

Chicho’s older brother Benito came by to tell us watermelon were available from a visiting truck. They were delicious. 

The facilities are crude but they work. The shower is a separate cubicle with no door so you have to wear a swimsuit to wash. Outside the toilet there is a dump station which was perfect for my portapotty. 

You flush the toilet with a bucket from a barrel filled with water from the main water well which also supplied water to the communal washing up area for dishes if you wanted to use that. 

The vegetable truck comes by Fridays and Tuesdays according to the driver Jose. We lacked for nothing. 

The scenery up the river was out of this world. 

We had to swim in the river because the ocean waves were fierce and suitable for surfers. A pity as most of the river was too shallow to swim but we found deeper holes to enjoy. But every morning Rusty and I would go out to check the scenery. 

Rusty’s world shrank when one of the camp dogs took a dislike to him for no discernible reason and despite Kevin’s sympathy. Then a fight between village dogs which did not directly involve Rusty at all our him off going out of the compound at all. I could see his reluctance as there were too many tensions among too many roaming dogs but he was happy to walk our end of the beach and explore the riverbank and lounge in the grass in safety under GANNET2. 

Saturday was pizza night and we put our names down for number 39 and forty as they only make 50 pizzas they say. This week apparently they ended up making 61. 

I hadn’t had pizza since Alpine Texas before we visited Big Bend National Park so I wasn’t going to miss out. We got shrimp and pesto on number 40…and chorizo and jalapeños on number 39. We cracked a boxed red and we were set. 

I’m telling you this place is pretty swoony.  For seven bucks a night? Why leave? Because we’re explorers and because shit happens. 

Sunday night was Super Bowl night at L’Arena bar. I was relying on my friend Webb to give me the rundown Monday and we were at home watching a downloaded murder mystery while eating the best tempura shrimp tacos ever made from the camp restaurant. We planned to put in for another week’s stay. 

Some new arrivals had landed and we got a bad hit off them, four

rough young Mexican surfers who reeked of sly reserve. Layne caught them staring at the van without noticing she was observing them. I overheard them sneering about Rusty the “fat dog.” I bit my tongue as they didn’t know we spoke Spanish but I wanted to ask if their daddies in the cartel preferred to starve their dogs. Perhaps they kept to themselves as they were Mexicans in a mostly English speaking campground and I don’t know if they were responsible for what happened next but they were in the right place alongside our van. And no one else had expressed the remotest hostility.  

We were packing up to go to bed and we always left the side door open overnight for ventilation and to let Rusty out as he felt like it. This was a place we could give him as much freedom as he’d like and he enjoys being outdoors. 

As I was folding Layne’s table there was a loud crack and a sudden splash of water. At first I thought something fell out of the tree. Then I realized we had been water bombed by someone in the darkness to our right. It wasn’t Kevin that I know. Who else could it have been? 

Luckily there was no damage or injury but we mopped up the water that was everywhere, splashed by a fast moving powerful missile. We talked it over and decided to leave at first light. We had started discussing this after we observed the tattooed  surfers setting up camp while giving off their negative vibe. The Americans were across the street at the Super Bowl party everyone else was chatting at the taco bar in the campground…

Suddenly we felt exposed and vulnerable. I brought in our drying towels and put away table and chairs.  Rusty had to sleep with the door closed and I worried about vandalism or flat tires or some other act of cruelty. That inner voice of caution was screaming out loud. Time to go. 

For the first time we felt exposed and concerned for our safety and it had nothing to do with the normal stereotypes. Just some rich kids with no respect. Layne said they felt like entitled cartel kids. 

We called it quits. Driving away is easy. Another plus for van life. 

We have an apartment rented for a week in Zihuatanejo on the 21st and until then we’ll explore more of the coast. We are explorers after all. Say hi to Dane one of the cool surfers who has a winter home in Nexpa. 

I doubt we’ll be back.