Barra De Potosí, Guerrero

Layne has fond memories of Zihuatanejo, the city of women I'm told in the Indio language of the area. However her nostalgia dates back to law school, and she has no proven history with water bombs at Hastings School of Law I should note. Back in those distant days of the Pleistocene Era Layne and friends would come repeatedly to Zihuatanejo on vacation. "Rather," I said. "In the manner of people who return to Key West year after year for the same vacation experience?" She glared at me as she prides herself on being an explorer of different places each vacation. Finding ourselves unexpectedly close to Zihuatanejo we were going to look for a place to stop for a week.

I am including here some road pictures taken by me with my Panasonic Lumix LX100, my pocket camera which I keep in automatic mode at my elbow while I drive to snag pictures as we as we go. I haven't edited them or cropped them, they are direct from the camera to show you what one main road looks like on a typical drive. Obviously there are miles of nothing much, greenery, stretches of  no shoulders, a few guard rails and so forth between pueblos, miles of little of interest to photograph.  Then every now and again the main road, and even the toll roads pass through pueblos (villages) full of life. In the picture below you see the sign on the right and you can hear Layne shouting "Taupe!" to remind me to slow the eff down. In the middle of the road at the second tope (speed bump) is a guy selling bread rolls (which we had just bought from a señora standing in the road). He stands where the traffic is forced to slow and holds out his plastic bag. A buck fifty (30 pesos ) for four. We gave our seller two twenties and left the change. Fifty cents to brighten her day a bit.

Some gringos on travel forums complain about over tipping setting a bad precedent but when I dropped a five dollar bill in a beggar's cup outside Walmart I took on faith he really does have to use a wheelchair. His lack of one leg was a pretty good hint. Yeah, I over tipped him but so what? Gouging gringos in the nicest possible way is a way to make ends meet in Mexico and I'm okay with that. I can afford to pay more and leave some extra money for people and put out some dog food for street dogs. I can't save the planet but I can do something that is more than nothing. Others don't have to, and I hold no expectations, just as Mexicans and their dogs hope but don't expect. You’d be surprised how generous North Americans are when they make a connection to a place, with scholarships, animal rescue, and civic projects galore.

 We knew Guerrero is a wealthy state when we saw street signs like this below, never before seen in Michoacán.  The white collectivo van is about to deploy the magic third lane by edging onto the well marked shoulder. I did the same as I saw the cars lining up to pass. I enjoy driving Mexico.

Check out the next few pictures to see what a hive of activity a pedestrian overpass might be. I always thought a bridge like this might be useful over North Roosevelt Boulevard instead of the traffic lights but clearly I am no urban planner. They use ramps not steps to allow pedestrians and wheelchairs and bicycles to cross. Which isn't to say people actually use the bridge!

The bridge also serves as a bus stop for the Nissan and Toyota minivans that act as collectivos between cities (as mentioned above). A collectivo is a minivan that serves a fixed route and picks up and drops off passengers as they go. It's cheap and reliable  and absolutely universal by any name in less developed countries (tuk-tuk or guagua for instance. Google knows!). You'll see them hovering around bridges like buffalo at a water hole. Note the tope below...were you braking for it?

North Americans will squawk a lot about armed police in Mexico, military, sailors or Guardia Nacional and people who watch too much television talk a great deal about corruption and bribes and if they only know one word of Spanish it will be the word for bribe. What once may have been is not any longer but it's impossible to change people's minds. Mexico has a tremendous problem with drug cartels, organizations that shoot each other up and are now so loaded with cash they are struggling to launder themselves into legitimacy. In between all this the Mexican government armed by the US is trying to keep the peace. If you've ever been to Los Angeles and not worried about the Crips versus the Bloods having a turf war you can do the same in Mexico. Its true the price of limes has shot up as well as avocados owing to the cartels buying up farmland, or blackmailing farmers and wrecking price balance, but for those of us trading with US dollars the price increases on our vacation shopping are insignificant. Small restaurants are hurting and limes to squeeze on your food are getting fewer and smaller and less juicy. Please don't use Mexican cocaine and create demand for the cartels. Thank you. Do your bit.

People take great joy in crushing the hopes of others in so many walks of life it shouldn't surprise me when I see mischievous lies repeating themselves about travel in Mexico. It can be dangerous and shit does happen. Real shit, armed robberies by punks, not cartels who ignore tourists who stick to the roads and their vacations. Police do their jobs and I always suspect attitude tickets when I hear people bitching about corruption and on the spot fines. There may be some efforts to extort a few bucks from an inattentive driver and I read lots about it in Baja where I suspect a lot of visitors come with attitude to "their corner" of Mexico. Frankly I'd pay twenty bucks to get on with my life if I made a stupid driving decision. On the mainland I've seen nothing but courtesy and kindness from Mexicans in uniform and civilians. I never saw any corruption in my years at Key West PD but I saw a lot of attitude tickets. It's a worldwide phenomenon. Imagine how many attitude tickets the average server would give to the public if they could! 

Next Monday we are renting our AirBnb apartment in Zihuatanejo for a week as there aren't any decent options for camping that we like. We checked out the address and found a business nearby to park the overly tall Gannet2 next to the apartment house. There is an arch over the entrance that will prevent us getting the van inside but in Mexico there is always a solution to any given problem. I asked Eric at the car cleaner and he said no problem, see you Monday. Of course things may change by then so I count on nothing for sure! More on all that in due course. We drove through Zihuatanejo and headed for Barra de Potosi and a campground rumored to exist on iOverlander.

Twenty minutes south of Zihuatanejo we found this place run by Señora Ana who rents out her house and an apartment and has room for a couple of smaller RVs though she prefers to rent the camping space to one vehicle at a time she says. We are the vehicle this week. It seems her rates are high as she charges twenty five bucks a night or 400 US dollars a month. A couple of sets of Canadian campers have been put off by the prices, thank God, and we rich Americans are alone in her garden. We have WiFi so I'm typing this not on my iPhone but on my MacBook for a pleasant change as it helps reduce the spelling mistakes and syntactical nonsense that seeps into long phone messages. We also have a cold shower, a toilet with toilet paper and a beach which though small does allow some swimming on days with no wind.

We have landed on our feet though I have to point out our heavy camper did decided to sink us into the sand quite unexpectedly as we backed into the camping area. Thank God we backed in else we'd have had to call a tow truck to get us out eventually. As it was... (drum roll please)...we winched ourselves out! How d'you like them apples?

I tried the orange Go Treads but when the van reached the end of the tread the front wheels broke through the crust of hard sand and the back tires sank in and we stopped. So I deployed the winch as well and tried driving out while pulling with the winch. Mixed success as we went further but still got stuck...I gave no signs of my inner desperation to my wife.

In the photo above I am clutching the metal shackle and dangling the yellow rope shackle which I actually didn't need. Just in case you were wondering. I was wondering when I first saw it. I didn't get fancy. I ran the rope around a palm trunk and used the metal shackle to secure it. Then I sat in the driver's seat and used the remote control to tension the winch. I put the van in first gear, locked the front wheel drive to create an electronic "locked differential" with the ESC button and we flopped around digging into the sand while being dragged by the winch. That's not good I thought too myself continuing to smile as I worked on the puzzle.

Running the winch with the van in neutral produced a satisfactory tug but then the winch paused and tugged again and paused and tugged which was working but not well. So I revved the engine in neutral which increased amperage and gave a  a very nice steady pull without the van driving at all. Out we came and suddenly Gannet2 was sitting atop the sand. We were free. Amazing!

Rusty was useless during the entire process, not even as a cheerleader but now that we are settled and the tools of sand removal are put away he is a happy camper, sleeping in the shade, walking twice a day and sleeping outside at night until we feel obliged to call him in. He loves being outdoors.

We plan to be here till Sunday so expect to see more pictures in the days ahead. I have to say I enjoy the solitude and the restaurant across the street more than we even enjoyed Barra de Nexpa and the surfer camp. No one to water bomb us here! No dogs to bother Rusty and he is very respectful of Ana's rooster and two cats. Peace and harmony; just the way I like it. But first a little clean up!

My super duper folding shovel came into play. More fun than answering 911 but this whole episode smacked of work.

We ended up backing up a little after I smoothed out the extensive divots...gouges really.

You have to keep tension on the winch rope as you wind it back up to prevent the rope from riding over itself. I have the remote control in my left hand:

We backed up a little to get more shade but the campground is all ours.

Our small beach with a lovely sunset view.

Lazaro Cardenas, Michoacán

It was a restless night, hot and sticky. The batteries weren’t topped off so we ran the engine a couple of times to double the cool air from the roof and from the dashboard as well as adding amps to the battery bank. We slept fitfully with fans and woke finally at dawn. I walked Rusty on the beach and Layne cleared the cabin for travel. We looked out at a place not for us and we got on the road. Today was a new day. 

Eight o’clock and we were passing the little bakery for a second time, but it was closed. The commuters were out and starting to head for work. Mexico opens later in the morning than the US. Check out the bike path weaving through the weeds and the pink building repeated every mile for what purpose I don’t know - a cycle rest area or toilet or something? 

We had put Walmart and Sam’s Club into Google Maps as our target. With the phone in airplane mode we follow the blue line without using precious internet airtime. Verizon gives us half a gigabyte free every day and we can buy more for $5 each half gigabyte. They send a text message when time is up. Do you want more they ask like drug dealers. Reply Speed to this text for more. It’s funny how you get used to this odd way of living. I type Speed and like magic I can surf the web!

Lazaro Cardenas is a working class city, vibrant with work and avenues lined with small businesses and if my moving photos are less than brilliant forgive  me but I hope they show some of the atmosphere of the busy streets. 

We got a positive buzz finding ourselves in a city going to work. This is not a tourist town and we saw no other gringos even at Las Amerícas Mall. There must be some North Americans in town, expatriate workers no doubt but we were the only ones flying the flag that morning. 

Irritatingly enough they put arches over the entrances and exits and as we need three meters clearance (9’6”) we had a problem as they were only 2.6 meters high. Luckily there was one open gate next to Starbucks presumably to allow delivery vans access. I used it to go in and out I admit. Incoming traffic was very polite to the idiot gringo. 

We got our American groceries, salad, blueberries, cheese and other stuff. We buy eggs from local stores as well as milk and tortillas and so forth. When we got back to the van at the empty end of the parking lot our side door was boxed in by some twat who I can only assume was seeking shade. Whatever, it was easy enough to move. 

We left Las Amerícas and Office Depot, McDonalds and all the rest. We passed an Agua purificada store with parking and I darted off the street in my huge van to load three jugs (garrafones) of water. 15 gallons cost two bucks and filled the tank. Evidently our 35 gallon tank holds 30 gallons which is fine but also rationalizes what I thought was a high rate of consumption. When we thought we had drunk five gallons we’d actually drunk three. Okay then. 

I had incautiously mentioned to my wife we should rotate the tires. We have 33,000 miles on the van and the rotation was of course overdue because I lost track of the schedule, but when she got onto her Google map she found Avante, a chain of tire shops capable of dealing with 18 wheelers and they were on our route out of town to the south. I hoped the wait would be reasonable but they took us right in and got the job done in 20 minutes including hanging over five whole dollars got the job.  Layne insisted we stop even though I of course didn’t want to deal with it; I just wanted to drive because I’m

like that. I love driving. The guy who rotated our wheels was a total jerk. He did the job perfectly and reset the pressures properly  and after it was done, all the while mangling Spanish he told us he graduated a high school in Seattle and spoke fluent English! My kind of jerk as I used to do that with English speaking tourists when I was a kid in Italy. I gave him a dollar tip. Too small? That’s the equivalent  of lunch for a local. Layne gets stuff done and the tires are rotated. Next oil change in 2,000 miles, which may be La Paz in Baja California I’m thinking. Please note below the sign saying only authorized personnel are allowed in the area. We sat in the van as they did the work as it is isolated, we could chat with the employees who wanted to see the inside of our home and we could joke around with them. “Don’t let the dog out!” They pleaded as they advised us there was a waiting room. Don’t worry I said, he likes young fresh meat, not you. Oh they said pointing to one of their team, he’s a dog and we don’t want a dog fight. They did a great job and laughed all the way through. A secretary from the front office came out and they said she’s beautiful and I agreed. But the dog told me she’s fea. When I paid the five bucks I told her the men said you are fea (fierce) and the women at their computers started giggling. Just as well another one remarked. The sort of conversation that would get you manacled in the States. I can see why he came back home from Seattle. Freedom comes in many forms and an enjoyable work environment means a lot. 

We crossed the first bridge south and spotted a Pemex. I convinced the attendant we needed regular gas not diesel and he took a bit of convincing. He dutifully pointed out the numbers at zero and $72 later I gave him my American Express card. Layne meanwhile found lunch across the street. 

She cruised the street food which is the shopping she really enjoys and came back with a quesadilla and a sope (“so-pay” a thick tostada covered in whatever you choose. I had beef and potatoes because Layne knows me). We ate at our tables aboard GANNET2. I took a dog living at the gas station a bag of dog food with some surplus cheese slices from our fridge. He was too shy to take them direct but I watched him dive in as I got back into the van. 

Back on the highway we found ourselves enjoying Mexico again. We crossed the river that separates Michoacán from Guerrero State and found ourselves in a more upscale environment with clean shoulders, a smooth road and frequent road signs. A pleasant change from down at heel Michoacán. The Navy was on patrol too, a sight you get used to all over Mexico. Gang warfare had broken out in Colima over turf claims but along the coast none of that was visible. Look at the lovely clean highway: 

The road safety signs were back. “Put the phone down”. You’ve seen that one everywhere. We were going to Barra de Potosí and life was looking pretty good. Full of water and fuel with empty trash cans and the promise of some more beach swimming. Back on track. 

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.