From the Desert to the Coast

Don’t let them call you loco when you say you’re heading to the beach for Semana Santa. At this time of year its difficult to find an empty inch on the shore. But here we are in Chacala, a small fishing village north of Puerto Vallarta. The beach that had 300 people when we arrived may have 10,000 by the week’s end, and trash is accumulating, and yes, we are entirely blocked in by a makeshift tent city with jerry-rigged electricity and competing Mexican stereos on all sides, but all is well. It’s Wednesday and today is the big official national holiday during Easter week. Buses are expected to arrive through the night bringing in vacationing Mexicans from all parts. Many will meet up with their large extended families which have already set up a home for a week on the beach (often complete with televisions and refrigerators). Others will just sleep wherever they end up when morning comes. The infrastructure that supports this longstanding tradition is surprisingly efficient, with daily trash pick-ups, potable water trucks, bathrooms and showers that are cleaned daily, and, yes, electricity, tenuous as it may sometimes seem. Some of the families that come here, like our neighbors, have been doing this for over 40 years, so they have gotten pretty good at it. Many come and vend all manner of goods, some setting up stores, others trekking the beach. In a manner of minutes you could have yourself a beach umbrella, mat, fresh mango, a sweet coconut ball, flan, fried platanos, tools for sand castle crafting, and toys for conquering the surf. We, however, haven’t purchased much because the family next door has adopted us for the week—Pati brought chilaquiles for breakfast, Guicho served ceviche for lunch, Gloria, Rosa, Bere, Leti and Enrinque have also cooked splendid treats and all have shared basically everything they have.That's Alex (Gloria's son) and Bere in the picture. There are a total of twelve siblings and eight are represented here. With their respective spouses and children we’re having a hard time keeping up. In the line up of good people who have crossed our path we cannot fail to mention Buddy (pic to come, check here later), a gringo/ex-marine/ex-cartographer from Missouri. He left the States three years ago heading for Belize, but never made it past Chacala. He spent a year in a tent on the beach, and then by the kindness of locals landed himself a pleasant sand-floor cabin on the high end of the beach. Buddy is quite the generous Chacaleno, and readily fills in on the history and small-town politics of the village. He also won Thea over by giving her a real peanut butter sandwich (something that is non-existent in Mexico). Regardless of the crowds, trash and noise we’re thoroughly enjoying the company of good folks. The beach scene is also and incredible spectacle—Bands often march the shore, people dance in the tide, the sunsets are brilliant, the waves can get enormous, and Althea usually spends half the day playing in the surf, making sand tortillas, and running around with other kids.

We know this is getting long but we would be remiss if we didn’t back up a bit and tell you how we got here. After leaving Zacatecas, we spent the night in front of a family-run llantera (tire shop) in the petit village of Limon. Along with tires the family also had about 25 goats. We watched as the husband and wife carried newly sharpened sickles and empty feed sacks up the hill. They returned with bags full of fresh-cut alfalfa, and before we knew it they served us up a warm bubbly cup of leche de chiva – goat milk. Suffice it to say that Althea and Courtney now make references to it at least once a day. I guess it’s a form of therapy to conquer the pangs of deprevation.

From Limon we drove through the grinding heat and crowded streets of Guadalajara to Laguna Santa Maria del Oro, a pristine crater lake about 80 miles from the coast. Our days there consisted of swimming, cooking and chatting it up with locals. It was muy tranquilo but the coast was calling.


The only way to the beach from the lake is through Tepic, a noisy sprawling city. Here its very common to see gas stations with all-female attendants and shrubs that are shaped like whales, sharks and dolphins. It’s an odd detail we couldn’t leave out. Once through Tepic there is a distinct, almost immediate change in scenary to something more tropical--large banana plantations and a series of the towns nestled in the sharp curves of the winding mountain road. The drive was complimented by first-rate banana bread and other banana goodies. At sunset we pulled right up to Platanitos (little bananas), a small beach with a few restaurants. When we heard the mariachi band and saw the tide coming in and the sky lighting up with orangy reds and dusty purples we had to pinch ourselves.


But the next day when the buses roared in and hundreds flooded the small quarter-mile shore with paper plates, coke bottles and dirty diapers we knew we were still in Mexico. At Platanitos we met the Duartes, who invited us to their home near Tepic. That's Gerardo Duarte in the picture of Althea buried.




They told us if we ever came to simply pull into town and ask for Gerardo and Berta. They made tempting offers of hot showers, frijoles and horses. Two days later, on a whim, we pulled into San Cayetano and inquired about the two. I don’t think they really expected to see us again. But to make a long story short we spent three days enjoying beans, horses and hot showers. Althea was charmed by their parrot and hedge hog (which was smuggled in a glove box from Las Vegas—but that’s another story) and, of course, their many grandchildren.







They also sent us on a mini-adventure to a river where we took a lancha through mangroves with enormous crocodiles, swam in the crystal clear water of a natural spring, and ended up stopping by an enormous and nearly deserted beach just waiting for the hordes that would come for Semana Santa in the week to come.




And now our story is still being told but we’ll have to put that in writing later. We’ve got some serious fiestas to tend to here! Much love to all those logging in, happy Easter, and congratulations if you made it this far!

PS: For those interested (and you must be if you're reading), the last pic is of Corrina writing our last post on a rooftop in Zacatecas.