Overdue, Overlength trip report - Day 3


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Escrito por Ket desde 12.175.230.38 (?) el día miércoles, 10 de mayo, 2006 a las 11:19:10 horas :

The Third Day – Sunday April 23, 2006

Sunday Morning we woke around 8:00 to the screaming bird, who must have overslept because the sun was nearly over the Eastern hilltops when I glanced out the sliding door.

We met our traveling companeros on the deck next to the pool where both of our rooms were located, and decided to venture down to the restaurant El Viras (no the place did not have a black haired vixen in a low-cut dress and a huge stack introducing b movies, but I kept an eye out just in case) for breakfast. We enjoyed great fruit plates, French toast and bacon, and omelets. The food was great, the service was stupendous, and of course the view was outstanding. The bay was cruise-shipless today, and though I now understand that the weird water discoloration is probably due to and algae bloom or some other natural cause, I still find it peculiar that the water looked and smelled much better today.

Our new friends from the web-board were now staying at a private villa in Troncones and graciously invited us out to spend the day with them. We had long been curious about this area and were eager to see it, so we accepted.

Around noon, we boarded a taxi and were underway to Troncones. This particular cab did not have air conditioning, and had we been holding a frozen pizza, the cheese would have turned a delicate brown, and taken on a bubbly texture in short order. I was in back with the ladies who were laughing and saying Andale, Andale…which the driver interpreted as “please hurry”, and he switched places with the Mexican equivalent of the ghost of Dale Earnhardt. I guess a large number 3 sticker in the back window means the same thing in Mexico as it does in the USA. The road to Troncones is filled with curves and consists of only two lanes, these facts being irrelevant to “the Ghost”. The girls and I were pressed from one side of the cab to other much to the delight of “the Ghost” and Darrell who was sitting up front, and laughing nearly uncontrollably in his front row seat carnival ride. “How much longer, my friend?” says Darrel at one point of the ride. “For most…twenty minute, with me…eight minute” replies “the Ghost” He was not kidding, because we pulled into Troncones, tires screeching, dust rolling, in less than eight minutes. As we were driving to the villa, now at a more sedate speed presumably because we were in town, and the driver and ghost once again switched places, we pulled up to a soccer field where a game is underway, and the driver toots his horn. One of the players dressed in a snappy uniform trots off the field and leans in the window and starts conversing in rapid Spanish with the driver. I didn’t catch most of the banter but we were able to translate something about a ride back to Zihuatanejo. The soccer player hands him a business card, and “the Ghost” passes the card to Darrell and tells him to call this number when we are ready to return. What a great gesture.

Since we had never been here, we didn’t know exactly the address of the villa so we relayed as best we could the instructions our friends had given us and looked about for the villa. At this point I must clarify that Dwight and Deb from the board and ourselves had discovered that we would be arriving in Z at about the same time, and through e-mail discovered that we shared quite a commonality. Being a passionate Dallas Cowboy fan of many years, I was a little dismayed to see Dwight wearing a Washing Redskins hat, bitter rivals of the Cowboys, in many of the pictures he e-mailed. I attempted to point out to him that I found his hat distasteful and provoking and asked him to please refrain from sending any more pictures with that hat on his nugget. The meeting was nearly called off, but we decided to lay our NFL differences aside for this one trip and proceed to the appointment. Anyway, I once again digress. As we approached a gorgeous well kept yard containing a beautiful beach house, we saw a sign painted on an empty Tecate cardboard flat. The cab-driver immediately broke out laughing as the sign was written in Spanish and roughly translated said: Welcome Friends of Team of Redskins. Cowboys inhale sharply (suck). We had found the correct place.

Before we could even get the gate open, we were greeted with fresh, frosty blended Cuervo Margaritas, which quickly and efficiently cleansed the pallet and soul for what lay ahead. As we look around...well, all I can say is “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” I had had dreams about places like this, but did not realize that they actually existed. As you step up to a cement foyer you are greeted by an infinity pool which looks out to a secluded beach and sparse trees and brush. The surf can easily be heard over the gentle music eminating from the CD player, which was strategically placed over by the couch which divided the living/pool space from the kitchen. Yeah, you read that right, the pool is actually part of the living room which is partly outside and in the sun with a seamless transition to the living kitchen area which are open but still retain open air spaciousness. This is hard to explain…believe me, it is sublime. When we awoke from the daze we found ourselves in, and placed our eyeballs back in their sockets, we continued the tour, I trying not to bust out bawling like a big old overwhelmed baby from the beauty and magic of it all, and uh the tequila setting in. There is also a private bedroom and completely modern bathroom on this floor. Stairs ascend the building to another totally private bedroom and bathroom on the second floor. If you keep climbing, you will alight on the third floor veranda which may or may not have a palapa for shade, and two hammocks strung therein. To say the view from here is stunning would be like calling Mt. Rushmore a pile of rocks… again, truly sublime and very humbling at the same time. I would give the name of this place, but since I was only a guest for the day, I don’t think I should, as I am not sure about their advertising, if any, etc. and I don’t want to ruin anything for anyone by be presumptive.

We spent the afternoon sipping Debs superb margaritas, listening to music, alternating between sun, shade, and pool, and wondering what we ever did to deserve even one afternoon in a place like this. Here is something else I noticed which is interesting, confusing, and maybe even a little sad all at once. If you leaned out over the rail surrounding the pool area, there is a small road/trail for public beach access. I noticed a few locals making their way to the beach. OK, here we were enjoying expensive booze, next to a professionally cleaned and sanitized pool, in and around a house which would probably humble Ivana. As I lean over the railing to see what’s going on on the trail below, I take note of the locals making their way to the beach, mostly dressed in shabby clothes, packing old, beat up coolers, and kids wearing rags if anything at all. At first I avoid eye contact with them, because I mean look where I was at and what I was doing, then look at them, and how they were living. They seemed to be kind of doing the same thing, that is avoiding eye contact with me as well…at first. One guy in an old straw hat with holes all over it looked up at me, held my gaze, flashed a mostly toothless grin, and winked. I started laughing and called out Buenes Tardes, Amigo. He laughed and said “Salud, amigo!” This started a kind of chain reaction with all the people down there, all very cordial and friendly, and like me, just very happy to be here. I detected no animosity whatsoever toward the fat gringo drinking from a crystal glass by a private pool. Talk about humbling. Though I have mui blanco skin, fair hair, and hazel eyes, this incident further re-enforces my theory that somehow I am a Mexican…just trying to find my way home.

Later, Darrel and I decided to head down to the beach ourselves and try some of that famous Troncones surf with boogie boards provided by the house. The locals were in little groups here and there, and there was a good sized group about 200 hundred meters from the water gathered around a bunch of rocks. Other than that, the beach was deserted. We picked a place which looked to be relatively free of rocks, and paddled out. Perhaps the surf was providing a scrubbing action, but this water appeared clean, and out past the breakers even took on a pretty bluish color. It did not taste so good when ingested in quantity, as you’re being pounded into the sand however. After a few rides and wipeouts, we headed back to the villa to shower for dinner.

We dined that night at the Burro Boracho (Drunken Donkey). The food was pretty good, and the brewskies were frosty, but the real highlight was when the dancers came out after dinner. This was a high school group performing traditional Mexican dances, a vaquero perfoming rope tricks, and demonstrations of other Mexican culture. It was an outstanding presentation which once again left us speechless, as you can imagine, not an easy task for me.

After dinner we returned to the villa and called the soccer player for a ride home and he promptly arrived a few minutes later in a modern air conditioned cab. I gotta tell you, it was not easy getting back into that cab. They say once you try crystal meth, or any hard drug, you spend the rest of your days in search of that first high. Though I have never tried the hard drugs, I think I know the feeling they are talking about.

The cab ride back was uneventful, and the driver spoke pretty good English, so we reverted to a kind of Spanglish thing where he was in English and I was practicing my Spanish. I asked him about the increasing violence in Guerro, and he replied that yes, it is getting crazy, and one must be very careful. I asked him what he thought was causing the increase, and he shrugged his shoulders and repeated that one just has to be careful. I wasn’t really sure what he meant, but decided to let it go, because I could tell he was uneasy speaking about it.

We landed back at the Villa Mexican at about 10:15 p.m. We decided to stroll down to the beach and see if we could catch a phosphor luminescent show. Alas, either there weren’t any there that night, or there were too many lights on the beach because we didn’t really find any. As we were heading back to our poolside rooms, we decided to dip our feet in the pool to rinse the sand off. Now, the pool at the Villa Mexicana has an area on each end which is about a foot deep and sharply drops to a depth of four feet in the middle. The wife and I were standing just over ankle deep in one the shallow ends enjoying the warm water on our feet. The pool was closed and the water was pitch black. Our friends came to join us, and I heard a sharp gasp and loud splash, I turned around just in time to see Catalina’s ankle and foot going under upside down. She came up, fully dressed and with purse, quite surprised. She had assumed that the entire pool was only a foot deep and stepped into the deeper part and got a little Mexican surprise. We suppressed our laughs until we assured everything was OK, then let loose with some gut-holding belly laughs. At this point the manager came around the corner, followed by at least three of her cats and told us to be careful of the chemicals in the pool which are added at 10 PM, and that is why the pool is closed at 10 PM. As the manager walked away, I’m pretty sure I heard one cat sniff in a huff, and the other two were snickering. We retired still laughing.

Next up: Not another cruise ship!?




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