Headed South: A Romp around the Lake, A Day at the Beach and Sunday Night in Chapala

As you may recall, our first intrepid visitor from the States, Kent, arrived last week. To provide context, our travels with Kent have never been uneventful. Lost with a broken down car in a California wilderness area known for its extensive pot harvest and unfriendly pot farmers, numerous unsuccessful attempts to find Black Beach in San Diego and invariably ending up on the 18th hole of the same golf course... well, you get the picture. So, why should Mexico be any different?

Since May, all has been calm in our little corner of the world. The cartel folk went on summer vacation, no violent demonstrations after the election, no natural disasters...perfecto. Until Kent arrived. Our first outing was a trip to the other side of the lake so that Kent could view our little village from afar. It was a beautiful day (of course) and when we reached San Luis Soyatlan we were having such a grand time that we decided we would just keep going for the full circumlocution of the lake. This proved to be arduous on many levels. One: While the lake is 50 miles long, the road that encircles it is significantly longer. Try five hours of driving; Two: You drive through Michoacan. Unlike Jalisco state, Michoacan is experiencing significant conflict vis a vis the cartels; Three: Just when you think the end of the road may be in sight, the road turns into a convoluted, cobblestoned, single lane horror perched hundreds of feet above the lake with sheer drop-offs (phobia #1). All in all, a day to remember. Quotes from Kent: "So, how long is this lake again?", "Is it pretty normal to see all these Federal Police wearing ski masks and toting gigantic guns flying down the road like this?" "Do you think I ought to get out and pry those kids off the bumper? It doesn't seem safe." We pulled into Casa Searles tired, but content that we had exposed our guest to the broad spectrum of life around the lake.

Kent had specifically requested that, if possible, we take a trip to the Pacific Coast since he had not been south of San Diego. Michael and I pointed out that it was really very hot at the Coast at this time of year but Kent gamely replied: "I live in Austin. How hot can it be?" We drove in air conditioned comfort through the mountains, descended to the palm and banana plantations and ultimately arrived at La Manzanilla -- a small fishing village an hour north of Manzanillo. Kent threw open the car door, stepped out and said: "Oh, my God! The humidity! Excruciating! I had no idea!" This is a common reaction to the Mexican beach in summer. We joined the other twenty or so vacationers demented enough to seek out a holiday in the equivalent of the eighth circle of Hell.

It was so hot (how hot was it?) that we couldn't bring ourselves to walk the four block length of town seeking a restaurant open in the depths of the off season. From the car, we could spot no open restaurant but did see two gringo-looking people in the distance. We pulled over and asked for a recommendation. As so often happens in Mexico, the couple was very friendly and pointed us to the restaurant they were headed to. We met up with them there and continued our conversation. The woman said, "You have GOT to see their little tejon!" Dogs are very welcome in most restaurants here but this was the first time that we had a waiter come to the table with a small, yet obviously wild creature, draped over his arm. How to describe it? Well, I wish we had a picture but it was pitch dark in this restaurant and our best attempts to capture it photographically failed. Picture a raccoon and shrink it by 50 percent. Think coatamundi but a little different. Anteater nose, kind of. Seemingly docile, but really sharp claws. Can kill a cat, if so inclined, when full grown. The locals find these guys abandoned or orphaned as babies and raise them until they hit adolescence. At adolescence they become as unmanageable as the human variant and are set free in the hills. The Pizza was great. The conversation was great. The tejon was...kind of cute.

In addition to its other charms, La Mazanilla boasts a refuge for caimans (you know, like alligators but with the pointed snout). Phobia #4: Reptiles and Amphibians. Needless to say, Kent and Michael insisted on a visit to the refuge first thing the next morning. I would say that, at best, the owners of the refuge were casual about security. For instance, the chain link fence had large areas where you could enter (and very probably, they could exit). Michael and Kent were through that fence like a shot, onto the boardwalk and suspension bridge (I really didn't like that part) and observing nature up close and personal. I, on the other hand, was cringing atop a parapet in a beach restaurant about 200 feet away. This allowed me to observe what I felt was a real insight into how Mexicans regard risk versus Americans. I am standing at a beach bar/restaurant where obviously people swim. Probably less than 300 feet away is a caiman reserve which does not appear to have anything to prohibit these behemoths from taking a little swim out to perhaps munch your toddler. This configuration of swimming beach and caiman reserve would not occur in New Jersey. Now what I don't know about caimans is staggering. Maybe they won't go past waves. Or maybe they will. Maybe they need brackish water only and shun salt. Or not. I do know that having seen what I have seen, I will not be swimming at La Manzanilla anytime soon. With shirts clinging soggily, we decided one night at the beach was more than enough and staged a strategic retreat to the mountains the following day.

Somewhat constantly interfering with our plans to expose Kent to more life threatening situations was the ongoing drama of our outdoor furniture deliveries. How long can it take to find, buy and have some furniture delivered? It turns out to be one and a half months. Finally, the last delivery was scheduled to arrive from Tonala between 4-6 on Saturday afternoon. At 4:30 I get a call. It is in Spanish which is not my preferred language for phone calls in that I understand almost nothing usually. But, on that day, I could pick out several key words and phrases including: emergencia, policia, barricadas, hombres malos, incendios, no puedo manejar. Yes, damn it. Another delay because those pesky cartels are annoyed that the police have had the nerve to have a shoot out with some of their guys. In response, they have barricaded roads into Guadalajara and set fire to buses and trucks (not with people in them) to register their displeasure. So, the furniture guy can't deliver. We set it up for the next day, Sunday, at 4-6.

Six o'clock comes and goes with no delivery and we have to leave to meet friends for drinks and dinner (priorities, priorities). A margarita or so later, we saunter down to the Malecon in Chapala where we will dine. Now, on Sunday, the Malecon in Chapala is packed with literally a thousand or more people. It is the go to place. As we approach the seawall, I notice a guy who looks familiar and say to Michael "Hey, do we know that guy?" Michael says,"Duh... It's the furniture guy!" Turns out, he showed up at our place at 6:10 -- just missed him. He was not at all put out... and surprisingly neither was I. He had just decided that we probably went to dinner so he, and his whole family, came down to Chapala to chill, have dinner and try to deliver later. We agreed to meet at 10PM back at our place and sure enough he was there on the dot. Not often do you get furniture delivered at 10PM Sunday in the States.

Sunday night at the Chapala malecon. I do believe even Kent, intrepid traveler that he is, was taken a bit aback. Here's what you see: hundreds of families picnicking, strolling, swimming etc.; bands, many featuring tubas, battling each other for prime real estate; vendors selling almost anything you can imagine; a troop of horsemen performing dressage (they would never use a sissy word like that) amidst the crowd; skateboarders; dogs snatching left overs or unattended picnic fixings; teenage couples draped over one another and more, much more. Our gringo senses were overloaded by 9:30 and we fled. Our furniture delivery guy and his family were headed back to the Malecon for many more hours of fun at 10:30.

It was a great week. We're regrouping this weekend and then we are off to our Colonial City jaunt with Stanley and Luzma. Upon our return, the Globos Festival occurs on Saturday, September 8th. At this event, local towns folk create small hot air balloons out of tissue paper and set them free. I think over the Lake. There is quite a risk of fire which is why they do it during rainy season, we conjecture. Should have more fodder for the blog fire by this time next week. Take care.