Wake up to a beautiful sunny cool breezy Saturday morning. A large
power boat is docked next to us. The owner is a businessman from
Mexico City. He and his wife have a condo near by and spend every
weekend and sometimes stay the week. His crew speaks English and we
chat every chance we get. They tell us about the big 10 foot crocodile
they saw next to BD last night. They say the crocs sleep under the
bridge during the day and at sunset they come out and hang out near or
under the docks. He says he always walks in the middle of the dock to
be safe. Recently a huge croc, Pedro, some 3 to 4 feet in diameter was
relocated. People were feeding him and he never attacked anyone, but
the marina feared he could be just waiting for a big meal.
Morning is spent trying to find a free wireless connection to send
yesterdays blog and taking pictures of the marina and golf course.
About 11 AM we leave on the day's adventure to Playa La Ropa the other
side of Zihuatanejo (Z) to experience the "party atmosphere" on the
beach for tomorrow, Super Bowl (SB) Sunday. We plan to checkout of
IXTAPA Marina around noon tomorrow and sail to this beach to party,
watch the SB and sail at sunset to Acapulco. We have no idea how to
get where we want to go; we just jump on a bus like the night before
that has Z on it. Somehow daylight make it seem a lot less dangerous.
Our philosophy is that buses are so cheap we can just keep catching
them to get where we are going and return home. There aren't very many
passengers who look like they speak English. We race at high speed
once we pass the last Ixtapa (X) bus stop where we got off last night.
We are sitting on the last row of the bus so that when the bus passes
over an imperfection in the road's surface, of which there are many,
we are airborne over our seats; it reminds me of my old school bus. In
minutes we enter a big city.
John is using his best Spanish plus hand signals to ask the bus driver
which stop should we use to get to the beach. We exit the bus in the
central business district, el centro, and the driver is pointing at
another smaller older bus a block away. In another leap of faith we
jump on this empty bus. The driver finally shows up and we think he
says we are going to Playa La Ropa. As we stop for more passengers
there are a good many older Americans and Canadians mixed with the
locals. A elderly bohemian like handicapped American sits with me and
confirms he is going for his usual walk on the beach. Soon we are at
the end of the line; the road traverses a sharp drop to limited
parking at a dead end near the beach.
We find ourselves following the old handicapped bohemian as he walked
down the beach. The bay where this beach is located is really the only
place a vessel can anchor in Z, there are no marinas. This looks to be
a great place to drop the hook for SB Sunday. Every section of the
beach is a cantina, restaurant or hotel beach party. There are 4 or 5
big parachutes and power boats ready to whisk you into the sky for a
dangerous birds eye view of the coast. Maybe you want to do the safer
jet ski thing; there are several rentals along the beach. Several
little Hobie catamarans are also for rent. The handicapped bohemian
tells us to walk less than ½ mile to the statue and then up a narrow
street to the main road where a bus will stop to take us back to town.
He then slows to talk to friends. The only problem for younger folks
is this whole beach is dominated by families and older, probably
retired, folks; it is too quiet! Where are the parties we heard so
much about? Maybe the SB will light a fire under this place.
We walk almost to the cliffs that abruptly ends the beach and locate a
cantina/restaurant that is having a SB party and decide to try it for
lunch. Don met the woman he was talking to on the bus; her son
graduated from Texas A&M in 1980. She comes over to talk to us about
the years she and her husband have been coming to X. A woman selling
the cutest thing; we decide we need Puffer for BD to scare away
crocodiles and eat bugs during the BLUE HOUR. Deborah also points out
the woman needed the money to feed her babies. This place will pass as
a SB alternative.
We never find the statue, but we do find a narrow street leading up
the hill. A bus will pick you up anywhere, just wave your arms.
However, we walk all the way back to where we were dropped at the end
of the line. You see we wanted the more thrilling seat in the rear of
the bus.
We arrive back at air conditioned BD just in time. We are severely
beaten up by the mid day heat, the beach walk and the bus ride. Its
time to slow our roll until just before sun down. We decide watch
locals and snack in X rather than eat on BD. We step out into the
cockpit and are assaulted by vigorous bugs, mostly mosquitoes and
biting flies; it is the BLUE HOUR. This is the time between sun
up/down and darkness, twilight, when these pests attack you. We have
our defense though; its a product called Autan which not only repels
the bug but takes the itch out of the bite if he has already nibbled
on you.
Downtown X ounce again did not disappoint, snacks (Ceviche, Fondido
and salad), coffee and sugar free raspberry-banana ice cream were
enjoyed. The little cafe brewed fresh coffee drinks that are different
and in some way better than Starbucks.
Sunday we all exercised and ran into X once more to say goodby. At the
hour appointed by the captain we departed for Playa La Ropa, but this
time by sea and not bus. The sea near shore is littered with
vegetation and trash washed out the rivers by last week's storms. BD
has to take a much wider than normal path down the coast. We do a day
anchor just off the beach where we spotted a SB party and had lunch.
John left us twice on the beach. The first time a rouge wave broke on
the dinghy farther from shore and through John into the surf. He had
to come in again to retrieve the washed up dinghy to make the second
successful attempt. I thought for a minute that we should swim out far
enough for the dinghy to get us when we decided to return to BD, but I
have my camera with me to take a picture of BD from shore.
The party is boring. The Latin channel on shore was broadcasting the
game but without US commercials. We call BD and make the perfect
escape. The game takes forever. We lift anchor at sunset and the game
is still just in the second quarter.
God Bless Bella Donna
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