Have I finally gone crazy? Have spicy fish tacos fried the last remaining sane cells in my left side brains? No, I actually landed in Mexico 3 times in the past month, well kind of. The first time in Philadelphia where a señor Garcia welcomed me into the United States Of America (or is it Mexico?). The second time when I landed in Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, United States of Mexico (or is it America?). The third and final time -at least I think so, and my digestive system truly wishes so- in Los Angeles.
LA actually felt more Mexican than Mexico. In the Pacific provinces of Jalisco and Nayarit the bars and restaurants all broadcast American Football and there were more baseball (BEISBOL!) courts than football (soccer) fields and to make matters worse most Mexicans insisted on speaking English with me. Very amigable and all, but I was hoping that by answering back in fluent Spanish I would get them to desist and return to their native language. Not a chance, When I landed in LA everyone around me seemed to be speaking Spanish and the TV set was broadcasting a Mexican football (soccer) league game. About time!
Anyhow, as I believe I might have mentioned in my previous update Mexico was not originally planned. The busted ribs, the supposedly predominant Northern swell pattern of the Pacific in the month of January and mellow waves in the Nayarit area and desire to get a taste of Mexico were what attracted me to the region. I came away with improved physical conditions, a low wave count and a taste of what Canadians and Americans are like when the escape the cold winter and fly south to the mass tourist resorts of Pacific Mexico to drink cheap margaritas and eat tacos. I was a little disappointed with my stay in Mexico. Mexican culture in the region is not easy to come by if you stay in the “sleepy” tourist town of Sayulita (mistake number 1) and look like a gringo (mistake number 2). Unlike Perù -where the term could sometimes be used in a friendly manner to refer to anyone Caucasian-, in Mexico a “gringo” is a mildly derogatory term that is used to address Americans. The etymology of the word isn't quite certain, it is believed to be a contraction of the sentence “green go home”, usually directed to US soldiers back in the day of the US-Mexican wars.
I am certain that Mexico is a wonderful country and I will have to return, but I left the country with a bitter after-taste. I would greet people in the streets of Sayulita and they wouldn't even grunt back. The only time when people were remotely kind to me was when they could extract money from me. The kindest people I met in Mexico were all American, Canadian and Italian expats. What happened? Did mass tourism steal the soul of the region? Are people bitter because twenty-fifteen years ago they sold off their properties to the Gringos at super low prices that have skyrocketed since?
The “sleepy” little town reminded me of the seaside resort of Huanchaco in Perù. Except that it was a lot cleaner, tidier and tropical, with a lower stray dog count and unfortunately a much higher unfriendly person count. As I said, I am sure this was not Mexico and I hope I will get a chance to fly back an travel around the country for an extended period of time at some point in the future.
The waves in Sayulita contributed to my frustration. They were small, very crowded and the water was definitely not clean. Fortunately in the first couple of days I met two French surfers at the hostel and we escaped to the Bay of Banderas, approximately 20kms south of Sayulita. The coastline has been bought up and sealed off, but the land owners graciously let surfers into the properties. We surfed at a magic little spot called la Lancha. A stunning scenery, crystal clear tropical water, islands in the distance, long white sand beaches and scattered jungles in the background. Shame the swell didn't really pick up during my stay and most of the time I was left trying to surf mushy, powerless waves on my chunky 5'8'' fish (a surfboard design).
The French guys left. I ate too many Tacos, which didn't actually mess up my digestive tract (although I suspect that the spicy sauces were burning holes into my stomach), but I did get tired of eating Tacos... so I searched for the cheapest alternative that was relatively tasty, would not kill me or my wallet and would not force me to cook. The Italian expats came to my rescue with some really good pasta and pizza. I was lucky enough to meet Maurilio a 40 year old Roman former world traveler who had been living in Sayulita for too long. We shared the passion for surfing and a common will to escape the crowded home break of Sayulita. Fortunately Maurilio happens to be an interesting, intelligent and very welcoming person. Our daily surf trips to Burros (donkeys) and La Lancha were often followed by spaghetti eating in the company of any of Maurilio's friends. We re-created a little Italian colony to escape from the delirium of drunk American tourists, terminally sunburnt Canadians and the most melancholic depressed Mexicans you can imagine.
Now I have two formal complaints to make. The first one is directed to the genius that decided to rip apart the streets of Sayulita during high season. Thank you... you made my stay relaxing and pleasant. /sarcasm off. And my second complaint goes out to humanity as a whole for not caring in the least about the environment. Now, I am certainly not a guilt free tree-hugging zero carbon footprint environmentalist, however is it really that hard to collect your trash before you make your way home from the beach??? Do you know how many turtles are killed each year by plastic bags left behind? It almost makes me wish sea life invented some form of weapon and retaliated. Please do not eat the surfers hungry little stripy tiger sharks.
Did I ever mention how amazingly smart I am? On my second last day in Sayulita I managed to loose the keys to my hostel room. I simply forgot to put them in my special airtight bag in my pocket and left them hanging around my neck. Now my keys are lying at the bottom of the ocean. Hopefully not harming any form of sealife. Upon return to the hostel I was informed that the previous occupant of the room had lost the original keys and that my set was the only copy! Hurray!!! I was told not to worry, it would be taken care of. I spent the night in the empty dorm room and trusted that the following morning a locksmith would pick the lock and let me pack my luggage. At 9 am I was again told not to worry. At 11 am and no trace of the locksmith I worried and set out to find a locksmith in the sleepy village of Sayulita, that looked like a warzone thanks to the genious that was having the city ripped apart in the middle of high season to put electric cables underground and build underground parking (???!!!!) on the formerly beautiful main square and now post atomic warhead crater. Turns out there is no locksmith on a Saturday morning. I return to the hostel and ask the manager to do something or I will do something drastic. I was trying to be as Zen as possible, but I was starting to lose it. I think the hostel manager sensed it and decided to take it upon himself to break the bedroom lock before I turned into the Incredible Hulk and ripped the hostel to shreds. He proceeded to break three drill bits and two screwdrivers and the door would just not surrender. After one hour he eventually succeeded to smash the door open damaging the door frame and annihalating the lock in the process. I quickly packed. On my way out one of the girls working at the hostel suggested that this was Sayulitas way to tell me not to leave, that it was my destiny to stay, “sorry darling, this is Sayulita's way of confirming that it is time for me to swiftly depart before I turn into an over sized angry green man”. Maurilio was kind enought to drive me to the airport. I received a text message this morning that informed me that he has also bought an escape ticket from Sayulita. He is relocating to the Caribbean coast of Mexico. Good luck my friend!
In Hawai'i at the moment... AWESOME. Pictures and rambling post in the upcoming future
