Deluxe Combo Tour

The minivan tour left soon after 10:30 AM. Three of us were scrunched in the second seat of a minivan, fine for me in the middle and not so bad for the very slim woman beside me, but not so good for Bob's long legs. He would have preferred the front seat beside the driver, but that spot had already been grabbed by a man from Waterloo, Iowa, one of our 6 companions on the journey.

We got a quick look at the marina we were walking to yesterday, not much to look at. We were soon on our way through Zihuatanejo, up the hill to a lookout where we got a breathtaking look at the bay. It was getting hot by this time, so I got out at the next stop with some trepidation. The promised "plantation" was really a touristy coconut farm, with a coconut man in residence chopping up coconuts with a machete. Juan the guide claimed that the coconut guy processed 8,000 coconuts a day in this labor intensive way, a machete mounted on a pedestal between his legs for the first stab job. He finished off each coconut with a hand machete, swung dangerously close to his body. I was surprised that he seemed to be in possession of all his body parts.

We bought a couple of pastries, freshly baked in the outdoor oven. One a coconut stuffed empanada, the other a kind of cinnamon roll. They are in the refrigerator right now, and we will have them for supper. As we lingered, I suspected that this would be a very long day indeed. We piled back into the van and headed up the road to the next stop, an "outdoor tile factory".

We turned off the main drag, the road between the California border and Guatemala, and headed down a bumpy dirt road past a cemetery right on the side of the road, a site that led Juan into a story about "el dia de los muertos", where the graves are visited extensively and decorated with many artifacts that seem to combine Christian faith along with many pagan superstitions.

Onward past children,already adept at begging, playing with an iguana. Bob gave the kids a few coins; many pictures were taken, except by me, not because I felt bad (although I did feel very sad), but because I just couldn’t get my camera in the right spot to take a picture. We finally arrived at the next destination, something resembling what I imagine a "dirt farm" to be. I was expecting Cousin Eddie to show up with a sixpack, something seeming mighty attractive at this point.

A man was making clay tiles that he picked up one by one after forming them with his hands and primitive tools, taking them 20 feet or so to dry in the sun. We were shown the huge hole where the farmers dig for clay until depletion requires a move to another location. I was handed a piece of leaf that smelled vaguely familiar: it had been cut from the oregano bush. Finally, on the way out of the place, the artisans had laid out some clay decorations for purchase -- suns, moons, little animals. The words "abject poverty" came to mind. By the time we all got back in the bus, we were a little subdued.

Next stop Petetlan. We visited the church, a much revered shrine, the scene of many miracles. I would have found Juan’s theology troubling but I was too tired and hot to care, and I couldn’t even energize myself enough to find a couple of postcards at what seemed to be an outdoor gift shop.

We had one final port of call, lunch! By this time, it was well after 2:30 PM and we were all ravenous. The Dos Equis beer and burned chicken hit the spot, and we finally headed back home. Juan’s discourses covered every topic from local politics to the customs and language of Indians in the hills, with many stories of rattlesnake bites, harrowing childbirth, change in marriage customs over time, and any other topic that came into his head.

At last, we were almost home. Oh oh. The van stopped. Just like that. Flooded the engine, Bob thought. Dehydrated and tired, we grabbed a cab and headed to Las Brisas. The day ended well after all.