Laughing Waters

If you are up for an excursion in Mexico, and if there is a critical mass of Mexicans on board, be ready to dive right into the festivities. - or be thrown, your choice. The natives won’t have it any other way.

So, for instance, if you find yourself on a boat on its way to an island in the middle of a lake near mountainous Patzcuaro, with a couple dozen Mexicans on board, be ready to sing, dance, or at the very least clap along with whatever is happening. You won’t be able to retreat into that safe corner of Anglo Saxon stony-ness that many of us carry around for just such occurrences. You’re on, buddy and the more the chaos, the merrier.

So, there we were, our Anglo Saxonness torn to shreds, on a slow boat to Janitzio Island trying desperately to come up with something to sing, competently, in Spanish. Ah hah! La Bamba! The Mexican contingent vaulted into the music, hands clapping, feet stomping, and, even though our translations were shaky and our voices froglike, it didn’t matter anymore. We could have been singing Beethoven’s Ninth and no one would notice, just so long as we clapped and stomped in time.

That was Patzcuaro for us, the beginning of a party that pretty much lasted until we climbed on a plane for Portland. By the time we had left Guanajuato, we were ready for a change. Lynn had wrapped up five hard weeks of language school and Eric was recovering from the self-imposed isolation that comes with writing a book. And, despite our great experiences with Rogelio and son Emilio, we felt the urge to explore. Patzcuaro was the perfect antidote: just a beautiful, small, mountain town with a few Gringos milling about, but mostly just Mexican folks going about their business – just the way we like it.

We showed up on a Sunday evening as things were winding down in the zocalo, but there was still enough time to sip margaritas and watch the kids getting horse and family bike rides around the square while a local dance group spun through the crowd, drums beating. It was clear and cool and kind of perfect.

The next morning, with exploration on our minds, we located a cab driver that we had “interviewed” the night before on our way in from the bus station. He was Adrian Guzman, he spoke excellent English and had been born in the area, so we asked him to, essentially, take over our itinerary for the day. While it is always helpful to have a guide who can speak at least some English, when we have someone like Adrian, though, it really enhances the experience because we can get into the subtleties of what to do and see without having to just roll the dice and hope for the best.

Eric guapo in a handmade Patzcuaro hat

Adrian played his role perfectly. Thanks to him, we spent an entire day touring the lakeside pueblos near Patzcuaro, seeing master weavers, hat makers and mask makers plying their skills. All the while, Adrian was able to fill us in on the history of the area - as well as show us some of the most unusual pyramids we had yet seen in Mexico. These were the remaining public structures from the Tarasco people, who as Adrian explained, had never capitulated to the other conquering tribes like the Aztecs, but instead had maintained their mountain kingdom, unvanquished, until the arrival of the Spaniards. The sites of the main city are beautifully laid out and strategically placed to have a full 360 view of the surrounding lowlands- as well as having total command of the heights. The pyramid structures are unusual for Mexico, employing curved walls and abutments that are elegant and strong. 

We expected there would be busloads of people at the sites, but, as it happened, we were there with perhaps a half dozen Mexican tourists. We finished the day up with a promise that we would visit one of the islands in the lake- Janitzio.

The lanchas for the island are all within a short collectivo ride from Patzcuaro’s main square. Once you plunk your pesos down, you are in for the aforementioned party. The plan is simple: take the boat to the island, observe the traditional fishermen just outside the bay (who pose for photos then put down their nets and collect pesos from the photographers), land on the island, find a place to eat, climb the steep stairway to the statue of Hidalgo at more or less the top of the island, through bodega after bodega, street vendors waiting in good natured ambush, music, food and drink.  Boom. That’s it. That’s the whole enchilada. The climb was hard in the hot weather and the view station on top was closed by the time we got there, but never mind. We found ourselves just laughing at it all: the lancha named Titanic, the street musicians who are going to play you a song while you are eating WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT. A church with a bleeding Jesus covered with US dollars (still haven’t figured that one out), then the ride back with Mexican tourists who have been spectacularly overserved – hence the music, etc.

A puzzle - Jesus has dollars!

Before we knew it, Patzcuaro was in the rearview mirror and we were bound for an entirely different Mexico than we had experienced before: Gringo Fantasy Island.

View of Barra de Navidad from our little hotel

First stop: Barre de Navidad. Sunning, surfing, fishing, snorkeling, lanchas back and forth from fancy American and Canadian hotels, plenty of street vendors, good food, if a bit more spendy. Our budget hotel, El Delfin, was quiet and comfortable with a small swimming pool for the hot afternoons at $36/night. The beach was clean and it was the usual scene of thatched palapas in front of rows of seafood restaurants. There’s plenty to like about this place for just plain relaxation, but, at least to us, it didn’t have much of a Mexican feel to it. Sadly, Lynn’s brave attempt at snorkeling near the cliff rocks resulted in her collecting cut up feet as she found herself having to struggle against the tide to get back to shore. Eric, completely oblivious and ensconced in his palapa kingdom, was too busy operating a piña colada to notice his beloved’s dire straits. Typical.

They let the poor travelers order breakfast here!

The expat touring wagon

On the recommendation of friends we left Barre De Navidad to visit La Manzanilla, where we had booked an AirBnB. While the beach was excellent there as well, we found our accommodations too uncomfortable to stick around very long. What we did manage was some excellent swimming in water that was warm enough and with enough salinity for us to float effortlessly on our backs - just sliding over the waves as they rolled toward the beach. Heaven.

La Manzanilla swimming heaven

Finally, with just a few days left, we took a cab to Puerto Vallarta (PV). Thanks to the incredible generosity of two of our Portland neighbors, we were given the use of a sixth-floor condominium for our stay. 

Living the high life!

It was a huge condo that occupied the entire floor, so the two of us, used to mosquito nets, no AC, and double beds, were enraptured. Puerto Vallarta is, for all practical purposes, an American/Canadian resort pretty much staffed by Mexican people. As we mentioned before in a previous blog, this arrangement doesn’t seem to lend itself to the kind of contact that we had grown to enjoy. But, there was certainly plenty to do.

We decided, in fact, to take one last snorkeling trip out to Islas Las Marietas national park, some miles from PV. Once again, we found ourselves on a lancha filled with Mexicans. Chaos and hilarity ensued.

The excursion was all inclusive: breakfast and lunch, free alcoholic drinks, snorkeling, stand up surfing lessons, kayaking, and a “special” trip to a romantic beach. After a puzzling convoluted session with getting through the port – you pay some kind of tax and then stand in a long line -we climbed aboard a party boat, along with a few American and Canadians, and a load of Mexican tourists and headed out on lumpy waters for the promised island paradise. 

First up: snorkeling. Basically, the goal of snorkeling in Mexico is to not drown despite your own best efforts and that of the ocean and the creatures therein. Also, to see some really cool fish. To accomplish these goals, the Mexican crew put us all in PFDs, jammed about 16 of us in a 10-passenger transport, then motored us to a somewhat nondescript patch of water and yelled SALTA!  JUMP! Had the boat been filled with flexible young folk, steady on their feet and moderately coordinated, this would not have been a problem. But, considering that about half of the people in our tippy little raft were well past their days of youth and flexibility, the mass exit turned, well, ugly. For one thing, it is a much more complicated affair than one might think to hoist oneself out of a boat that seems to be on the very edge of capsizing at any moment. Add to that the rather bulky and unsteady elderly jubilado or jubilada trying to break down his or her exit into a series of dignified and safe steps, and disaster is bound to ensue. Ultimately, everyone made it out of the boat, but in a variety of attitudes. One rather large woman, simply stood up and fell face forward over the gunnels, creating a tsunami that hurled several other large passengers tits-over-teakettle into the water on the opposite side. The Mexican sailors just smiled. Once in the water, we were ordered to follow one particular fellow who was responsible for accounting for us - dead or alive. We promptly lost track of him until, through a series of well-timed screams and shouts, he managed to collect us all for a ragged, but interesting tour of the island’s coral reef. The return to the skiff was facilitated by a ladder, but almost everyone got tossed back on board.

While that might have been enough adventure for some of the passengers, we were not done. There was the compulsory visit to the romantic beach, which was already pretty much filled to capacity by another tour boat that showed up around the time we did. Nevertheless, the Mexican crew was adamant. We were going to the goddamn romantic beach and we were going to LIKE IT. And how were we to get there? Surprise! Our friendly and oh so deadly skiff motored alongside. As luck would have it, the same folks who chose to go snorkeling also thought it would be a good idea to see a romantic beach. So, a terrifying loading process began, with the skiff slamming the side of the party boat as it rode the waves up and down. Again, us passengers found interesting ways to slither, crawl, leap, into the boat. Once therein, it was explained to us that it was too hazardous for the skiff to pull up on the beach, so we would have to jump out in the water about 20 yards away and swim to it – through a rippy tide, sharp rocks, and a dumping surf. 

So, once again, we all went overboard and swam for our lives. Getting everyone on the island was a team building exercise at its finest. And, at last, there we were on the romantic island of …… penguins. Well, not real penguins but humans that were doing a credible impression. The romantic island, like some bird breeding ground, was chockful of people all jostling for their one romantic picture of hugging and kissing in the surf, moments before being bashed against the rocks. Then, on command, the skiff reappeared, and we were ordered into the water again to negotiate the terrifying surf to the boat. It was like trying to climb onto a demented rocking chair. 

Humpback whale show

Again, the Mexican sailors just smiled. Somehow, with a few minor injuries and our dignity reduced to shreds, we remounted and roared back to the party boat, where everyone was immediately medicated with strong drink and entertained by the crew who decided to crank up the music and pole dance all the way back to port.

Booby fishing

It was a special kind of crazy, to hell with it, makes no sense, type of fun. We met a wonderful couple of Brazilian doctors, cracked jokes with the crew, got tipsy, watched whales fight and breach, saw yellow footed boobies soar and dive for fish, took pictures and, basically, did what we were told. Perfect!

Luckily, we had almost all the next day to recover before we hopped on a late flight back to Portland. We’ve decided that we’re (probably) going to hold off on visiting Mexico for a while. We love the place and undoubtedly, we always will. But there is just so much more of the world that we want to see. To try to summarize what Mexico has meant to us would require many more blogs and, no matter what, would feel incomplete. We sincerely hope that, if we’ve managed to do nothing else, that we have, at least, made Mexico worth a second look. There is so much here!