Ixtapa and Zihuatanejo
I really like the song “Ixtapa” by Rodrigo y Gabriela. Like most foriegn songs, I don’t even attempt to comprehend the lyrics, and I’ll be the first to admit that before the first days of this trip, I didn’t even know Ixtapa was a city in Mexico. Turns out it is, and now I’ve been there.
The priviledge of saying that last sentence wasn’t easy to attain. Incredibly poor road signs had us backtrack at one point for 15 minutes before I figured out we were going the wrong way (there were actually 2 roads running parallel and a sign that pointed ridiculously in the wrong direction for our destination fed us back the way we came on the other road). Another 15 minutes of sameness and we were in Ixtapa. We decided to stop in the neighborhood of Zihuatanejo and Ixtapa given our desire to stay the hell out of Acapulco, which was a long days ride from our starting point, and would have brough us into one of the busiest tourist towns at night on New Years Eve… bad idea! Anyways, the song doesn’t do the town justice. Subtle and with feeling, the town for which this song I enjoy shared few of the same characteristics. Stuffed with chain stores and restaurants, and larger than life resorts and condos, I was only too happy when the tourist information guy told us we needed to head out of Ixtapa and into neighboring Zihuatanejo for a cheap motel for the night.
Somehow, we again optioned for the thoroughly confusing, dangerous, winding backroad between the cities and through the mountains, but had little trouble finding a reasonable place to stay. It was obvious from the exchange between concierge (nephew) and owner (uncle) that we had beat the rush, and were paying less than the poor saps who showed up late would be stuck with. And Zihuatanejo was beautiful – a perfectly compact old downtown area pushed up against a wonderful beach on a bay attached to the pacific. It was warm, not nearly overcrowded, and beautiful.
The beach in Zihuatanejo
After settling in our hotel, we hit the beach. Beautiful and warm, the water was all I could ask for, including not overly crowded. I came to find out, however, that we weren’t alone either, when I was jabbed viciously by a sea urchin in the foot, and plunged into severe pain.
Instantaneously changing from having a blast in the water to howling in pain, I hopped the 50 feet from the scene of the crime to the beach, wondering what could possibly have gone so horribly wrong. Reaching the beach, I discover my foot is, indeed, bleeding a moderate amount, and I attribute the unbelieveable pain to the salt water. I wipe the wound off, begin the process home, and am a bit taken aback when my ankle starts to feel like a muscle does when it’s been extremely overly exerted: sore and tired. Walking behing difficult, I start to worry a bit more when the feeling in my ankle moved up to my calf. A block or so closer to my hotel, it’s in my upper leg. As I’m rounding the stairs to our room, it’s entered my thigh. By that point, we’ve figured out I’ve been poisoned, and the only question is whether I’ll be surviving this little encounter, or if the clock is ticking before this unpleasant experience hits my heart and I keel over. Luckily, it gave up at the thigh, and I live to blog again. Lucky me eh?
Later, we had a great dinner at an Italian restaurant, and had finished it with a long and fruitful conversation with the owner’s son and a friend of his from California. Afterwards were live music and fireworks set off from massive cannons with no police tape, barricades, or other protection – only common sense. I once again enjoyed the liberal drinking policies afforded by our location, and drank in the streets. Somehow, the town was quieter than Alamos in Christmas night, and we actually got some sleep.