PROJECT EQUATOR is the amazing goal of Manitoba born Nick Dubeski, a former resident of Zihuatanejo for 14 years, now living in Mazatlán with his life partner Nancy Seeley.
Project Equator is the unique, self-appointed challenge by Nick to virtually run the 40,075 kilometers circling the earth’s circumference.
Nick’s passion for running began when he started to train in January 1999 for his first marathon, the “mother of all marathons”, in Athens, Greece, October 17, 1999. He is still running, and has participated in 40 marathons throughout Mexico, Canada and the U.S.A. Nick didn’t limit himself to just marathons, he has raced in a couple of triathlons, one ultra-marathon and lots of biking. By 2011 he decided it was time to scale down to half-marathons.
Nick Dubeski with his life partner Nancy Seeley at Deborah’s Restaurant in Ixtapa, México
The Project Equator quest initiated on November 16, 2020 in the dark days of the covid pandemic. During the lockdown, virtual racing became popular, but Nick wasn’t interested. He wanted something more personal. Over the years Nick has meticulously recorded every single kilometer he’s run. At that point he became aware that his distance already ran was now at 35,000km. He was determined to log another 5,075km within the next four years.
And NOW the time has come! Nick’s goal will be realized on Monday, July 1 at 10:00a.m. ! He may be from Canada and presently resides in Mazatlán, but his heart is in Zihuatanejo. He finds the most pleasure running in this tropical paradise, therefore . . .
The FINISH LINE for Project Equator, after 9,313 days – 1/4 of a century – will be on the steps of “Deborah’s Restaurant“ on Ixtapa Boulevard in Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo, México!
Deborah’s RestaurantNick Dubeski
Join us and cheer for Nick! (Try to arrive before he does – 9:00a.m.ish).
To honour our hero and celebrate this Herculean feat, Deborah’s Restaurant will offer 2X1 Mimosas plus 15% discount to local patrons for breakfast.
Although I had worn glasses for about a year when I was 11 years old, round John Lennon style, I eventually stopped using them and enjoyed eagle vision most of my life until about 2003 when I happened to be in Acapulco and stopped in a Devlyn Optics store at a mall there. The prescription glasses were ready within a couple of hours and they seemed to make reading easier for me. Over the years I upgraded a couple of times to different strengths and types of lenses mostly for reading.
Around 2015 I noticed I needed to use glasses for driving, something I had never needed before, but by the fall of 2018 I had to stop driving altogether because something was wrong with my vision and I was having trouble with depth and bright lights. It wasn’t until mid-December of that year that I went to a local oftalmóloga and was told I had cataracts.
I was devastated! Isn’t that something OLD people get? Well, I was getting older, but the oftalmóloga said it was genetic. She wanted over 21 thousand pesos per eye for the surgery.
My right eye became useless rather quickly so that all I was able to see were blandly-colored blurs, like looking through the bottom of a yellowed Coke bottle covered with Vaseline. My left eye still had some less affected parts so that if I sat right in front of our 43″ screen TV I could read things like subtitles and make out most of what was happening. Reading any book or newspaper with black text on white paper became impossible, and it was only possible on computer screens either by turning down the brightness or highlighting text which inverted the colors. I could only read and work on my computer by using a magnifying glass and turning the brightness way down. I had to invert the colors on my cellphone and tablet so that any text background was dark and the letters were a light color and then enlarge the text to be able to read.
Working with photos became mostly guesswork. I had to hold a magnifying glass in front of my left eye and try to remember the correct settings for certain effects on my image editing software because I really couldn’t discern the correct hues and tones of the colors, and I really couldn’t see the sharpness of edges or the correct tones of shadows. I had a lot of difficulty judging contrasts. Lots of details including graininess and excessive color saturation simply went unseen by me. I ruined a lot of photos.
I didn’t have fifty thousand pesos on hand for the surgery I needed, so I sought help via the local government, specifically their DIF (Desarrollo Integral de la Familia) since they were announcing a campaign to help low income people with sight disabilities including cataracts. I informed myself about the types of cataract surgeries and then went to an office in Ixtapa to be tested to see if I qualified. They told me I should hear back from them in about six months. SIX MONTHS?! They also informed me that the type of surgery that would be used was the most invasive with a large incision in the eye, not the more modern technique that uses ultrasound and a tiny incision. I wanted the latter.
I heard about another option available via DIF that involved going to the Instituto Estatal de Oftalmología located in Ciudad Renacimiento, a colonia of Acapulco. A 4-hour trip by car, a little longer by bus. So I thought I was all signed up to go with a group of other DIF beneficiaries via a special bus leaving around 2:00 in the morning, but I got a call from a friend that evening saying my name was NOT on the list. DIF never called me to advise me. They would’ve let me show up at some dark parking lot at 2:00 in the morning just to be left behind. That ticked me off. Screw them!
A doctor friend helped orient me so that I could get to the Instituto in Acapulco with the proper credentials and paperwork in hand. So while rumors about coronavirus were making the rounds the first week in March of 2020 after the first case in Mexico had appeared on February 27, my wife and I boarded an Estrella Blanca bus bound for Acapulco around 1:30 in the morning. What seemed like two hundred topes and about 4½ hours later we were disembarking in the Central de Autobuses in Acapulco. We sat in the terminal and snoozed for an hour or so before catching a taxi to the Instituto.
Once at the Instituto I got examined by Dr. Roberto Estrada, a very competent oftalmólogo who helped me to understand the procedure. Being a state-run organism of course there was a bit of bureaucracy to be dealt with. I found out I needed to have studies done to see if I was healthy enough for the surgery, and I found out that each surgery would cost a little over 10 thousand pesos, a much more affordable price and exactly the type of surgery I wanted, albeit in Acapulco. So that was ROUND ONE at the Instituto. We caught a vocho colectivo to the Central de Autobuses, walked over to the mall for a too-expensive breakfast, and slept for much of the ride back. I couldn’t enjoy the scenery much because everything was just a blur to me, but I always love travelling the Costa Grande of Guerrero as if it were in my blood since the first time I drove it at night in August of 1974 from Acapulco to Zihuatanejo.
My other senses were getting sharper from my lack of vision. I had extreme difficulty trying to see to cross a street, but I could hear a vehicle at quite a distance and sort of judge its speed. My sense of smell also became much more acute, and I got to where I could name the towns we passed through along the drives up and down the coast by their smell. But I couldn’t see across the bay or enjoy its amazing scenery while strolling with my wife, and I couldn’t make out the faces of the people we encountered on our strolls. After mistaking a few complete strangers for friends, I finally gave up trying to greet friends on our walks and had to make sure Lupita told me who folks were before greeting or waving to them.
ROUND TWO took place on March 30, 2020. Our ahijado Jaime drove us in his pickup truck leaving around 3:30 in the morning, another nighttime drive along the Costa Grande of Guerrero, definitely not for the faint of heart. At precisely the same time my wife and I were walking through the front door of the Instituto, the news channels were all announcing that a Contingencia Sanitaria had been declared by Mexico’s federal health officials. The Instituto immediately underwent a transformation, and all its personnel immediately appeared with facemasks on, appointments were cancelled and things started closing down. I managed to see the Internista, Dr. Vázquez, to get the all clear for surgery regarding my health tests I’d gotten in Zihuatanejo including a cardiogram and an x-ray of my upper torso. I also got my right eye examined and measurements taken by several instruments so that they could make the artificial lens that would be inserted during surgery, but all surgeries were cancelled until further notice, though I was allowed to pay for the surgery.
In some aspects the months dragged on interminably since my vision only continued deteriorating, yet somehow I managed to keep working, making websites, answering e-mails, dealing with my Message Board, and amazingly still taking and editing photographs, though more and more of them were actually getting taken by my amazing wife. Frankly, my saint of a wife took such good care of me that being blind almost wasn’t a problem except for trying to work or watch TV. Oh, and I couldn’t walk anywhere outdoors by myself.
Around mid-April of 2020 I began posting what I considered local Covid-19 reports that included a music video and one of my edited photos. Here is one of the first ones. I thought I was making the photos better by working on the lighting, colors, contrasts and clarity, but of course much of it was only my imagination because looking back at many of them I can see all the errors in them. It’s amazing that any of them turned out okay. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
Months kept dragging by. Evenings on our azotea listening to music helped, I thought. I couldn’t see the toll the stress was taking on my wife. Around the beginning of August our grandson was diagnosed with leukemia and rushed off to a special hospital in Querétaro operated by the Teletón organization where he remained with his mother. My blindness and the diagnosis of our grandson hit my wife hard. We also immediately found ourselves responsible for two dogs: an elderly chihuahua with severe cataracts that our daughter adopted when she caught a neighbor putting it out with her garbage, and another adopted dog that had been hit by a car and only had vision in one eye. What a ménage we made! A beautiful sirena dorada and her sight-challenged family.
We kept trying to contact the Instituto to find out when surgeries would resume, finally getting through in late August. An appointment was scheduled for September 3. I had to make another overnight trip, this time with a private taxi, for another consultation with Dr. Estrada who found everything in order and set up the date for the surgery. FINALLY! Because so many months had passed I had to get another clean bill of health for surgery. In order to save a trip to Acapulco, I was allowed to show the results of all the exams to a local internista and simply present his certification the morning I arrived in Acapulco.
Somehow I kept churning out new websites, hunched over my oversized laptop with magnifying glass in hand, a magnifying glass that my suegro had used back when he was still a juez civil here in Zihuatanejo.
Don Fernando’s magnifying glass
My first surgery was scheduled for the morning of September 24, 2020. I had to be at the Instituto at 7:00 in the morning, so we left Zihuatanejo at 3:00 AM and arrived precisely on time. They made me strip to my chones and wear a surgical gown, then they put me in a room with several other patients awaiting eye surgery, and there we were, all thinking about having a doctor put a knife in our respective eyes. Not the most calming thought while awaiting surgery. It turned out the most painful part for me that day was the the injection of anesthetic deep beneath the eyeball. What was supposed to be the more difficult of the two surgeries I needed seemed to go easily, and for only about an hour I had to lie still while a doctor had some surgical tool stuck in my eye. Towards the end when the new lens was being placed in my eye, I caught a glimpse of the overhead lighting that was at an odd crooked angle, but it was much clearer than anything I’d seen for years. Then it was over. A huge patch was taped on. I was rolled in the bed to the same waiting room to give me a chance to recover, then a nurse came and took me to a small dressing room where my wife awaited with my clothing. I quickly dressed, my wife already had the date for my follow-up appointment, and off we went to our awaiting taxi for the 4-hour ride back to Zihuatanejo on a beautiful sunny day whose beauty I still could not fully appreciate.
Back in Zihuatanejo by around 3:30 PM, we spent the remainder of the day resting after a late but hearty comida, and of course before sleeping we enjoyed our usual light cena.
The next morning my wife took the patch off. I carefully opened my eye and looked around, and out blurted OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! The most English I’d spoken in months. I couldn’t stop saying it, though I tried to revert to ¡HÍJOLE! as much as I could. COLORS! CLARITY! WHITE was white, not yellow! Lines were clearly defined. I probably cried with joy at some point. I wanted to go look at EVERYTHING but of course I had to avoid dust and take it easy for a few days. I did manage to post the daily Covid-19 report using a photo I had worked on the day before the trip. But only about 3 of my hundreds of readers actually knew I had cataracts and was having surgery.
The next day my daily Covid-19 report contained a subject line and a music video that served as cryptic clues for the less-than-a-handful of readers who knew what I was going through. It also had the first photo that I had edited with my newly restored vision in one eye. The improved quality of my work was immediately apparent to me. It took a few days for my eye to get used to focusing and really seeing again after such a long time simply absorbing dull light. Looking at an illuminated computer screen was easy but also tiring.
Music to celebrate one’s vision with.
I had to make the trip to Acapulco for a check-up a few days later. The doc gave my eye a clean bill of health and scheduled me for another appointment in 3 more weeks. I noticed Lupita was extremely exhausted when we got home and that she had lost a lot of weight. The weight of everything our family was going through on top of all her work to distribute food due to the pandemia and reading glasses to help others had caught up with her, but she never complained. Just suffered the stress in silence. Now it was my turn to care for her and help her to recover. A labor of love, literally.
I still had to go back to Acapulco for a consulta. For that appointment I went only with the two taxi drivers, leaving Lupita at home to rest. I had to get the final eye exam, schedule the second operation and pay for it. Because I had to come all the way from Zihuatanejo for each trip, our little group sort of got to be well known by the guards and office staff. The guards would direct the taxi drivers to a shady parking space near the entrance and let them use the bathroom or look for me or Lupita. If the waiting area at the Instituto wasn’t crowded, they let the drivers wait indoors.
One of the nurses said I might be able to get a discount if I asked, so I made the mistake of asking a bureaucrat who told me the request had to me made in writing but at first she didn’t even want to give me a sheet of paper or a pen. Since I made the request I couldn’t confirm the date for the surgery until the request was accepted or denied and a payment was made. Red tape. And I wound myself up in it. So I went home with no date and no receipt for the next operation. Oops. Lupita asked me why didn’t I just pay. Uh, well, uh, ’cause my wife wasn’t there to tell me what to do. Oops. But at least I got my left eye “measured” for the new lens it would need.
When I called to check on the status of my request for a discount due to the Covid-19 affecting our economy, I found out that it had been unceremoniously rejected. I expected as much.
Then there were a lot of missed connections and unanswered phone calls, and a few weeks slipped by before all the pieces fell into place. Instead of wasting yet another expensive trip down and back by private taxi just to pay and schedule an appointment, a novel solution was agreed upon where I could pay by bank deposit, call to notify their accountant, the doctor could schedule my appointment, and I could call back to find out the date. A real 20th-century style solution! E-mail was never mentioned though I’m sure I filled it out on some form somewhere months earlier.
My surgery was scheduled for Wednesday, November 25, 2020. I had to be at the Instituto at 7:00 that morning, which means we left Zihuatanejo at 3:00 AM. Another drive in the darkness down the coast. We arrived right on time, actually a few minutes before 7:00. We quickly made sure all the paperwork was in order, then I sat and waited for my name to be called, or rather a variation of it mispronounced with a Spanish accent. Changed into surgery scrubs then back to the waiting room where blood pressure is taken and an IV is supposed to be started. Things were a little backed up. I wasn’t put into a bed with an IV until just before the surgery, and there is always a bell-like soft tone ringing on one of the blood pressure monitors that never seems to get turned off.
I was one of the first to go that day instead of last like the last time. Though the anestesióloga was pretty, the surgery seemed much more painful than the first one. But wasn’t this supposed to be the easy one? It seemed to last well over a half an hour, and I was at the limit of my pain tolerance, though I didn’t realize how much until they removed all the coverings from my face and I could tell my other eye was soaked with tears because apparently I’d been crying. The thing I remember most during the surgery is constantly trying to look down as per the doctor’s instruction, though all I really saw was a geometric feature like a Monopoly house on its side. Not sure what it was. Everything else was blinding light and the discomfort of something moving in my eye while I tried to remain calm and not have any uncontrolled reflexes. Damn, not near as painless as the first surgery! Maybe I should’ve told the anestesióloga she was pretty or offered her a tip or something.
Rolled back into the waiting room for another brief rest, then off to the changing room and my wife awaiting with my clothes. Ahhhh.
The first thing I always did on the ride home in the taxi was eat because I had to fast before most appointments, Lupita usually had an empanada of manzana or piña, a turkey-ham sandwich and an Ensure vitamin drink. We wanted to make each drive a straight run without bathroom stops, so we always drank little until we got home.
For the ride home I couldn’t enjoy the scenery like I was anxious to do because using my good eye also caused the bandaged eye to move, and it was sore. After we arrived home around 3:30 PM, I ate a late hearty comida and fell asleep afterwards. I didn’t wake up until around midnight, but I wasn’t sure if it was morning or night. When I realized it was night, after fiddling with my tablet unsuccessfully trying to post the photo I had edited the day before with the daily Covid-19 report, I gave up and went downstairs to my office to get the daily Covid-19 report posted, albeit a little late. Then back to sleep. When the bandage came off the next day my eye was quite bloodshot and swollen, unlike after my first surgery. But I could see!
More music to celebrate one’s vision with.
It takes a while after cataract surgery for the eye to get used to focusing on things again, but after only a few days things feel normal enough, though I tired my eyes quickly trying to work and see too much too fast.
Now everything I see is a gift to be treasured. I try to spend as much time as I can looking at my incredible and very lovely wife, mi media naranja. Color, clarity, contrasts and definition have returned to my vision. I can read books again! I can see across the bay again! I can swat mosquitos again! And I can see faces again.
“You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” Joni Mitchell – “Big Yellow Taxi”
Era un Zihuatanejo tan pequeñito, que no le fue difícil ser un paraíso. Dormitando a la vera de la dulce bahía que le es tan propia, soñaba en los poco que le era necesario soñar.
Zihuatanejo antiguo ca. 1970
Una playa de arenas grises, del color del basalto, se delineaba suavemente en una casi parábola, desde la barra de La Boquita, hasta otra, su hermana, la de Las Salinas. Era el descanso de la onda marina que entraba por La Bocana y delicadamente moría en la vieja playa haciendo sisear las arenas y tras el morro de las Escalerillas, tan modificado hoy, escondía sus magias aquel pueblecito recoleto de la vista de los tripulantes de los buques que navegaban frente al puerto.
Se reclinaba entre su playa y las dos casi únicas calles con las que contaba: la de Juan Álvarez y la entonces breve de Cuauhtémoc. La de Juan Álvarez limitaba a las casas de la playa por el Norte; la otra era la puerta del poblado, la que resolvía en aquel incipiente que iba a Acapulco, despidiéndose en La Curva, hoy también desparecida. Era la rúa comercial en donde despachaban sus cosas de vestir, trabajar y comer: doña María Landa, doña Beatriz Peña de Rodríguez, don Juan Ayvar, doña María Pineda, don Rodolfo Campos, las queridas Landitas y don Salvador Espino. La Fama, efímera casa de compra-venta de semillas. En otros sitios, algunas tiendas, como la Tienda Irma, de doña Griselda Nuñez que vendida por su propietaria, se convirtió en un restaurante que logró fama y que hoy parece ya tener una triste historia.
Palacio Federal, Playa del Puerto, Zihuatanejo
La playa, la Playa del Puerto, como me dijo don Darío Galeana llamaron los vecinos del lugar a “su playa” y la que parece ya no se denomina así, ofrecía en realidad sus límpidas aguas a los porteños. En ella había cosas y sitios inolvidables: los amates, el de junto al viejo y desaparecido Hotel Belmar de Pablito Resendiz que pregonaba su fresca umbría… el Palacio Federal, hoy un museo o intento satisfactorio de museo… las rocas de La Boquita, sitio en que todos nos tomamos fotografías… y la casa de don Fernando Bravo, aquella rústica y breve casita en donde se alojaba la oficina de Telégrafos Nacionales, cuyo titular fue por años el propio don Fernando.
Vecinas Sarita Espino y Aurorita Palacios en la playa frente a la casa de la familia Bravo con Lupita, Socorro y Rosa María Bravo
Aquella casa se localizaba en donde hoy se encuentra el edificio que aloja las oficinas de la presidencia municipal (ahora el Restaurante Daniel), a la vera de la playa y, limitante con la calle de Juan Álvarez, era el excelente parque de juegos de los niños.
Allí residía don Fernando y doña Rosa, su esposa y en donde correteaban a su muy apropiada edad, las entonces tres hijas del matrimonio Rosita, Socorro y Lupita; Fernando llegó a este mundo un poco después, pero también en esta casa.
Doña Rosa era la preciosa compañera de don Fernando. Ella, una guapa señora con el aire norteño tan significativo, casó con el joven telegrafista Fernando Bravo, originario de Petatlán, en uno de esos viajes que hacían con tanta frecuencia los empleados de telégrafos en aquellos ya lejanos años del ya, “México de mis recuerdos”.
Conocí mucho tiempo a esa hermosa familia que siempre tenía su puerta abierta. La casa modesta, sí; pero la playa que extendía inmediatamente a las puertas que daban al sur, la más deseada ilusión y el mejor recreo de los niños. Al frente, hacia la calle, una explanada amplísima que, sin riesgo de paso de vehículos, también daba a los chicos una gran seguridad, ya que los automóviles que circulaban en el pueblo no llegaban a cinco, y cuando se aproximaban el ruido del motor se escuchaba conservadoramente a trescientos metros de distancia.
Doña Rosa fue siempre activa: aquella actividad fue proverbial y no había acción social en la que ella dejara de intervenir de manera determinante.
Recuerdo aquel Día de la Marina de 1953, fecha en la que ella y sus múltiples amistades organizaron la fiesta, con banquete y todo, en el Palacio Federal (no la casa de piedra como irreverentemente la llaman a ese edificio cuya historia es interesante en la vida de Zihuatanejo). El buque que visitó este puerto, en esa fecha, fue el SOTAVENTO, el Yate Presidencial y a cuyo bordo viajó el almirante, don Mario Rodríguez Malpica, quien invitado al banquete acompañado de capitanes y oficiales y quien agradeció a la gentileza de doña Rosa y sus amigas por aquel festejo inesperado en un lugar como lo era Zihuatanejo.
Los buenos gustos de doña Rosa brindaban las muy especiales cenas de la Navidad, los días 30 del mes de mayo, día de cumpleaños de don Fer, eran oportunidad de deleite culinario que se fabricaba en la cocina de la casa. Y los bailes y fiestas escolares tan frecuentes, siempre contaban con el auxilio de doña Rosa. Además, se animaba a dar auxilio a los graves señores de la política de aquellos días, en las entonces no tan importantes acciones.
Mujer de su casa, ordenada y organizada: educada en un ambiente distinto al del sur de México, pronto supo ser costeña, el hogar, siempre primero y el servicio a la comunidad casi paralelo. Así pensaba la entusiasta sonorense y así actuó siempre. Quiero pensar que ella fue otra sincera enamorada de Zihuatanejo.
Con el correr del tiempo, a las señoras les pareció que el poblado requería de un templo católico. Las damas se reunieron se formó un grupo homogéneo en el cual hacían centro las señoritas que habían tenido la oportunidad de estudiar en Chilapa. Doña Rosa, sin pensarlo mucho, tomó la responsabilidad y aceptó la carga de la construcción del templo.
Don Darío se encargó de conquistar el corazón de don Carlos Barnard y logró el terreno que hoy ocupa el templo de La Lupita.
El ingeniero Eduardo Moncebo Benfield diseño la nave, la cual suponía el menor costo posible. Se obtuvo la material. La cubierta y la madera, los pisos, ventanas y puertas… ¿cómo?, pues doña Rosa su tropilla de señoras y muchachas de aquellos años. Tendieron sus redes de entusiasmo por toda la región y lograron a base de bailes públicos, kermeses, tómbolas, etc., el reunir el dinero… y lo lograron.
Un día de aquellos solemnes de la costa, bajo el inclemente sol tropical, aún sin techo se celebró en Zihuatanejo, en el Templo dedicado a Santa María de Guadalupe, la primera boda: Felipe Torres y Minerva Campos. Inolvidables.
Iglesia Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe ca. 1970
El templo se terminó de construir y el señor Clayton, a través de don Darío, obsequió el primer órgano. La familia Alatorre, los pisos del baptisterio y por fin, Zihuatanejo tuvo su lugar de reunión espiritual, gracias a doña Rosa.
Lupita, don Fernando y doña Rosa en los últimos años de la década de los 1980.
Don Fernando se fue primero. Doña Rosa perdió mucho de su entusiasmo característico con aquella pérdida invaluable. Ahora, también doña Rosa se nos fue. Muchos años han pasado desde aquellos en que se registraron tantos sucedidos, tantas cosas hermosas en aquel Zihuatanejo, mágico y embelesador. El Zihuatanejo de don Salvador Espino, el de don Darío Galeana, el de don Fernando Bravo, de Felipe Palacios, de don Alfredo Gómez, de don Guillermo Leyva, de Máximo Merel, de doña María Ávila, de los hermanos Castro Villalpando, de don Germán Bracamontes, de don Rodolfo Campos, de don Amador Campos Ibarra. El Zihuatanejo de don Juan Ayvar, de Pablito Resendiz y de las aguerridas y alegres gentes de la hoy olvidada Noria… el Zihuatanejo que fue, de doña Rosa Farías de Bravo… doña Rosa.
Zihuatanejo, Guerrero in August of 1974 was a very different place than it is today. There were no paved roads, no street lights, no luxury hotels. Telephones were few and far between. The teacher-turned-armed-revolutionary Lucio Cabañas had kidnapped the cacique and then Senador Rubén Figueroa who was campaigning to become state gobernador. Roadblocks and military patrols were everywhere, and the army was mistreating everyone. Revolution and repression were in the air. It was inspiring.
John Wayne’s yacht “Wild Goose” in Zihuatanejo Bay in the early 1970’s
Our flight arrived in Acapulco from Mexico City after the short hop over the lush Filo Mayor of the Sierra Madre del Sur. The only thing we’d lost in transit so far was my dart board and darts at the luggage storage office in the Mexico City airport. Since the airline wouldn’t allow our long-haired blonde Afghan hound on the small prop-plane flight from Acapulco to Zihuatanejo, we had to rent a car and drive. The sun was setting and it would be dark soon. In the chaos of transferring all our luggage to the rental car my 8-track stereo, 8-track tapes and Olympus Pen camera all disappeared.
Map in hand, the route looked easy enough. A two-lane blacktop was the only road heading up the coast from Acapulco, and the paved section ended at Zihuatanejo. I was 16 years old with my brand new unrestricted Florida Drivers License, and I was thrilled to be driving on our new adventure into the unknown.
Topes were a new experience for me since we didn’t have them in the U.S. Virgin Islands where I’d learned to drive or in Florida where I’d already driven much of the state including the Tamiami Trail from Miami to Tampa. I got fairly good at spotting them pretty quickly with a little help from my mother and younger brother. Everyone shouting together ¡TOPE! whenever we spotted one.
As we left Acapulco behind in the twilight and started to head down the twisting hillside road towards Pie de la Cuesta I had my first close call. Coming around a long curve at a nominal 60 or so MPH all of a sudden there was a herd of cattle across the road. There was no time to stop, and miraculously I was able to swerve between them. It was pitch black and there were no streetlights. Adrenaline rush over, I decided to drive a little slower. It made missing other cattle on the road a bit easier. There was almost no traffic, so I couldn’t follow anyone caravan-style like I would have preferred. But there were several military roadblocks that appeared out of nowhere, usually on s-curves in the middle of coconut plantations. They were looking for guns and drugs and a missing politician, but they were courteous enough to us, probably because we were foreigners.
Six hours of white-knuckle driving in pitch dark, the glows of small towns like Coyuca, Atoyác, Petatlán and Zihuatanejo the only distinguishing features besides a gazillion stars in the night sky, and we finally arrived at the Hotel Sotavento at La Ropa Beach in Zihuatanejo, right next door to the Hotel Catalina which remains open to this day. We checked in, got a room with running water, and noticed we’d lost our music and a camera in Acapulco. Oh well. We were alive and on an adventure in a strange land and it felt great to be here.
The next morning at first light we went to the Front Desk to make a phone call where by chance we met the ex-pat Gerald Shaw, a reclusive artist who had moved to Zihuatanejo years earlier to escape the racism and general madness of the USA. Gerald was also making a phone call, and he gave us a few useful tips, including the fact that there were only about 4 telephones in town.
My future wife’s family happened to have one of them because her father, don Fernando, had been a telegraph operator during and after the Revolución, and they had also been the first house with an electric light bulb where friends and neighbors would gather daily at dusk. Their original house had been on the downtown beach called Playa Principal next to the zócalo about where Daniel’s Restaurant currently sits. But I still hadn’t met her yet, so all this knowledge was still in my future.
As we went to the dining terrace for breakfast I got my first glimpse through the palm trees of Zihuatanejo Bay and La Ropa Beach. A view that has changed very little through the years and which instantly had me spellbound. It was love at first sight!
View from the Hotel Catalina of Playa La Ropa with Playa Las Gatas in the distance
I had a feeling of being on an island, not unlike St. Croix where I’d lived a year earlier. The succulent fresh papaya with lemon juice I had for breakfast and the smell of the ocean were intoxicating. Zihuatanejo was reviving tropical senses dulled from a year of living in Florida, a place that seemed chaotic and pretentious by comparison.
After an invigorating breakfast it was time to go look for a place to live for the next several months. So off we set down towards the southern end of La Ropa beach where we’d heard about a new bungalow available from a man called don Chebo.
At the southern end of La Ropa where the long dirt road from town ended at the beach, the Alemán family had a small tienda with a small enramada and a couple of hammocks. We stopped for refrescos, Pepsi, no Coke. They were kind enough to point us in the direction of the home of don Chebo, a wizened elderly little man with a sparkle in his eye and the gentle handshake of a shy working man. He and his wife, doña Chella, had their modest home on a small rise about 50 meters back from the coast near where Restaurante La Gaviota now sits at the southern end of La Ropa Beach. They had just finished building a simple one-room brick structure with a teja roof another 50 meters or so back from the beach. There were a couple of cots and chairs and a table. No bathroom. No kitchen. There was a light bulb, but the electricity didn’t always work. There were a couple of oil drums for holding water that sometimes flowed briefly every few days or so from a black plastic hose that amazingly snaked all the way from town out to the La Ropa area to supply the Sotavento, Catalina and the Calpulli hotels. Patching leaks in the hose with shreds of rubber innertube was everyone’s shared responsibility if they wanted to have water.
There was only a handful of residents at La Ropa back then. A few foreigners and a few locals whom we would meet in the coming days.
I immediately got to work digging us a latrine and using leftover bricks to build us some sort of stove so we could at least boil water to make coffee in the morning. Don Chebo found us another cot, and we were amazed to find mosquito coils for sale at the little tienda so we could sleep soundly at night. It was rainy season and there was a wide shallow green scum-covered pond-like puddle across the road from our place that apparently connected with a small lagoon.
Our first night we were invited by Margot Chipman to visit her home a short distance away on another hill. Almost immediately I discovered a scorpion as I sat on the steps of her home with her 2 girls, one still an infant. I would discover 2 more before the evening was done, including one at our house.
The next morning was spent in town looking around and shopping for basic supplies, including a large machete for me and some white kerosene for the lamps and for mopping the floors. I met the son of a local tortillería, Paco Ayvar. He spoke English and was about my age, and he was eager to make a new friend. We hit it off well.
I also discovered that day that I loved licuados.
Later that afternoon back at our house my mother, brother and I were sitting on our porch watching macaws fly back and forth when our Afghan hound, Clete, spotted some cows on the other side the shallow green scum-covered pond. Before there was time to react he was flying off the porch, and in about 5 huge leaps he was halfway across the scum-covered pond before he lost his footing and rolled several times. Clete was totally unrecognizable when he stood up. That’s when we saw the “logs” move and realized they were crocs. We screamed and called frantically, and fortunately he came galloping back up to the porch, a stinking algae and mud-covered mess. After trying to rinse the mess out we decided that he would be more comfortable if we just cut all his hair off.
My mother and Clete in Christiansted, St. Croix, U.S.V.I. 1971
Don Chebo had another 3-room home that he was putting the finishing touches on, and within a few days after moving into the first house we moved into the larger house just past where La Gaviota restaurant now sits and within a stone’s throw of the bay. One room was a kitchen and bathroom with a shower, the large middle room became the bedroom for my brother and me, and the entrance room became my mother’s bedroom. My mother kept her cot but my brother and I decided we’d rather sleep in big hammocks. We also hung hammocks on the porch where we could enjoy the view of the bay.
Part 4 – First Meeting:
Love at First Sight
Shortly after my mother, younger brother, Clete and I settled into our new home for the next few months, my new friend Paco Ayvar came to visit me, and we decided to take a walk up La Ropa Beach to the Hotel Calpulli. Just as we were nearing the Calpulli we saw two Mexican girls in bikinis walking towards us. All the Mexican girls I had seen up until then had been wearing clothing at the beach, shorts and t-shirts or blouses, even dresses, but not swimsuits, and certainly not bikinis. Girls in this region were still rather old-fashioned and shy about exposing their bodies. Yet here were two attractive modern looking girls walking our way on one of the most beautiful beaches anywhere, and Paco says to me “I know these girls. I’ll introduce you. The one on the left is Carmelita Sotelo, and the one on the right is Lupita Bravo. The one on the right is also a 24-year old virgin from a good local family, almost like royalty.” I replied we didn’t have girls where I came from that looked like that and who were still virgins at that age. I was awestruck by her beauty and now intrigued by Paco’s somewhat odd comments. I was also reminded of earlier warnings not to mess with local girls because their family might seek revenge and make me disappear if I got one pregnant. So I was on my best behavior and working hard to suppress raging teenage hormones.
As we got closer Paco greeted them and introduced us. When Lupita looked into my eyes and smiled the world spun and I thought my knees were going to collapse. I realized I couldn’t speak and that she was still staring at me with the face of an angel, like no one I’d ever seen before. I managed to croak out “mucho gusto” and shook her hand. When we touched there was a spark like static electricity. And she continued staring at me, still smiling ever so sweetly.
Paco and Carmelita both saw what was happening and cracked into big grins. Paco asked me if I wanted to ask Lupita to go out dancing that night. I said I didn’t know if I should or how to ask in Spanish. He assured me it was okay and told me to say ¿gusta bailar? Okay, got it.
¿Gusta bailar?
¡Sí!
The world started spinning again and my throat started failing me. I couldn’t see anything else but Lupita’s angelic face with her magnificent smile.
Carmelita spoke English, and she suggested I meet her and Lupita at the Kau-Kan discotheque on La Madera Beach around sunset, one of the popular places where local young people went to socialize and dance.
Since Lupita’s father was the manager of the Hotel Calpulli where I also was allowed to run a tab, she and Carmelita went with him back to town for lunch and siesta while Paco and I enjoyed lunch under their huge teepee-like structure.
Hotel Calpulli circa mid 1970’s
After running an errand with Paco to his huerta near El Coacoyul and back to La Ropa, I spiffed myself up and he dropped me off near the Hotel Irma where it was an easy downhill walk to La Madera Beach.
The Kau-Kan was located where the restaurant Bistro del Mar is currently located. It was almost like a cave inside with bare rock walls along the back and subdued lighting. The song “The Night Chicago Died” was playing as I sat down and looked around for Lupita and Carmelita. I didn’t see them so I ordered a rum and Coke and found a table by the wall to wait. Almost as soon as I sat down they showed up.
Because the place was kind of crowded and the music wasn’t that good we decided to walk a little farther down the beach to the Chololo disco, just above the beach and below where the Hotel Casa Sun & Moon now sits.
Remains of Chololo above Playa La Madera without its palapa
The Chololo was a big hit with the more sophisticated crowd. My friend Jorge Tortuga was the DJ and manager then. This was my first time there, but later on Jorge would ask me to bring my 2 cassettes of disco music someone from New York City had made so that he could copy them. The place always livened up when those cassettes were played.
This first night Lupita and I were interested in learning about each other. We danced a little and smiled at each other a lot. I did my best with my rudimentary Spanish that fortunately I had studied from the 2nd to the 9th grades. So we spent much of that evening talking, Carmelita helping whenever we got stuck on a word or expression. I was determined to speak Spanish with Lupita.
Lupita’s family is one of the most respected in Zihuatanejo. She is almost like royalty, even for all her humbleness. Her father, don Fernando, was at first the telegraph operator during and after the Revolución. Then he became the radio-telephone operator who made the first direct radio-phone communication with Mexico City from Zihuatanejo, and later on he was a civil judge. Their first home on the main downtown beach where Lupita was born, next to where the current Cancha Municipal is located, was the first home to have electricity, at first for the telegraph and later for the radio-telephone. Neighbors would visit after dusk and sit around the electric bulb catching up on the latest gossip for an hour or so after dark with don Fernando and his wife doña Rosa.
I walked the girls back to Lupita’s home so that I would know where she lived. We had to cross the vado to reach town, a dirt road that went through the shallow part of the lagoon and where you either tiptoed across the rocks and wooden planks placed there or you took your shoes off and waded through the shallow water, and then we walked the remaining block and a half to the Bravo family home on the corner of Juan N. Álvarez and Vicente Guerrero streets, which at that time was pretty much the edge of town. Their 2-story home was located across the street from a small park now called Plaza del Artista with its several shade trees. It’s where we’ve lived ever since doña Rosa passed away a little over 20 years ago
The next day after my usual morning licuado de papaya, plátano y chocolate I passed by Lupita’s home where I saw her brushing her hair in the upstairs window. I called up to her and told her I’d wait for her in the little park where there was a large fallen trunk perfect for sitting on. Of course her mother, doña Rosa, also saw me and gave me a hard look of disapproval that only a parent can give. I believe she said something about why didn’t I go play with kids my age. It was expected, but it also reminded me to be on my best behavior. I just flashed her my most innocent smile and pretended not to understand.
Lupita and I went and sat on some steps near the entrance to the lagoon called La Boquita at the end of the beach just past the Palacio Federal, now the Museo Arqueológico de la Costa Grande in front of the Vicente Guerrero primary school. She asked me what I did all day. Well, I wanted to be honest with her, so I didn’t hold back.
Palacio Federal and Vicente Guerrero school beside La Boquita lagoon
I told her that I got up from my hammock in the morning, smoked a joint with my coffee, took a hit or two off a bottle of some local homemade mezcal that had a dead fly floating in it, then I walked the mile and a half or so to town to have my licuado de chocolate, plátano y papaya, then I went and hung out at the beach and drank beer and played Frisbee with my friends. Her eyes had gotten wide while I was telling this, and I could tell I’d shocked her a bit. She was smiling when she said as sweetly as a ripe mango: “Oh, eres muy flojo.” Well, I didn’t know what she’d just said, but by the way she said it and the lovely innocent look on her face I assumed it was something wonderful and I nodded my head in agreement with a big dumb grin on my face, smitten.
What I thought was sweetness was Lupita holding back a good laugh.
Lupita told me she had to get back home, so I bid her farewell with a respectable kiss on the cheek, remembering to be on my best behavior but now acutely aware that we were strongly attracted to each other. It was indeed love at first sight.
The mile and a half walk back to the little house at the end of La Ropa Beach I kept thinking over and over to myself: “My sweetie just called me flojo. It must be something wonderful. I can’t wait to look it up in the dictionary.” And I kept repeating the word over and over so I wouldn’t forget it. Flojo. Flojo. Flojo.
Upon arriving to the house I almost ran to my Spanish-English dictionary, flipping quickly to the “F” section.
Flojo – lazy.
I thought no, that can’t be it. I must be missing the pronunciation a bit, and I looked all over for a similar sounding word.
Nope. That was the right translation all right. Lupita had a good laugh at my expense and the joke was on me, though she was absolutely right.
That was the last day I ever pretended to understand a word I didn’t know.
Lupita and me celebrating at the former Kau-Kan restaurant
Part 1 – Second Coming:
Love at First Sight for the Second Time
I walked from my home at the southern end of Playa La Ropa into downtown Zihuatanejo during the late morning, a man on a mission. It was Sunday, May 7th, 1989. I’d been in Zihuatanejo since mid-April with my soon-to-be ex-wife and our 4-year old daughter on our last-chance-for-romance “vacation”. The romance had flamed out and we had decided to separate amicably. Zihuatanejo was recharging my batteries while my almost-ex was anxious to return to “civilization”. So I decided that today was the day to re-introduce myself to my childhood sweetheart from 15 years earlier when I had first lived here for 6 months but with whom I’d had no contact all that time. Actually, I had walked by her boutique a couple of times and glanced at her, but I couldn’t bring myself to take that next step… until today.
How did I end up in Zihuatanejo, Mexico? It all began with Margot Chipman who commented to a mutual friend about Zihuatanejo back in 1969, and that friend told my mother and her then boyfriend who came here that year for several weeks where they rented a bungalow on the hill between La Ropa and el Centro. A couple of years later when we were all living together in St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands we met the charming and likeable Pepe Solórzano who owned the hotel “Casa Sun and Moon” in Playa La Madera. For the second time Zihuatanejo had touched our lives. The third time would be the charm.
In the late summer of 1974 we were living in Longboat Key, Florida, homesick for the Virgin Islands where we had fled after an outbreak of violence by some returning Vietnam vets. My mother decided it was a good time to take a break from civilization and go visit Zihuatanejo for a few months. We stayed for 6 months, and if the money hadn’t run out we could’ve stayed longer. It was a beautiful, peaceful, idyllic, warm and friendly place where rich and poor mingled and stars including John Wayne walked welcomed and unbothered among the locals. That was when I met the girl who would become my wife 15 years later, the daughter of one of Zihuatanejo’s most respected families, a saint of a woman who is practically royalty in my eyes. We were introduced by mutual friends while walking along Playa La Ropa. It was love at first sight, and in my then poor Spanish I asked her if she would like to go dancing that late summer evening.
Fifteen years later, it was the third and final day of the annual Torneo de Pez Vela, though I didn’t know that until I got to town from our home in La Ropa. I went to what would later be known as “Lupita’s Boutique,” then called “Nando’s”, and walked in with as much calm courage as I could muster after the long hot walk to town, ready for one of those blast-from-the-past moments. But as fate would have it, Lupita wasn’t in her boutique. The girl who was minding the store told me that Lupita had gone to the pier with some friends for the tournament celebration. Okay, minor inconvenience but no major setback. So off I strolled along the waterfront into the throng of hundreds, eyeballs rolling this way and that trying to recognize someone I hadn’t seen face-to-face for 15 years except at a distance a couple of times through her shop window during the previous week.
The pier was crowded all right, and I walked up it and down it and back up and down it again. No Lupita. I walked back along the waterfront until I came to Elvira’s Restaurant and decided I needed to boost my courage back up with a cold dark beer while practicing my introduction to her in my rudimentary Spanish. “¿Me recuerdas?” Two beers later I was pretty sure I saw Lupita stroll by towards the pier, though she seemed to be surrounded by a bunch of guys, one of whom I recognized as Lalo, the guy who sold my mother her pickup truck.
Reinvigorated and only slightly nervous I paid my tab and followed the group out to the pier. As casually as I could I let out a hearty greeting to my friend Lalo. The group stopped and turned to look my way. I saw Lupita smile and time stood still while everyone else and all the cacophony faded into the background. Lupita had my full attention, and apparently I had hers. Before anyone could break the spell I walked right up to her and in my poor Spanish said “¿recuérdame?”, immediately realizing I had goofed my line. But Lupita didn’t miss a beat. She flashed that angelic smile and said “sí, pero no, pero ayúdame para recordar”, all the time gazing into my eyes and showing that she recognized me. It was love at first sight for us for the second time in 15 years.
At about that point the hackles went up on the other guys, especially Noyo from Playa Las Gatas, who let out a string of insults, the gist being a rather protective “don’t mess with this girl” attitude. We bought beers and tequilas at the pier while Lalo introduced me around. While the guys were playing macho games with me a photographer strolled up and asked if he could take our photo, so we hammed it up for the camera.
May 7, 1989 – Mayte, Jean Claude, Nellie, Doro, Noyo, Lupita, Lalo, and me at the muelle on day 3 of the Torneo de Pez Vela
Part 2 – Connection: Till Death Do We Part
We strolled back along the waterfront and had a large table set up for us at Banana’s, which was where Tata’s is now located on the beach side of Hotel Avila. The manager Doro took excellent care of us that day, joining in with the rest of the guys who kept trying to run me off since everyone could see that Lupita and I were having a love-at-first-sight moment. I took the abuse in good spirits, and my bilingual friend Lalo even helped Lupita and me to communicate with each other as we remembered our romance of 15 years earlier.
Victor and Socorro with Lupita and me on our wedding day
Of course I eventually became good friends with Noyo and Doro. Lupita and I enjoy visiting Noyo at his family’s restaurant at Playa Las Gatas.
Lupita and me with Noyo at Chez Arnoldo, Playa Las Gatas
Lupita and I will celebrate another year of marriage this fall, and we both still feel like we’re honeymooners. Fate, destiny, karma or whatever it is that brought two people from such different worlds together. Now we’re just a couple of mushy old romantics hopelessly in love.
Lupita and me at Café Marina
Besides promoting Zihuatanejo and the region, we also try to help the needy and the less fortunate. From students to the elderly. Readers of my website have donated money, school supplies, clothing, glasses, computers, bedding, even furniture. My wife works tirelessly using her connections to match up donations to the folks who need them. Even though I’m an unrepentant atheist, I consider her a saintly and exemplary woman and I thank my lucky stars to have found her. Against all odds we met and married, from such different backgrounds and cultures, yet somehow we are two pieces of the same puzzle and we seem to fit together perfectly.
My future mother-in-law used to try to run me off when I came calling for Lupita, always telling me “está ocupada.” My future wife’s friends even told her I wouldn’t stay, that like all gringos I was only here for a little while. Even my own family thought I was mistaken to believe I could fit in here. I’ve now been here close to 30 years, most of my adult life and can’t imagine living anywhere else. This is my home. I have no other. And eventually my suegra and all our nay-saying friends had to admit they were wrong.
Zihuatanejo became popular with sport fishermen going back as far as Zane Grey. In pre-colonial times Purépecha royalty from the region of Lake Pátzcuaro used to migrate to Zihuatanejo every year as well as hide their women here during times of strife, and the reef-like rock breakwater at Playa Las Gatas was allegedly built by them. When Pedro Infante was here filming the movie “La Vida No Vale Nada” my wife was just a little girl still living in her family’s home on the beach next to what is now the Cancha Municipal, and he gave her a kiss on the cheek that makes her smile to this day.
I found my footing in Zihuatanejo first as an English teacher for 9 years, starting in one of the big hotels in Ixtapa and later switching to private schools and finally giving private classes out of my home. Then the internet arrived to Zihuatanejo and after doing a search for “Zihuatanejo” and finding listings for hotels that had been out of business for years I decided I could do better, and I taught myself how to make websites. That was about 20 years ago. I don’t know what I was thinking but I gave up teaching, a social life, money to spend and spare time to enjoy it to be an overworked underpaid webmaster and promoter of our region. But I wouldn’t change a thing!
A stroll to the pier and back with my wife, one of our favorite things to do, can take 20 minutes or it can take an hour, depending on how many friends we encounter along the way. Zihuatanejo is like a big family, especially in our case being part of one of the older respected families of Guerrero, and we casually greet and chat with friends and strangers on our strolls, as is customary among people of the region. The warmth of the locals along with the area’s natural beauty has long been part of Zihuatanejo’s principal attractions.
We also observe siesta time daily from 2:00 to 5:00 PM. Siesta is one of my favorite local customs, and frankly I could never again function in the 9-to-5 work environment. I’m ruined for life!
Every day that I wake up in this paradise, with all its shortcomings, a quick glance through the news from the rest of the world soon has me kissing the ground like the Pope and giving thanks that this is the place I call home. Zihuatanejo! Zihuatanejo! Zihuatanejo!
It’s 2:30 a.m. on a Monday morning and the noise is so loud from one of the downtown bars that my house is vibrating and I can’t sleep. Welcome to the new lawless Zihuatanejo courtesy of the mayor Gustavo García Bello, who is running for re-election.
Son las 2:30 horas de la madrugada de lunes y el ruido de unos de los bares en El Centro de Zihuatanejo es tan fuerte que hace vibrar mi casa y no puedo dormir. Bienvenido al nuevo Zihuatanejo sin ley cortesía del presidente municipal Gustavo García Bello, quien busca la re-elección.
My wife, Lupita, and I just celebrated our 25th anniversary, but since we were both ill with colds we didn’t go out to celebrate. Nevertheless, my saint of a wife also had another commitment for the day of our anniversary that she wouldn’t allow herself to miss: delivering donations from generous visitors to needy students at one of our region’s many overlooked and forgotten schools, this time the school for the children of the families who inhabit Zihuatanejo’s garbage dump who essentially live off the recycled and salvaged refuse of our community.
Lupita and Sra. Sandoval – click to enlarge
The school’s water supply – click to enlarge
The school’s water supply – click to enlarge
Homes at the basurero – click to enlarge
Thanks to the generosity of a lot of people this school is able to provide educational opportunities to children who otherwise might not be able to attend school since children and parents at other schools might not receive them with the respect they deserve. In particular a huge debt of gratitude goes to the teacher Sra. Olga Sandoval Blanquel and her assistants. The small school has 40 students in all including 2 children with autism and one child mother who is barely a teen.
A home at the basurero – click to enlarge
Also, a huge debt of gratitude goes to Mr. Sidney Reimer who works at the hotel Azul Ixtapa and who donates 4 liters of bottled water a day per student to be sure they at least have proper drinking water. Such exemplary selfless generosity is quite moving when you see the conditions of this school, a place essentially forgotten by most of the rest of the Zihuatanejo community including the government at all levels.
My wife Lupita along with our daughter Valeria and our assistant Vero made up packages of school supplies along with toothbrushes and toothpaste to deliver to all of the students at this school. While some of the students seemed a little embarrassed and shy, others expressed their gratitude with their huge warm smiles. The supplies including the toothpaste and toothbrushes were all donated by readers of my Zihuatanejo-Ixtapa Message Board. We can’t thank them enough for their generosity.
Valeria and Vero distribute packages to the little kids – click to enlarge
We try to save up donated items until we have enough to make packages for an entire school so that no one feels left out. This year we didn’t receive as many donations as in past years, and the outbreak of Chikungunya earlier in the year made visiting rural areas risky, so it took us longer to get the packages together and then to get them to the school we wished to help. But it is an endeavor our family is committed to because we strongly believe that after family, a community is the most valuable component of society, and the members of a community should help one another in their time of need.
Middle grade kids – click to enlarge
Middle grade kids – click to enlarge
Middle grade kids – click to enlarge
Upper grade kids – click to enlarge
Road to the school – click to enlarge
One of the classrooms – click to enlarge
The school playground – click to enlarge
View from the school’s playground – click to enlarge
Sra. Sandoval with her volunteer assistants and kindergarten students – click to enlarge
If you would like to help us with your donations of school supplies for our region’s neediest children please leave a comment here or contact me via my Facebook page or simply stop by my wife’s boutique, Lupita’s Boutique, in downtown Zihuatanejo where my wife and our daughter will gladly receive them.
Oliverio Maciel Díaz, el Rey Neptuno de Zihuatanejo
A real-life legend of Zihuatanejo, Oliverio Maciel Díaz was born Nov. 12, 1924 here in Zihuatanejo. By the age of 10 he was fishing and free diving, spending most of his time on and in the water. Friends from that era say he was a true sireno (merman): half man and half fish. By the time the decade of the 50’s rolled around, thanks to the introduction of the “aqualung” to the area by don Carlos Barnard in 1949, Oliverio had become the most proficient local diver, earning the nickname “El Rey Neptuno”, and for the next 4 decades he was sought by the rich, the powerful and the famous to take them diving. He also collaborated with Jacques Yves Cousteau.
Oliverio Maciel Díaz
Oliverio eventually became the most sought-after expert who best knew the waters of the entire Costa Grande. He had roles in numerous movies including “La Tintorera”, “Ciclón”, “El Triángulo de las Bermudas”, “El Niño y el Tiburón”, “Beyond the Reef”, “Las Pirañas Aman en Cuaresma”, “Historias del Rey Neptuno”, and “El Día de los Asesinos”. There was even a character dedicated to him in the popular comic “Chanoc”.
During 1955 and 1956 after a lengthy investigation Oliverio searched for and found several cannons and anchors in Zihuatanejo Bay in the area known as El Eslabón, located between Playa La Ropa and Playa La Madera. One of the anchors was attributed to the 60-cannon ship “Centurion” that had been captained by the British corsair George Anson from when he spent time in Zihuatanejo Bay during 1741 and 1742 hunting Spanish ships including the “Nao de China” or the “Galeón de Manila”.
Oliverio Maciel Díaz with Anson’s anchor
The cannons he recovered were attributed to the Spanish vessel “Nuestra Señora del Monte Carmelo”, known to have been intentionally sunk there by Anson on February 27, 1742. The name of Playa La Madera is allegedly attributed to the wood that washed up on the beach for several years later from this incident, and the name El Eslabón (the chain link) also derives from this incident. Some of the cannons and artifacts he found can still be seen at the Museo Arqueológico de la Costa Grande on the waterfront of downtown Zihuatanejo, and one of the anchors can still be seen at Playa Las Gatas.
Oliverio founded a diving school and diving tours business as well as a restaurant at Playa Las Gatas, Oliverio’s. The restaurant is run today by his children and grandchildren. During the middle of the 1970’s when Oliverio’s diving business was thriving, my wife Lupita Bravo became not only his apprentice but was considered almost a part of the family.
Los Morros de Potosí
One of Lupita’s most cherished memories of that time that I find remarkable is her description of diving near the islets known as Los Morros de Potosí in Bahía de Potosí, just south of Bahía de Zihuatanejo. She says she was diving in crystalline water near the guano-covered islets with Oliverio when all of a sudden she found herself literally eye to eye with one of the greatest hunters of the oceans: a sailfish. She recalls that she grabbed onto and hid behind Oliverio who never moved but who instead floated calmly in front of the great fish, and he urged her to come out from behind him in order to better appreciate the rare experience, an experience she recalls with the same awe now as the day it occurred.
Oliverio lived out his final years in a modest home at Playa Quieta where he died on July 10, 2002. QEPD
Wide-angle view of Playa Principal (click to enlarge)
26 Nov. 2014 – The people of Zihuatanejo are ready for the tourist season. Merchants and shop-keepers, restaurateurs and their staff, hotel operators and vacation rental owners, and workers in every aspect of our local businesses are anxiously awaiting the arrival of tourists for the upcoming season, especially foreigners from Canada and the United States. It’s been a long slow season for everyone here since the end of the last high season, and everyone is getting their shops and businesses spiffed up and ready for a bountiful season so that our visitors will enjoy memorable and relaxing vacations in our precious corner of paradise.
While we ask that our visitors overlook the shortcomings of our municipal government who seems to have dropped the ball on just about everything they’re responsible for, we hope everyone will notice the genuine effort on the part of the local people to go the extra mile to take good care of our new and returning visitors with the hope that they will return again and that they will tell all their friends and family members good things about Zihuatanejo and the surrounding region.
Our weather should be just about perfect every day from now until the beginning of the next rainy season in the middle of May. But if you have any doubts be sure to check the forecasts and conditions on my Zihuatanejo-Ixtapa Weather page.
And if you have any questions at all about anything regarding Zihuatanejo, Ixtapa, Troncones, Barra de Potosí or the surrounding region please be sure to ask them on my moderated and widely read Zihuatanejo-Ixtapa Message Board where you will also find hundreds of trip reports, anecdotes, recommendations, photos, videos, and useful answers to many previous questions.
The warmth of the local people combines with our tropical climate to warm the soul. A Zihuatanejo vacation is the perfect recipe for alleviating stress and warming chilled bones.
¡Saludos y hasta pronto!
Fishermen at dawn on Playa Principal (click to enlarge)
from Aubrey Beardsley’s “Salomé – The Stomach Dance”
Just this past week a post on my Zihuatanejo-Ixtapa & Troncones Mexico Message Board regarding the possible source of a local recent rumor turned into something quite different, quite argumentative and quite amusing to me, but only because I’ve learned not to take most folks as seriously as they think they should be taken. Nevertheless, arguments on the internet are never pretty sights to most viewers, even less so to people looking for a relaxing getaway from inclement weather, their jobs and their daily lives. I have deleted it from my Message Board for obvious reasons, though I aready knew from the subject of the original post that it was not a message thread I intended on saving for very long.
The original posthad a link to a news article about the arrest of an alleged criminal and speculated on the source of the rumor regarding child abuctions that had circulated in Zihuatanejo during late February and early March. The first inane reply came almost immediately and said “that’s why god invented bullets”. Meaning the alleged criminal accused of the child abductions for organ harvesting or whatever should be shot and not even have evidence against him presented at a trial. Since the person posting was one of my favorite “conservative types” (you know the type) I of course couldn’t resist a little jibe and a little personal entertainment (yes, I can be a bit of a mindfucker at times when things are dull). What’s amusing about an argument? Well, I’m pretty sure I’m not one of the brightest bulbs on the tree, but it amuses me to no end how much dimmer most people seem to be, but of course I could be wrong because as I said, I ain’t the sharpest knife in the kitchen drawer. Not even close.
So in reply to what I fondly referred to as the comment about GOD’S OWN BULLETS , I wrote something like: “Were those the same bullets used to massacre the indigenous folks in what is now the USA?” I could have just as easily written: “Were those the same bullets used to assassinate Lincoln, the Kennedys, Martin Luther King, Jr. or the children at Sandy Hook Elementary?”
“Mango Man” by William T. Templeton
Immediately the outrage began! First someone claimed that the Native Americans were happy on their reservations. Someone else claimed that disease killed most of them. Someone else even wrote that there were now over two and a half million Native Americans in the USA (which actually got a burst of laughter out loud from me). But not only did all these people miss the point, they ignored it glaringly. Dodge and change the subject, attack the messenger, argue about inanities. Almost immediately one person claimed I was an anti-American sexist and chauvinist, which of course got a couple of attaboys from the female peanut gallery, whom I suspect had been drinking wine.
Not one other person seemed to care about the larger question I actually touched upon by my original reply to GOD’S OWN BULLETS, to wit: injustice in the name of religion. No, they were so deep in denial and woe and caught up in the White Man’s Burden that a tirade was unleashed against me accusing me of everything from being anti-American to Communist (as if those would be labels that should cause me anguish) as well as a sexist and chauvinist.
“Mouse Trap” game
I’ve lost count of the times in my life when some ill-mannered and disrespectful angry fool pretended to tell me what I am, and most times I simply shrug off the attempted chides because I don’t suffer fools lightly and there’s no sense in arguing with people’s prejudices. While I enjoy my freedom more than most people, I am not so foolish as to be so free with my inner self that I reveal myself to strangers or even to most people. My wife knows me. My mother knows me. My family knows me. My friends know me. But folks who have mostly never even met me and only read what I write on my Message Board don’t know anything about me of substance because I learned quite young, before I was even a teen, that you have to have different images to different sectors of people, you can’t just be yourself in front of everybody. Just like you probably don’t discuss much about your sex life with strangers, I keep most of myself private. But since I’m not exactly the cleverest ape in the tree, of course I could be wrong.
So when one particularly ill-mannered and disrespectful angry person on my Message Board pretended to pigeonhole me, I of course couldn’t resist the temptation to play the easy winning hand and publicly admonish her since the entire affair was simply just a silly game of mine to begin with and the angry players lost so rotundly.
stupid tattoo
But the icing on the cake came when the same ill-mannered and disrespectful angry person revealed her true hateful, mean-spirited and conservative self by calling another person who corrected her a “Robette”, a term originally coined and used on a website forum that has been gone for many years and that many of my readers who knew of it jokingly referred to as the “Blue Board”, because they were all such a sad and sorry lot of mostly angry, bitter, hateful, envious, and conservative blowhards. She might as well have just rolled up her sleeve and showed us her stupid tattoo. 😉
