A bad day in Acapulco

Thursday March 17. In the morning we saw a mostly empty marina and a small cove of beach. The restauranteurs were just setting up for the day. Our host wasn’t serving breakfast because his wife—the cook—had taken their son to school. So we drove on looking for a likely breakfast spot.

One of our fav things about Mexico is the murals

Which we didn’t find. We ended up downtown, trying to navigate the busy and the one way streets, looking for the VW service center. When a police officer stopped us. He asked to see Mike’s drivers’ license which was produced. He then proceeded to explain that Mike had failed to stop for pedestrians, and showed us the table of fines: 2400 pesos. Mike protested that he had been following the traffic and did exactly what the other drivers has done. The officer said he would keep the drivers’ license and we could follow him to the police station to pay the fine. Then after a couple minutes he said we could keep it simple and just pay him 1500 cash. Mike stalled, and eventually offered 500. He countered at 700, and the extortion deal was done. We were furious for the rest of the day and days to follow at the corrupt extortion and our collusion. If we were to do it over again, we would call him on it, proceed to the police station, protest our driving innocence, and charge him with corruption. If we had seen a tourist police officer we would have reported it then, but we didn’t.

I took the opportunity to ask the bad cop where the VW service center was. He directed us up the hill. After two more stops for directions we found it, but the parts desk didn’t open until 9. So we walked downhill looking for breakfast. Nothing was open except Sam’s Club, but even there the food court was not open. But the parking lot had a gorgeous view overlooking the city. So we returned hungry to the parts counter. The guy told us that the part we need also fits a model of Jetta, but he didn’t have the part in Mexico; he could order it from the States for us. No thanks. With the help of an internet address and maps.me, we proceeded down the hill, north along the avenue, and up the hill to Auto Zone, still without breakfast. The AutoZone guy looked it up, but didn’t have the part. We were headed out to the parking lot with the intent to eat a bowl of granola when a local guy asked if we wanted to look for a used part and offered to show us where. So he got in our car and we drove a few

The mechanic's "shop"

blocks to find the used parts place; he had to ask directions a couple times. Asking people for help is the way things get done here. But the place didn’t open until afternoon, and it was still just after 10am. So we fetched his car and followed him to another used parts dealer. The dealer wanted us to pull out the old part so he could compare, and directed us down the block to a local mechanic. The mechanic didn’t have the right security tool to remove the part, so we abandoned the plan. But meanwhile, in and out of the van a few times in the mechanic’s driveway, which was saturated with motor oil, we had tracked oil onto our shoes and the van floor. We drove down the hill, found a place to pull over, and finally ate some granola and yogurt. We vowed to never again tackle the day’s challenges without breakfast.

Our next stop was the tourist information kiosk at the waterfront across from the zocalo, which was not easy to find. We found street parking—miracle of miracles. Mike wanted to see the place where

The Quebrado cliffs

the famous Acapulco cliff divers dive. The tourist lady showed us where on the map, showed us how to walk there, and said the next show was 12:30. It was then 11:45am. We walked through the zocalo, past the modern cathedral and up the narrow street to the Quebrado, the cliff area. The view of the sea is beautiful, but the most interesting part is the design and engineering of the street and pedestrian walk that run along the cliffs up to the point. We walked up and back, waiting for the show, and remembering that we had gone out in the midday with no sunscreen, and no water. The show did not begin at 12:30, but a few people were showing up, so we concluded—with the help of an entrance fee sign—that the show would be at 1. We bought a beverage and sat on a bench under a tree that offered

Acapulco cliff divers

a bit of shade, or at least filtered the sun. Sure enough, across the cove we saw a couple brown bodies in speedos work through the gathered crowd and go over the wall, down the rocks below. They jumped into the water, swam across, and rock climbed the cliff. A couple more guys joined them from somewhere above, until there were about seven of them assembled on the cliff. They then proceeded to mill, consult, pray, posture, and one by one flex their muscles for the crowd. The buildup was irritating. Finally one guy down climbed ten feet to a lower ledge, hesitated, watched the waves, stretched, and postured some more. Finally he jumped, feet first. I said this is not worth the time, let alone the money some people paid for a ring-side view. The second guy went through a similar routine, but did a full flip in the air before landing. Then two guys did perfectly matched swan dives. I said this is pretty cool! So they each did their own variation, and the last guy dove forward but did a full 360 backward flip. Awesome! One guy swam out to sea to greet the two boats of tourists while the others climbed back up to the view point to greet their fans.

We walked back down the hill to find a parking ticket on our van. The other cars on the block also had expired meters but no tickets. We high-tailed it out of Acapulco

The expired parking meter

with a bad attitude. We didn’t even stop for groceries. (I won’t bore you with the navigational challenges this time.)

Ioverlander suggested parking at the beachfront restaurant 7 Mares in the community of Troncones, north of Zihuantanejo, which does not appear on any paper map or guide book. With the help of maps.me we found the turnoff and followed a dirt road 3km to the beach. We found a string of elegant homes and boutique hotels strung along either side of the beachfront road, with a public access right-of-way every 500m or so. The 7 Mares restaurant was closed (“gone fishing” the sign said) but we found a steakhouse that also served fish. They assured us they have ceviche, but the stuff they served us doesn’t qualify as such. It had no lime or chili, and the tomato sauce was sweet. We ate it only because we were hungry. The tortilla soup and fish tacos were more to our liking, though the tacos were a little on the greasy side.

We parked near the beach on a quiet public access road and walked in the surf, admiring the

Our casita in Troncones

beachfront homes and the night sky. Sharman, desperate as always at the end of a hot day, found a beach shower outside the gate of a small complex. It was dark enough. I stripped to my underwear--which looks like a bikini and needed washing anyway—and enjoyed a quick douse. Mike chose to wash in the surf.

Friday March 18. We walked the beach end to end in the daylight, explored tide pools and collected shells, before heading out. We are definitely getting a little road weary and averse

A tide pool resident

to getting back in the van.

Passing through Lázaro Cardenas we made an impulse stop at the AutoZone store on the highway. After one or two false leads, the manager found the air flow mass sensor that we need—in Hermosillo. We arranged to have it shipped to the store in Mazatlan. Because it is Semana Santa, it won’t ship until Monday and won’t arrive until Wednesday. If we have to be in Mazatlan Wednesday, what to do with the extra days until then? Go climbing of course! Go check out the eruption of Volcan Colima!

The last town on the coast before turning inland to Colima is Boca de Apiza, a small fishing town at the mouth of the Apiza river. There are no tourist facilities or elegant homes, just modest homes, fishing prams lining the riverbank, and a string of beachfront restaurants that cater to Mexican

Fishermen returning in the morning through the surf

families. We chose the restaurant with the most people—a big family at a long table eating platters of food and drinking Coca Cola, with wet kids running around—overlooking the river mouth where several guys were wading up to their chest and throwing circular fishing nets in the tidal current. We sat down just in time for a fiery sunset. The ceviche, made from sierra fish, was excellent and the plate of it was huge. We didn’t want to eat anything more. We walked around a bit after dinner, watching a fisherman moor his boat at his front porch, listening to a group of guys in an otherwise deserted restaurant singing and playing mariachi songs, then drove to the far end of the beach to sleep.