Chapter 13- Return to San Blas

13 - Return to San Blas

We depart Guadalajara after the billiards adventure, bound for San Blas. Although it is where the trip began for me, (and Ed) this is not the case for Joseph. He was hustled out of San Blas as soon as he arrived. He is looking forward to some relaxation at San Blas. I personally have mixed feelings about returning. On the one hand I always enjoy San Blas for its beauty and pace, as well as the exciting mix of young tourists from all over the world that seem to congregate here, but on the other it seems as if there are no new frontiers left to be explored as the trip is coming to an end.

We experience a certain feel of confidence that stems from "knowing what is going on" as we enter San Blas, crossing the Rio Palillo, passing the old ruins atop the hill, and arriving at the familiar plaza in the center of town. We park the Caddie and walk down toward the Hotel Bucanero thinking to check in. We are surprised to find that there is one room left, it is upstairs in the back with only one window and it seems very hot and stuffy, definitely the cheap seats. It is April and San Blas is experiencing its annual invasion of American college students on spring break. They come from California, Texas, Arizona, and even from as far away as snow laden Colorado and Utah. The spring vacations are staggered, so San Blas enjoys these "tourists" from March through April. No sooner than one group of sun burned revelers leave, another group (all with very white skin) arrives. Joseph is undaunted at the lack of accommodations. He wisely suggests that we drive out to Matachen Bay and see if there are any rooms at the Hotel Colón. We drive the five or so miles and find that at the Colón there are many rooms available. We procure a corner room on the second floor with windows on both sides which pick up any breeze that might be up, and additionally affords a great view down the dirt road toward the bay as well as back up the main road to the river. To make things even better, Joseph negotiates a weekly rate of 100 pesos for both of us! He does this by pointing out that there will be no reason to change the linen, (except weekly) nor will it be necessary to clean the room every day. Furthermore, we will provide our own towels They accept, this comes to $4.00 each, per week! This is by far the best rate we have ever had, at least anything with a bed. Joseph immediately goes to work plugging every gap and every little screenhole with toilet paper and anything else he can find. He seals up every potential entrance the dreaded little bastard insects might use. When he is at last satisfied that they cannot invade, he methodically searches out the few that are already in the room and murders them. We feel as though we have reached beachbum Nirvana, and in fact we have.

Maria and Pepe, the proprietors, serve dinner every night on a limited basis. You inform them if you want to have dinner that night and you are included, if you do not make said reservation, there is not enough food. It is very simple and very effective. Maria, with the help of several young women and a couple of boys, pretty much runs the hotel. She issues a steady barrage of orders to the help as to the cleaning, cooking, laundry, and maintenance in general. She keeps the kitchen open throughout the day. Its reefer is stocked with sodas and beer, which are for sale, and on the stove are great pots of beans and rice. This food is available to guests at a small price, but is primarily used to feed the workers and other locals who just happen by. Pepe stares out across the bay from his rocker which is strategically placed on the second floor in one of the old gaming rooms. It seems that in its heyday, the Colón had been a gambling casino as well, but now that part of the hotel just stands unused except as storage area. Maria and Pepe are old, she looks to be 70 or so (it's hard to tell) and Pepe looks old enough to be her father, hell maybe he was, we weren't about to ask.

ch13_pic1.jpg (25455 bytes) There are two parts of the beach area at Matachen Bay. The beach area on the bay itself is large but it is used by beach goers on a very limited basis. The locals use the bay side for picnicking and spending a casual day, usually on the weekends. One reason is that the ocean side of the land spit that sticks out forming the bay, has a most beautiful beach area. This area is large and has numerous palapa/restaurants dispensing beer, sodas, and delicious food. The food is well priced, but once again the price of beer remains the same budget buster. There is also a small restaurant directly on the point of land that juts out into the ocean which affords a nice inside ambiance and protection from the sun and although the food is the same, the prices are a little higher. However, many choose to spend considerable time inside drinking beer and Tequila as they relax, finally liberated (at least temporarily) from the burdens of their scholastic endeavors. The water is about 80· Fahrenheit, with a perfectly formed three to four foot right hand break. Surfers delight! You can board surf, body surf, or just swim. It is virtually the perfect beach. And this place is jumping with American college types as well as a sprinkling of young Canadians, Aussies, Kiwis, and Europeans. There is a daily "bus" (actually more a flat bed truck with some bleacher seats mounted on the bed) from San Blas, arriving at about ten in the morning and departing about four in the afternoon. The overwhelming majority of these kids have taken the train or the bus down from the states and do not have cars. So when the bus leaves in the afternoon, the beach empties, there is no one left except the locals and a few like us, who are either staying at the Colón, or camping out in the few "grass shacks" available for rent right on the beach. Also accounting for the availability of room at the Colón is the fact that all the nightlife is in San Blas, and the Colón is too far away for walking. It works well for us, we have the Caddie so we can go to town as we please, or just stay out at the Colón, depending on our mood. The morning "bus" is always completely full, packed with hangovers looking for a place to recover in the sun and surf so that they will be ready for another night of partying in San Blas. After all, it is spring break. Everyone is working on their tan, however it is very hot here, and the sun is higher in the sky than at home, it is very easy to overdo it. And many have. Once at the beach, the most popular area for hanging out and socializing seems to be right at the outside edge of the open air palapas. Here there is a choice of sun or shade in which to sit while guzzelling amazing amounts of beer in rapid-fire succession. This is where most of the males do their posturing when not actually in the water. This also affords them an excellent view of any female sun worshipers, although they also must find protection in the shade. If one stays out in the sun all day, (particularly white snowbirds) one will pay. We find ourselves in a most enviable position. Our "George Hamilton" suntans are deep and dark (almost black) after months in the tropical sun, we feel like Doonesberry's "Duke." We are acclimated to the weather perfectly. We bask in our "suntan status" as everyone asks, "Geez, how long ya been in San Blas? How long ya been in Mexico? Where else ya been?" As we answer these questions and recount some of our adventures, our beach status is elevated to an almost "Kahunian" level. We are asked about where to get the cheapest beer, cheapest and best tequila, where to get some pot. How about ice? What about the federales? On and on, we love it.

However, after a couple of days of hanging out with college students, the adulation wears thin in spite the massive massage to our egos. We are anxious to find things to do. We have developed quite an appetite for oysters, so we decide to try and get our own. (Joseph's idea, he seems to get all the best ideas.) They are quite expensive due to the influx of lusty young college student appetites running the prices up. We nose around a little and find the area where the local divers are getting them (just down from the "beach area,") and make arrangements to procure the necessary equipment. We find a person who rents this equipment. What we need is an innertube with netting on the inside, and a kind of prybar/shovel thing to get the oysters, we already have fins and masks. We are surprised when the man who rents out the equipment simply loans it to us, saying that we can share some of our oysters with him as payment. To us this makes sense and appears to be a very good deal, we will get oysters for absolutely nothing. We outfit ourselves (we probably look like adolescent frogmen) and push our inner tubes through the surf, past the waves, and out to some rock formations. We have noticed the local divers working by the rocks out farther, but we don't go where they are. We would not want to infringe on their area. Anyway, they are too far away. We find what we judge to be a likely looking area and begin to dive. However, we can find absolutely no oysters. Dive after dive, nothing. Not only that, this is really hard work, the ocean currents kind of push you against the rocks as the swell surges back and forth. It is very tiring and those rocks are sharp. We try a few more spots in the same area, but still, no luck. We are getting further out now, and a little more tired, not to mention scraped and bruised from bouncing against the rocks. However, we are both strong swimmers and are not in any danger. As we get closer to the local divers, they wave to us as encouragement to join them where they dive. We cannot however, they are too far out, even though we feel we are good swimmers we are certainly not that good. We also notice that the locals do not use swimfins, most do not use masks. We are out of our league. The only places that we can dive are all oystered out. After a while we return to land and return the equipment to our benefactor. We realize now that he probably knew we didn't have a chance, that's why he didn't charge us for the equipment. We are completely exhausted and quickly find the nearest palapa selling cold beer, and rest up. After an hour or so of drinking beer, we notice the local oystermen coming in; we decide to walk down the beach and get a look at their catch. And they have quite a harvest. They are very friendly and ask why we didn't swim out to come and join them. When we reply that we were afraid that we would drown out there, they laugh and laugh. They have never seen any Americans in the water trying to dive for oysters, so we have been quite the entertainment for them. As reward for our courage, they give us a couple of dozen oysters. We all laugh as we eat some and save some for later. One thing we marvel at, these guys could really swim and dive. I guess if you are raised with it and it is your life, you get good, and they were. These guys are really nice too, we are reminded of our friends at Alvarado, and once again we are impressed by the essence of spirit and love for life of the Mexican people.

The river (or one of it's tributaries) runs near the Colón. It crosses the road under a bridge about three or four hundred meters from the hotel. At the crossing are two restaurants, once again they are the palapa type. They are on opposite sides of the road and are run by two different families. In both cases the man of the family has a boat and all through the day is available to take tourists on a "jungle cruise" up to Tobara Springs. However, business is slower here as most of the boatmen work out of San Blas with "salesmen" out hawking the rides, making it difficult for these out of the way boatmen to find clients. The women of each family, along with their children, run the little palapa restaurants. Each morning Joseph and I walk down to the river crossing and have breakfast at one of the restaurants. The first day at one, and the second day at the other. Unknown to us, this caused quite a stir. The third day when we returned to the first restaurant, (better food) we were treated much better. It only took us a few minutes to figure out why we were being treated so well, they wanted our business back. Along with a much friendlier attitude in general, they bring us a 'jumo,' which is set under our table. A jumo is a large size coffee can with triangular shaped holes punched out (using a "churchkey,") along the bottom and the sides, and with a little baling wire handle. This is then filled with dried dung and little pieces of hardwood, and set afire. It doesn't really burn, but rather smolders. It produces a smoke which, to our delight, keeps away the little insects which seem to be everywhere the wind doesn't blow, and it doesn't blow that early in the morning. Joseph is ecstatic at once again defeating his perennial arch enemies, the dreaded jajenes and sancudos. Our portions are larger as well, and our coffee cups are hastily refilled, there are more smiles from the ten year old waitress and her mother, the cook. Mama comes out from the kitchen several times with more tortillas and asks if everything is all right. We are very happy. Competition has once again benefited the consumer. We tip generously when we see that the price for the meal is only 10 pesos. We are also able to spread our business around, the other palapa stays open later and serves dinner, while palapa number one has packed it up and headed for home. Most nights we eat at palapa #2, but sometimes we just stay at the hotel and eat Maria's evening meal. After dinner we can choose between a very quiet night at Matachen Bay or a night of partying in San Blas. We seem to have the best of all worlds.

We continue to enjoy the Hotel Colón, daytimes at Matachen Bay, and night time partying in San Blas for a few weeks. However, after a while I can see Joseph starting to bore. We have done just about everything there is to do here and now everything is repeating itself. Every week there is a new batch of spring breakers arriving with the same questions about what is happening, and the same aspirations, which boil down to "party, party, party." Finally, Joseph suggests that we pack it up and head for the states. Now I am in a dilemma, there is nothing really for me in the states right now, I have no place to stay without imposing on someone, and virtually no money. The small amount of money I do have will not work in the states. Joseph has a place in the desert at Blythe along the Colorado river and suggests that we go there for the remaining time until works starts back up again in Mammoth. I am unsure, but in the end I wish him good luck and decide to remain in San Blas for a little longer. I feel as though I can make my money last here much better. I really don't want to be stuck in the desert and become a burden to Joseph. I will stay and "catch up with you later." We spend a few more days together in San Blas, then he points the Caddie north and after wishing each other good luck he parts. I find myself on my own in Mexico. . . .