Sharks at the Beach

As you can tell from the blog so far, we like the beach. In particular, we love Troncones near Ixtapa. We have a house that we rent www.casa-ki.com

This spring we were planning a trip during spring break for some surf and sun. Three days before we leave, one of my coworkers asks if I am going to Troncones. He then proceeds to tell me about a poor guy from San Francisco who started the day surfing and ended it in a Mexican morgue courtesy of a shark.

To the point, we went anyway. What was most interesting is the difference between the Mexican and Californian attitudes about nature.The week before in San Diego, a man was killed by a shark. In CA, they closed the beach and tried to understand the shark. What was the shark feeling? Why did the shark feel the need to eat the surfer? Was the shark abused as a little shark or bullied by a seal? After a week of shark psycho-analysis, they reopened the beach and the surfers hit the waves.

In Mexico, they had a slightly different approach. The next day there was a "fisherman" off the beach chumming the waters, hooking anything that bit the line, and shooting the hooked sharks with a shotgun. 15 died in the first day.

Now whether you agree with it or not, it says a lot about the different approaches to the problem. Where folks in the US often see and attempt to understand nature, sensitive to political feelings, and empathize with an animal just trying to make a living. The folks in Mexico thought of the quickest way to protect their families and livelihoods.

I honestly believe that there is no such thing as a hungry environmentalist. Environmentalists exist only as a parasitic belief system in societies that have conquered their environment. If you are watching your children starve you are less likely to care about your carbon footprint.

Mexico is an amazing country with vast wealth, but it is also home to many who truly are just barely making a living. It is probably not be the right answer to kill the sharks, as 2 more attacks have occured since we left. This shark hunt was probably done out of ignorance but it seems to me that those in far off lands who have never missed a meal from need display just as much ignorance when they condemn it.

Butterflies

For all the wonders we have seen in Mexico, one of the most awesome is easily the nesting grounds of the Monarch Butterfly. These amazing little creatures migrate over 1800 miles from the US to only 12 mountain peaks in Central Mexico.

If you know us, you know this would be something we have to see. So we took the trip to Valle de Bravo. Driving down the road there were police and signs telling you to slow down. For the first time in all my driving in Mexico, people were actually following directions. We soon discovered why, the road ahead was blanketed by flying butterflies. You could not look in any direction and NOT see them.We stopped in a little dirt siding and were immediately offered horse and guide services.

While Mexico has some fine horses, these were not them. But the guides seemed nice enough, we paid our money and began the hike up hill. I say hike because of my horse allergy and my strong desire not to look like Hitch after he ate shellfish, I got to walk. That was not so fun as the trail was what we like to call Mexican moondust. It is dirt so fine that it puffs into clouds at the drop of a boot. 5 horses make a moon dust cloud that may kills small mammals. After 30 minutes strait up hill, your author was about DONE. Mercifully they left the horses and walked the final quarter mile of so to the trees.

Nothing I can say could prepare you for the sight or the sound. Imagine the softest slightest tapping/brushing sound you can and play it in your mind 1000 times a second. The audible noise of butterfly wings flying all around, soft and subtle, yet filling the air completely. And then to gaze out and see more butterflies than you could count in a year. Everywhere, clouds of them. Then in the trees you see clumps of something... more gathered together, hanging off each other. I have done a lot of things in my life, but this is a life experience I will never forget and highly recommend.

A Beach of our Own

If you have ever wanted to find a sun drenched beach to call your own we found one. It is called Playa Escondida, hidden beach, and for the first time in that trip the name said it all.

Stacey and I visited this beach with her parents 15 years ago, but since it is not on the maps, we were never able to find it. The witch at the hotel gave us a hand drawn map for some tourist attractions and on it was the beach. So off we went. After wandering down the highway, we saw the sign and went down the road to the beach... Here I use road only in the most general sense. Parallel goat paths might be more accurate.

When we arrived we walked around the grounds of the abandoned hotel on top of the cliff. After a few minutes a nice, one armed man walked up with a machete and asked for $3 for the right to use the beach. Now if you have never met a one armed man wielding a sword while asking for three dollars, let me just say, "Pay the man". He was really a nice fellow who was clearing brush in the truly hopeless attempt at restoring the hotel. After admiring the two mile long beach with no one but cows on it, we sent down the path to the secluded beach. This was the fun part, the path was a set of slabs on the top of a ridge. Think Indiana Jones here.

When we got the beach, we were all alone. The kids went swimming in various states of undress and they found lots of shells. I love Mexico!!

Did you cast a spell on me?

Our next stop was the scenic coastal town of Coatzacoalcos... at least that is what were told. When we arrived we found a charming group of refineries... so we did what most people do, we stopped at a convenience store and asked the clerk where to go. She suggested Catemaco. We bought a map and off we went.

When we got there we got a room at the Hotel del Brujo. Odd name for a hotel, literally "the hotel of the male witch". We thought we might be in trouble again as the air was THICK with bugs. I have lived a lot of places but I have NEVER seen bugs this thick. I am talking biblical infestation. On the window of our hotel there were 2 or three per square inch of window. The nice lady at checkin told us not to worry, that they didn't bite and would be gone by morning. Sure enough the next morning there was a layer of them everywhere.

It was only walking around that we started to pick up on the witch theme... turns out the city is an internationally known tourist destination for the wicca/witch set. There are plenty of spots to get spells and hexes cast or lifted, for a nominal fee of course. We also rented a boat to see some monkeys on an island. They were let lose there after some experiments in the 60's and have been a tourist attraction ever since. Again, only in Mexico.

Drunks on a Beach

When we left Villahermosa, we had a few days to spend and no real idea where to spend them. So we asked some locals about where they go with time off. There is a nice little beach town about 2 hours up the coast, so we went. With a name like Pariaso, Paradise, it should be nice... Well once again, it wasn't so nice, but it was a purely locals hang out. During the day and a half we spent there, we did not see a single gringo.

We found a great little bungalow on the beach and settled down for the night. As I congratulated myself on a private beachfront bungalow for only $40 a night... 10 bug bites and 30 minutes later we discovered why there was no one else there!! So we quickly packed up and scurried back into the town of paradise. We found a nice little hotel on the town square (zocolo). It is difficult to describe a small town zocolo at night. Almost all towns have them. They usually have a church, maybe a raised stage, a statue, and some trees. What they all have a people. On a Saturday night, there is always a crowd at the zocolo. There are kids, parents, and old people just sitting around. They might be talking, listening to music, making out, or playing chess. Many times there are little electric cars for rent or a bounce house. Vendors will be selling food and drink and the town's folks just come together and hangs out. There is a tangiblesense of community... Something I think we miss in our fenced off fiefdoms.

The next day we went to the beach. We had a lot of fun playing the sand and the waves. So there we were in the sand when a group of smash face drunk kids come waling strait to me. Without a hello or my name is... they ask in perfect English, "OK you have to settle this for us, who is the quarterback Tony Romo or Dan Marino." I quickly answered the question, "Dan Marino, I mean please. Romo may be great but at this point he has done nothing to even put him in the same league as Marino." And then I started to think... HEY!! How did they even know I was an American or even liked football. I could be a Brit whose favorite football team is Chelsea. Even more, what makes me an expert? Anyway, there issue resolved by an authoritative version of the Encyclopedia Americana, they went back to their drinking... Bizarre. Only in Mexico friends, only in Mexico.

Flooding and Recovery

First, I have been lazy about my updates, so I will try to catch up over the next week or so. In November 2007, Villahermosa suffered devastating floods. Houses were literally flooded to the roof.

In December, we took the family to the state of Tabasco and spent some time in the city. After all of the beautiful places we have seen in Mexico, I had high hopes for Villahermosa, which literally means beautiful home. Despite the name, Villahermosa is not one of them. But the city is not what we found most remarkable during our stay, it was the people. The goal of the trip was to go and help with the rebuilding in whatever way we could. What we found when we got there, less than 2 months after devastating floods, life was pretty much back to normal. On a weekend morning, everyone was out chipping paint, cleaning dirt, or going about their lives. After reading all of the accounts in New Orleans, it was so refreshing to see people just get on with life.

The Mexican people are special in so many ways but if there is a word to summarize them, it is industrious. Why wait for the government or anyone else, let's get it fixed and get back to living. To illustrate, we met two gentlemen that really stood out in my mind.

The first is a simple man, head of household. He has his own fruit stand on the front of a bicycle. I won't hazard a guess as to what he makes in a day but I can assure you it isn't much. Their home was a very modest open cinderblock construction. By open, I don't mean the floor plan; I mean that there are big openings to the outside. Aside from taking care of his wife and children, he also cares for his sister. She is severely mentally handicapped and seemed capable of little more than wandering around and groaning. When he was asked if he needs any help, he figures there must be some who need help more.

The other gentleman was much better off, he and his family lived in a small (500sqft) apartment. They had a car. They lived on the second floor so they were largely spared from the damage. He has a spice distribution business. He spoke repeatedly about how good God has been to him. He felt like a rich man and was eager to teach us about all the products and to give us samples. He didn't do this to sell us anything or to get anything in return; it was just the outpouring of a grateful heart. You see, he felt blessed because before he found his faith, he used to try to take advantage, to use dishonest scales so to speak. Now he runs an honest business and his heart cannot contain the riches flowing into his life...

Now my guess is every single person who reads these words has more comfort, vastly more material possessions, more security and an easier life than either of these men. Yet, they feel they are not only cared for but are richly blessed... makes you think.

Blood and Gore in Mexico

I must start the following with a disclaimer. I have never been confused with an animal rights activist. I believe stray dogs and cats should be killed if an adopted owner cannot be found. I have helped butcher an injured cow to save the meat and you are not going to find many people who enjoy a good cut of meat more than me… That said.

We attended a bullfight tonight in Mexico City. What an eye-opener that was…
Our driver got us some great tickets. He said they were, “Close enough to see everything not so close as to smell the blood.” Huh? Smell the what?

So we find our slab of worn concrete in the world's biggest bullfighting arena. At the stroke of 4, the live band starts playing and cast of characters come marching out. It was a nice little parade but the clothes all look a little girly to me. Honestly, what self-respecting guy wears pink knee high tights and black slippers with bows. Everyone clears out and in runs the bull. Now I don’t know what they did to this thing to make it run out but it is ANGRY. A group of 5 guys taunt the bull into running in big circles by flashing pink capes in succession and then running behind thick walls when it gets close. (More pink?!) This serves to tire the poor dumb animal.

When the bull gets too tired, out ride two fat guys on padded blindfolded horses. I don’t know if they have to be fat or if the guys who are too fat to hide behind the walls get this job. Either way, you have to pity the horses. Not only do they have to carry the fats guys, blindfolded in a ring of screaming people and near a bull with a bad attitude, but we saw 5 fights and 3 times the horses were knocked over by the bull. The horses were so padded they couldn’t even get back up. It took a team of 6 to right the poor blind thing.

However given the choice, I would rather be the horse than the bull. The fat guys job is to take a 12 ft spear and jab it repeatedly into the bull’s back. Before long the bull is winded, bleeding like someone in a teen horror flick and pretty well confused. Once the horses leave, the two guys come out with sticks. On the ends of the sticks are barbs. The guys then provoke the bull into charging. Then run laterally to ensure they avoid being gored and push the barbs into the bulls back. By the end of this, there is a thick, wide, stream of blood down both sides of the animal and 6 brightly colored sticks, coated in blood, standing on the bulls back. At this point the bull is getting pretty weak and is too winded to run much.

Another song is played and in struts the matador, literally “killer” in Spanish. The matador is the real man in the ring. You know that because he gets a red cape instead of the girly pink and he gets a cool sword. His buddies have already tired and bled the bull to the point of exhaustion. The point of the matador seems to be to get as close to the bull as he can without being gored and prove his manhood by turning his back to the bull and strike a pose. He then teases and taunts the bull until it is so tired and confused that it no long charges. Once its spirit is broken, the matador takes out the sword and attempts to kill the bull by plunging the sword fully into the body through the back. His girly buddies then come out and tease the animal into turning left and right, allowing the sword to hara-kiri the bull’s innards, hopefully hitting an artery. If the bull collapses, another gent comes out with a dagger and severs the spinal cord. If the animal isn’t lucky enough to die quickly, they tease him into exhaustion then go for the dagger. Regardless, the matador then does a kind of weird machismo peacock strut around the arena.

With blood draining everywhere, hundreds of cigars are lit, beers are drunk, grown men throw hats to the matador and wave white hankies to signal approval. All the while the dying bull is chained by its horns and drug from the arena by a pair of horses and the arena is prepared for the next bull. It is an orgy of blood, gore, and testosterone.

I am sure for many, it is tradition, art, and a visceral thrill all rolled into one. As for me, I was in shock. Some combination of guilt, sadness… I felt dirty having watched it. Again, I have never been one to worry too much about animals, but this was different. This felt more like a ritualistic torture of a beast for thrills… kind of like drowning kittens to hear there little cries.

That said, it is hard to judge it too harshly, they do after all eat the bull. Dog and cock fighting are common all over the world. The good old USA has Ultimate Fighting Championship a.k.a. human cockfighting, as good an argument against human evolution as I have ever seen. Every once in a while the bull even gets a draw. In the fights we saw, one bull was spared, but probably died later from the sword driven through his back, a tough injury to overcome. Another bull was able to gore the matador.

The first bullfights were a chance for knights to stay sharp by fighting something back in the time of the crusades… goring a bull doesn’t hold a candle to the carnage of wars fought with dull spears. The first historic bullfight was in 1133, almost 900 years ago. So it may be a gruesome spectacle but it is rooted in history.
So is it worth seeing… regrettably yes. But once is enough for this gringo.