Muchas gracias to those of you who sent me little messages of support after my last entry – yes, my stomach is much more settled now and my spirits are somewhat lifted. I know most of you are in cold and rainy London at work as I write this, so I don’t want to complain too much. Plus, I am aware that this is the life I have chosen for myself over the next few months. As well as having fun in the sun, learning to master foreign bus timetables (and put up with their woeful inaccuracies – as you’ll see if you read on), withstanding lonely moments, dodging unwanted local lotharios, and putting up with occasional bouts of digestive discomfort are all going to be part and parcel of my experience. The rewards of this kind of adventure are, I believe, going to be so inestimable and wonderful that these little dips and troughs are a small price to pay – and with 5 ½ more months ahead of me on the road I guess I need to get used to them.
Anyway, I am pleased to report that I eventually met up with my Mum and Dad in Acapulco on Monday and spent two lovely days with them at the famous, if somewhat faded Pacific resort (I think it had its heyday in the 50s and 60s, but it still exudes a certain glamour). Now they have gone off on an organised tour that will take them to Guanajuato and San Miguel, whereas I am heading onwards to Puerto Escondido and Oaxaca. We will meet again in just under a week in San Cristobal De Las Casas in Chiapas, so that is something to very much look forward to – it was so wonderful to see them again.
Actually, the ‘challenging’ nature of my journey here to Acapulco from Barra De Navidad certainly made meeting my parents and checking into the very comfortable Hyatt Regency with them all the sweeter. Somehow, I knew it wasn’t going to be straightforward. Even when, in Barra, a cooperative woman in the tourist information bureau helped me to plan my coach journey, assuring me that I’d be able to get to Acapulco on time, I had a pessimistic feeling that I was going to be put to the test. Mainly I think this was because my spirits were sagging so much at that point that all I wanted was to be transported to where my family were as quickly and straightforwardly as possible. It would be just my luck, I thought, if something got in the way.
So far in Mexico buying coach tickets from one place to another has been very simple. Acapulco, well known and sizable as it is, seemed to be a bit of an elusive destination though. After several frustrating hours on Saturday morning doing fruitless searches for timetables and information on the internet (word of warning to anyone seeking bus information in Mexico – don’t punish yourself by trying to do it alone and online!), I went to tourist information where the aforementioned lady made some calls for me. What I needed to do, she said, was take a coach to a place called Manzanillo (1 hour) and then change onto another coach for Acapulco (8 ½ hours). That put my mind at rest so I went off for a day on the beach on Sunday, planning to make the most of my time in Barra and then travel overnight through to Acapulco. Happily, I sent my parents a message saying I’d meet them in the Hyatt at midday on Monday, which was around the time they reckoned they’d make it in on their flight down from Mexico City.
Now, up until this point I have been a faithful ‘Primera Plus’ traveller in Mexico, content with their comfortable seats, and a confirmed fan of the little orange flavoured biscuits that they tend to give out on long journeys. However, for the journey to Manzanillo I decided to be adventurous and switch allegiance to ‘ETN’, one of their competitors. For 20 pesos more (about £1) I was curious to see what the difference would be, and willing to take a bit of a gamble. Well, I’m glad I did (especially given what lay ahead!) – ETN offered single tiers of seating, personalised earphones (so you can chose if you want to listen to the film that’s being shown – rather than being blasted with its sound effects regardless) and a slightly superior looking little freebie sandwich (which I wisely put in my backpack and saved for later – not realising at that point that I wouldn’t get fed again for about 18 hours). It was only me and one other man on the coach to Manzanillo and the peace, coolness and comfort of the journey lulled me into a bit of a false sense of security. This would be fine, I thought – travelling like this through the night, arriving in Acapulco in the early morning, getting to the hotel, and perhaps having a snooze and shower before greeting Mum and Dad in a civilised fashion at noon. It didn’t quite work out that way though – and the powers that be put me through my paces a fair bit more before they allowed me to claim my prize!
At Manzanillo (not the world’s loveliest coach station, in case you’re wondering) my sense of calm was ruffled slightly when two attendants at the ticket desk seemed to know nothing whatsoever about the 9.30pm coach to Acapulco. Thankfully, however, a third person did – I had just been queuing up at the wrong coach company’s desk. To get to Acapulco I was going to have to sample the services of another operator – ‘Futuro’. “No problema”, I insisted, regaining my equilibrium, and parting with 400 pesos for my ticket – I smiled and tried to explain in Spanish that all I needed was to get to Acapulco by the following morning.
Well, Futuro turned out to be a bit more like ‘Back To The Futuro’ – a bus that made me feel like I was getting into a time-capsule and regressing 20 odd years for not the first time since I arrived in Mexico. Whenever the driver changed gears there was a slightly disconcerting clicking noise followed by a lurching motion – almost as if he had the joystick of an old Atari in his hand and was playing Space Invaders or something. For the first couple of hours I withstood the two rubbishy and noisy ultra-violent dubbed movies that were being shown on the coach TV screen, situated a few inches above my nose (there’s a certain kind of film they like to show on Mexican buses, I’ve come to realise – with no consideration as to whether there might be children or people of a nervous disposition on board). Then I scrunched up my jacket into a makeshift pillow and somehow managed to drift off into a reasonable sleep.
It’s fortunate that I managed to get a few hours kip as in the early hours of the morning (I think the digital display of the clock read about 2.11am) I awoke to a feint but not-too-distant bang and felt the bus gradually judder to a depressing standstill. The driver sighed and appeared to be muttering the Mexican equivalent of “oh, sh*t” under his breath – at the same time, though, he didn’t seem unduly concerned. He stopped the bus and, along with most of the other men on board, got out, had a wee in the bushes, had a bit of a chat and a chuckle, and took a cursory glance at one of the wheels (which I assumed had a puncture). I had no idea what was going to happen next and called upon my inner reserves of calm to just withstand the situation. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it, and, even if I asked in Spanish what was going on, I doubted I would understand any response that involved wheels and punctures and jacks and general bus/mechanical vocabulary. I therefore closed my eyes again and left it in the hands of fate. I anticipated getting to Acapulco at about 5.30am but didn’t really have to be there until midday so I figured I could let it float and not get too stressed.
Another sleepy spell followed and when I awoke again we were back on the road, running along smoothly (well, as smoothly as a Mexican Futuro bus can be while travelling along hairpin bends in the middle of the night). However, there was something unusual in the air. I sniffed, and sniffed again. Hmm, could it be? No… Yes – the indubitable thick, claggy smell of very strong weed. What the…?! I glanced around the bus in the dark, telling myself that surely no-one could be as bold as to light up a joint onboard. Even the clunkiest old local Mexican buses seem to have a no-smoking policy, and I remembered reading in my guidebook that marijuana possession and use was most definitely prohibited here. However, I suddenly also recalled reading in the very same guidebook that, in spite of this, some of the strongest and most exported strains of grass (‘Acapulco Gold’ being an example) are grown in this part of Mexico, in the state of Guerrero. Maybe we were literally just travelling through pastures of pot?! Unfortunately it was too obscure for me to look out of the window for those distinctive leaves, but that was one theory. I doubted the smell would be that strong in the coach though – the source seemed to be nearer. Another idea swiftly entered my mind as I remembered seeing little ‘cabins’ under the long-distance buses in Mexico, next to the luggage compartments. On long-haul journeys it seemed as if one driver drove the bus for 6 hours or so whilst another rested and slept in this little cubicle below before taking over. Perhaps the driver who had been at the wheel when we got the puncture was now unwinding beneath us by having a little smoke?! I certainly didn’t want to deny him his chosen means of relaxation. However, I felt more than slightly uneasy about the thought of him doing it below the bus, running the risk of incinerating us all should he drift off into a happy haze without putting his ‘special cigarette’ out properly!
Thankfully dawn broke and the pungent aroma faded without any great catastrophe. However, daybreak for the current coach driver meant time to put the video nasties on again. After a couple of films that seemed to involve nothing other than sword-fights, bomb-blasts, high-speed car chases and blood-spattered fisticuffs, I began to wander when on earth we were going to come to Acapulco. The last town we passed (unpromisingly called ‘Lazarus’-something) was a good few hours ago, so I decided to wander forward and ask the driver what time we could be expected to get to our destination. “About 11”, he replied moodily, not taking his eyes off the road. It seemed a whole lot later than the 5.30am arrival that I had anticipated, even given the puncture. However, again there was nothing I could do about it, so I returned to my seat, hot, sweaty (the air-conditioning seemed to have packed in at this point), and a bit dejected. My stomach was growling and I had eaten my very tiny and insubstantial sandwich many hours before. I remembered I had an orange in my bag and ate that before chancing a trip to the toilet, where I hoped I’d be able to have a quick pee and make myself feel more human by washing my hands. With no loo roll, no running water, no lock, and no flush (in fact all the coach toilet did have was a lot of indecipherable graffiti and some ancient bogies and chewing gum smeared across the wall), this was another hope that was swiftly dashed.
Several more long hours seemed to go by (thank goodness I am currently reading an excellent book – ‘The Line Of Beauty’ by Alan Hollinghurst) and with each passing moment I felt more sweaty, gross, impatient and cheated by Mexico and its rubbish buses, roads and suspected stoner drivers. 11 o’clock came and went and I was wound up into a veritable symphony of annoyance and intolerance by this point. In fact, I was sorely tempted to stride down the aisle and confront the driver again with one of the bits of Spanish swearing I remember Jazmin and her mates in D.F. gleefully teaching me – “no me chingas” (basically “don’t f*ck me about!”). Luckily, I restrained myself from this uncharacteristic outburst, though, and, like some desert mirage, road signs for Acapulco suddenly appeared, along with sightings of high-rise hotels in the distance that suggested we were nearly there.
We finally made it to Acapulco’s bus station at about midday and I promptly hailed a taxi, preparing myself to pay whatever it took to be taken to the Hyatt without further delay. I imagined at this point that I would probably be arriving around the same time as my parents and, whereas I would have preferred to have had a head start, and to have met them washed, rested and in a slightly less fraught mood, I figured that just seeing them would make things better, wiping away the trials and tribulations of the journey. However, when I got to the hotel a whole other set of palavers ensued… Having gone into such detail about the delightful coach journey, I’ll be brief with regard to these. Basically, though, my Mum and Dads’ flight was cancelled, meaning they had to get a later one, and a message they tried to pass onto the Hyatt wasn’t passed on to me. Therefore, the hotel seemed to know nothing about the booking, I couldn’t find my parents when I got there, and I had no way of communicating with them, given the fact that our mobiles don’t work here at all. I’m afraid, at this point, the woman at the front desk witnessed me in a very smelly, sweaty, exasperated state pretty much bursting into tears!
In the end, I decided to leave my things at the hotel and to go for a walk to get something to eat (I was practically fainting from hunger at this point and knew that that wasn’t helping my mood). I figured that there must have been some kind of glitch so I left a message for my parents explaining that I’d be back soon. As it turns out, we must have missed each other by moments. When I returned they were there, and delighted to see me - but similarly a bit stressed, exhausted and emotional. My Mum was particularly distraught that the message hadn’t been passed onto me, and, in her heightened state, said she had been chasing round the hotel looking for me ‘like Madeleine McCann’s mother’ (I don’t know if you are allowed to say things like that now – I did explain to her that the circumstances were slightly different!)! Of course, once we had all had a good hug and a few moments together, most of the drama and aggravation was forgotten. It certainly hadn’t been straightforward, though. Still, could meeting up on the other side of the world ever have been so?
So, as I said, two lovely evenings, and the best part of two days were spent with me catching up with my Mum and Dad in Acapulco, and making the most of our time there together. Highlights were going to watch the resort’s famous cliff divers on Monday evening, when we had dinner overlooking ‘La Quebrada’. This is the death defying cliff from which fearless young men have been throwing themselves for many years now as something of a tourist attraction. It was quite astonishing and literally made my heart leap into my mouth and my stomach flutter as I watched them dive down, narrowly missing the raggedy rocks below. However, the view was stunning, and the toned, strong muscular bodies of the divers were quite an eye-pleasing sight too (although some of them did seem disconcertingly young to be risking their lives in such a way)!
Then, last night, after a day of walking and exploring, we dined in another restaurant on the other side of the bay - also with gorgeous views, this time of the inlet all lit up like a showy bejewelled necklace. This restaurant (Zuntra, I think it was called) was a more contemporary and stylized place, trying to prove, I guess, that Acapulco still has it ‘going on’ as a high-class tourist destination (although we wondered whether the credit crunch was biting as it was sadly quite empty with only one other table of diners). The food did live up to the stylish surroundings, though, and, with my Mum trying to feed me up before I set off on the road again, this was a great place to come to. The white chocolate fondue dessert, which both made the meal and finished us off, was especially amazing.
So on that happy note, I’m going to sign off. I’m travelling Futura again today (great!) and the journey to Puerto Escondido should take 8 hours (or that could be 18 given my previous experience – who on earth knows?!). My seat looks decidedly grubby and, although I’m glad to have a seat belt, it looks like someone was sick on it many years ago and it never quite got cleaned. Oh yuck! From one extreme to the other and back again – such is life for me at the moment…
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