Lets go north!

Reality check and Troncones A Go Go

Our days in Troncones and Manzanillo Bay were filled with great body boarding (In front of Hacienda Eden is the best and safest spot) and exploring some of the local area. My surfer-wannabe husband had been campaigning to visit Saladita, a much ballyhooed surfer's mecca. One afternoon we set out in the C-car and after a few false turns eventually found the long dirt road to Saladita. For a half hour we dodged deep ruts and rocks the size of melons. Finally we came upon a small development of a few homes and some unappealing enramadas. We settled on Jaquelines and ordered a round of cervesa. There seemed to be a large contingent of surfers hanging about all in various stages of ill health. This place reminded me of a visit to Chetumal, a city on the border of Mexico and Belize - Americans walking around coughing..heads hung.. yellow skinned with Hep A or worse. As I scanned the beach I could see it was covered in beer bottle shards, plastic bottles and a lone ripped sun umbrella. The only redeeming quality of this depressing place was the surf. About a quarter mile from shore were huge perfect waves dotted with surfers. After convincing Gerry he risked certain death if he attempted these monsters we finished our drinks and headed back to Troncones.

The night life in Troncones is pretty limited except for the weekend shows put on at some of the area restaurants. On Saturday nights Mi Casa Su Casa has young college aged folkloric dancers from Zihuatanejo whose dinner show provides a very ambitious overview of Mexican history. The dances and skits cover everything from Mayans to early 20th century Mexican folk dance. We made reservations and arrived anticipating an exciting night. The troupe didn't disappoint. These kids were very accomplished dancers and they didn't leave anything out - sacrificial virgins, cockfighting, fire dancing, the works! I remarked to Gerry that this show would last about 10 minutes in the US before they were shut down not to mention the indignant letters of PC outrage pouring in to the daily paper. We kept an open mind though, even when Daniel was dragged up on stage to be an unwitting participant in a cockfighting exhibit and Gerry was encouraged to wriggle on the floor and try to bite some woman's hem.

By the end of the show we all realized that the roosters were just for looks and the sacrificial virgins would live to dance another day. We all applauded wildly. The next day, Sunday, we had been instructed to 'not miss' the show at Burro Barracho, another beach side Troncones restaurant. Although we had been told the local kids performed, apparently this evening was a departure from schedule. It began as yet another folkloric show with adult dancers. But then they put their own 'twist' on the evening entertainment as in between demonstrations of handkerchief dances and skits a DJ played modern pop music. The night we were there the place was packed and so was the dance floor. It degenerated into a pretty wild affair and by the time we left conga lines were snaking merrily through the tables and the margaritas were flowing.