Acapulco--A Day on the Beach

14 de Noviembre de 2009
Acapulco, Mexico

Tuesday. November 10th. In another life I´d be working on this date. In ths new life, though, I´m sitting on the beach in Acapulco, facing La Bahia, Acapulco´s gorgeous, wide bay. There´s not a cloud in sight, a light breeze keeps everything in balance. The thermometer on my day pack reads 100 in the sun, 85 in the shade. It´s my second day here and already my skin has begun to turn brown. This is not hard to take.

I came early to the beach, rented a lounge chair, reacquainted myself with esential beach personnel--Casi who fields me Diet Cokes for twice the going rate. Jose, who sold me a tour the day before, and who watches my stuff when I´m away from it. For three hours I´ve been in an idyll of indolence--dosing, reading, listening to the surf--¨the pulse of the earth,¨ Steve says, then cooling off in the sea.¨ By noon I need to do some cerebral jumping jacks.¨By noon there´s a good deal of beach traffic. Beach vendors hawk everything. Indeed, you never have to leave the beach. For the most part it´s easy to ignore them if no eye contact is establised, which is what I´ve done all morning. Now, though, I decide to take a closer look.

It´s lunchtime, but there´s no way on God´s good earth that I´d eat anything being sold from the vendors. One man offers me a plate of fresh oysters, Several others are selling quesadillas stuffed with cheese and chicken served with a green salsa. A woman has a pail of shrimp.

These guys have been walking up and down the beach for who knows how long, under a hot, hot sun, carrying their food in baskets balanced on their heads. Yeah! Right! I´m almost going to eat an animal product served under these conditions. I´m already on an antibiotic from something I ate a few days earlier. I´ll stick to water and Casi´s Diet Cokes and the fruit that I brought with me.

There is food that I do consider, though. Fresh watermelon, mango, pineapple, attractively sliced, and served on a skewer--almost like a giant fresh fruit popsicle.

¨Helados. Muy ricos.¨ Yes, I could go for an ice cream. They guy who´s been carrying his homemade creation in a copper container tells me he has lemon, coconut and pumpkin. This isn´t really ice cream but, rather, gelato--a type of Italian ice cream made from water. It´s worth the risk. He steers me towards the pumpkin--calabaza--which is a generic term for all mmbers of the squash family. He offers me a spoonful. I stop. ¨Yum,¨ I tell him. ¨Yum¨ doesn´t exactly transate well into Spanish. There´s delicioso or saboroso, but YUM conveys so much more. I take his biggest offering and savor every bite. I rub my stomach and tell him it´s delicioso. He seems quite pleased. I´ll buy from this guy again!

I´m hardly stressed, but if I were there is plenty of beach massage available. My expereriences have lead me to be a bit wary of massages. Sometimes, but not often, massage = sex. My friend Glenda can attest to that.

We were in Indonesia, summer, in the 90´s. We´d hired a car and driver for the day and by the end of the day I wanted a massage. They´re always so cheap in the developing world.

¨Joe," I ask, ¨Where can I get a massage?¨

¨Oh, Mr. Daniel, I know a good place.¨

English isn´t his strong suit, but he gets by. I encircle my left pointer finger with my thumb then insert my right index finger into it. ¨No sex, Joe. No fucky.¨

He seems somewhat shocked. ¨No, Mr. Daniel. No fucky.¨

He brings me to the massage place. I should have known. I was far less savvy in those days. No one speaks English. A big hulk of a guy is at the front door. The woman behind the counter opens a book and shows me a collection of woman. I´m to choose one of them. Dah!

I pick one, she´s called for, I follow her. She starts to take of my clothes. Her clothes. I tell her I want a massage. Nothing more. I lay down. She massages my legs, then moves her hands way too far up. I push them down. I´m not relaxed. Five minutes into this I figure it out. I gather my clothes and leave the cubicle. I try to leave the facility but hulk gets in my way. I pay the equivalent of $10.00 and get out. I´m back at the hotel way too early. I tell Glenda the story.

The way I look at it I had two choices: turn this into drama or a $10.00 joke. I choose the latter and still have fun telling the story.

I fend off a lot of masajistas, all of whm want to show me how their fingers will feel on my shoulders. ¨No toca,¨ I tell them. ¨Don´t touch.¨¨

I say no to all massages!

Too many kids are selling things. Kids who should be in school. Ever the teacher! They hawk gum, key chains, hard candy. I feel badly for them. They´re poor and someone has sent them out to do this. From these kids I do buy a thing or two--all consumables. Who needs a key chain?

Another girl, too young, with her mother, is selling gaudily designed wind chimes of dolphins, bears and birds.

Dolphins, bears and birds? Who thought to put this combination together? Who buys this junk?

And jewelry. Did I mention jewelry? So much, almost all of it handmade, although the occasional vendor comes buy with a stash of nice Mexican silver. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings made from beads, seeds, shells. Nice stuff if this is what you´re looking for, which I´not. I still have a long necklace I bought from a very old, very poor woman in Paraguay.

Out in the bay fisherman are at work. A fast boat carries a tourist on a parchute. Light flickers on the surf--the top of each wave glitters with diamonds. A jet ski slices the bay. A few people walk the beach. A woman with a bikini she´s been poured into, breasts bursting the seams. A fat European in a Speedo three sizes too small.

But it´s a quiet day, really. Acapulco, mid-week in November is very much off season. What a great time to be here. Cool beans, I think. I´ll do this again.

More vendors with piles of beach supplies: sand tractors, pails and shovels, life jackets, water pistols, sun glasses, hammocks, sandles, bathing suits, beach blankets, straw hats and bags that do look good enough to buy. My neighbors on the beach, a young Mexican family, buy life jackets for the kids. The mother buys several straw bags. ¨One for the beach and one for home,¨she tells her husband. She bargains the guy down to 140 pesos each. A good deal.

On my other side all the females of another Mexican family are having their hair braided. Lucky vendor. She´ll take in a fair wage today

Lots of people are selling locally produced 0% UVA protection sun screen. Coconut oil, sold in three different hues--amber, light amber, dark amber--the way we buy maple syrup. Turtle cream and carrot oil, too. I buy a bottle of carrot oil for 40 pesos, down from 60, and still wonder why.

I have a book to read, and crosswords to do, which I do when I slip out of slumber. But if didn´t have something to read I could buy magazines and newspapers from several vendors. Not much in English, though.

I could do all my Christmas shopping is the span of two hours. Onyx dolphins. Wooden aligators. Painted sea shells. And those dolphin/bear/bird wind chimes. Everyone would want one of those. But I resist. It´s hard, but I resist.

Sadly, there are also the desafortunados who ply the beach. One man hobbles on the soft sand. He´s got one leg and it´s not easy navigating with a pair of crutches. Another man, young, shows me a note: ¨I can´t talk. Can you give me money?¨ He walks with a limp and is disabled in other ways. I pull out my change purse for both these men.

After a few hours I´ve had enough. This is getting old. I´ve established way too much eye contact and am being victimized in a way. I´m also tired of writing, not to mention I'm just plain hot. I put away my writing gear, swim a bit, rearrange my lounge chair and regroup for an afternoon of nothing. But I´m easily distracted. Overhead, a low flying airplace buzzes back and forth. It´s low enough to hear its loudspeaker:

¨Esta noche. Esta noche a Parque Papagayo. Un circo fantastico! Treinta pesos para adultos, Cinco pesitos para los niños.¨ Thirty pesos gets you into tonight´s circus at Papagayo Park.

I´m tempted. Not so much for the circus, but for Mexican carnival food. I love Mexican carnival food. Deep fried bananas served hot and oily with a generous dollop of sweetened condensed milk. Esquites. Corn off the cob served with mayonaise and salsa. All yum!

Ahead of me, a young family plays in the surf. This children all wear life vests. This is dangerous water--deep with a strong undertow. There was a photo of a bloated cadaver in this morning´s paper of a young man from Mexico City who'd been dragged out to sea on his 21st birthday. The children stay very close to their parents.
My mind wanders. They are young and old, these vendors. Unemployed. It´s tough work walking this beach all day under a fierce, hot sun. How many ¨no´s¨ do they get in a day before they make a sale? Where do they live and under what conditions? I´ve seen the slums of Acapulco. They´re not pretty. I wonder just what kind of life these people lead off the beach.

These are all honest trades. With the right amount of capital and the right kind of guidance, some of these folks could do quite well.

By 4:30 I´ve had enough sun. I´m dehydrated and sick to my stomach. I pack up and start my return to the hotel.

Still, even in my lethargic state, I keep scanning the beach, looking for the ice cream man. I would love one more, giant sized, pumpkin ice cream. But I guess that will have to wait for another day.