Yawp

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One languid Sunday afternoon in Bucerias we took my uncle’s Bug past the cantina out of town to where the road narrows and eventually turns to gravel. 

To the left meanders a brackish canal. Nameless countryside unfolds outside my window, and before us rise the Sierra Madres. 

We pass fields planted row upon row with minatory agaves. The carcass of a cow lays rotting in the hot midday sun. A grizzled campesino emerges from a stand of gnarled thicket. The look that appears on his face transcends the usual expression of indifference shown to most gringos.

“I wish he wouldn’t wave his machete at us like that,” Steve said. 

I spot an ersatz monument to the Virgin Mary on the side of the road. I ask my uncle to pull over so we can get a better look. Housed in crude wood, the honorary has near fallen off the primavera tree from which it hangs. Mary looks solemn as ever though, her image set against a backdrop of cherubs and other holy things. Numerous candles adorn the incondite memorial. I wonder what people out here pray for? 

The ride grows less sinister from there on. Picnicking families smile from beneath their shade trees. Dogs run out to greet the car. Laughing children splash in the canal. 

We stop in San Jose del Valle to buy beer. Modelo in cans. The man behind the counter tells me that it makes more sense to buy bottled beer because you can bring the bottles back in and recoup the deposit. I say I know it but that I prefer cans. He pushes me the beer and a complimentary bag of corn chips, and says something in Spanish that could be suit yourself, or have it your way. 

Breakfast with humpback whales

I glassed the shimmering bay with the binoculars. A few dinghies listed in the water, but I had seen boats before.

“They can stay under water for a long time,” my Uncle Steve reminded me.

Every year more than 300 humpback whales journey from Alaska to Banderas Bay in Nayarit, Mexico to have their calves, and I had just got my first glimpse of one. I wanted more.

“Sometimes twenty minutes,” he added.

I set the binoculars down and returned to my breakfast. The veranda of the Red Apple restaurant may be the best place for whale watching because you can always count on strong Mexican coffee and a 45-peso plate of huevos rancheros if you’re not lucky enough to see one.

The restaurant was headquarters for me when I was visiting Bucerias, a seaside town about 15 miles north of the resort cities of Puerto and Nuevo Vallarta. Unlike Vallarta, Bucerias remains mostly untouched by condo development. A couple resorts have sprouted up in recent years, and a few more are underway. In addition, the town has experienced an increase in tourist traffic since the government built Highway 200 through the middle of town five or so years ago.   

Bucerias, however, is a long way off from becoming a tourist trap on par with Nuevo, where only one small area reserved for public beach access still exists. 

Riviera Nayarit in a white Bug
After hearing the depressing unemployment numbers from back home the other day, we decided to take a long drive in the Bug to help us shake the news.
The Riviera Nayarit comprises a 100-mile stretch along Mexico Highway 200. The name may only be a promotional moniker, but it fits. This Riviera has just as much scenery to offer as the south of France.
It’s a meandering roadway that cuts a path between the sea and the Sierra Madre Occidental mountains. The shimmering sea dances between the trees. Clusters of palm trees dot the countryside. Pineapple groves and gaudy cemeteries race by. All the while the elusive mountains in the background.
We passed such dusty Mexican towns as San Ignacio and La Florida, neither of which appears on Google Maps. Our destination was a dusty backwater called La Colonia. The town had apparently become more cosmopolitan since my uncle’s last visit. “They’ve got cobblestones now,” Steve said. “They’re up and coming.” Still, the town’s beach remains undeveloped, and the only people we encountered were a group of young Mexicans drinking beer in the shade.
We had a late lunch in Guayabitos. The beach was choked with vendors and Canadian tourists, and I was ready to get back to Bucerias. 

Riviera Nayarit in a white Bug

After hearing the depressing unemployment numbers from back home the other day, we decided to take a long drive in the Bug to help us shake the news.

The Riviera Nayarit comprises a 100-mile stretch along Mexico Highway 200. The name may only be a promotional moniker, but it fits. This Riviera has just as much scenery to offer as the south of France.

It’s a meandering roadway that cuts a path between the sea and the Sierra Madre Occidental mountains. The shimmering sea dances between the trees. Clusters of palm trees dot the countryside. Pineapple groves and gaudy cemeteries race by. All the while the elusive mountains in the background.

We passed such dusty Mexican towns as San Ignacio and La Florida, neither of which appears on Google Maps. Our destination was a dusty backwater called La Colonia. The town had apparently become more cosmopolitan since my uncle’s last visit. “They’ve got cobblestones now,” Steve said. “They’re up and coming.” Still, the town’s beach remains undeveloped, and the only people we encountered were a group of young Mexicans drinking beer in the shade.

We had a late lunch in Guayabitos. The beach was choked with vendors and Canadian tourists, and I was ready to get back to Bucerias. 

Street art in Bucerias, Mexico
Street art in Bucerias, Mexico