Fishing in Zihuatanejo
One of the early developments of Fonatur (the Federal Bureau for Tourist Development), high-rise Ixtapa was the second choice of the government for a west coast resort. (Fonatur is the outfit that gave us Cancun.) Originally they chose Zihuatanejo for development, but the townspeople rejected the idea, preserving it for their own enjoyment, and for ours.
Zihuatanejo remains a fishing village, at least in part, although a fair number of small-scale hotel operators have joined the fishermen.
Captain Max owns the Cobra, a boat outfitted for charter fishing. His work is easier and more lucrative than that of ordinary fishermen: no fishing in the dark, no hauling in heavy nets.
He will throw this inedible needlefish back into the ocean, hoping next time to hook a dorado.
Divers pursue spiny lobsters, a method that seems risky. But lobster brings high prices—US $10 per pound on the beach.
A rusty air compressor mounted in the middle of La Perla Negra supplies air to a diver. Exhaust from the small motor gets sucked into the compressor intake if the wind is right.
The day's catch is sold on the beach in the center of town. Local residents come early to buy today's dinner; everything is sold by 8 or 9 AM.
On offer is whatever was caught early this morning. The fish are not the carefully graded and displayed product I remember from the Sonoma Market in California. But they are much, much fresher, and they don't cost anywhere near $20 a pound.
Nobody's getting rich fishing, but this man is able to afford an early morning cigar as he waits for buyers.
The way you buy your fish, you walk along until you find one you like. Then you pick it up and haggle with the fisherman. Don't expect him to gut it or fillet it for you. He will weigh it if you insist, but most people don't bother.
Huachinango in his right hand, pesos in his left, this man is ready to deal.
No power, no refrigeration. Block ice keeps fish fresh for a few hours before it is cooked and eaten.
Selling fish is hungry work, and in Mexico, where people might be hungry, there's always someone to fill the need.
Maybe you were expecting a plastic bag to take your purchase home. Maybe someone around here has one. Probably not. It's easier just to grab your black tuna by the tail and walk away.
This customer in his Tommy Jeans tee shirt and Crocks presages Zihuatanejo's future. As the developed world crowds in, land prices rise. As in so many Mexican coastal villages, fishermen will be unable to afford to live here on what they can make. The fleet will disappear, to be replaced by jet skis and parasails.
No point in bemoaning progress. As the Mexicans say, it is what it is. Get out there and enjoy it while you can.
Truck Safety
He said, "That would make a great picture."
I tried to blow him off: "Yeah, yeah. Lets go get some coffee."
Paul launched into his usual interminable lecture about how the best pictures were the ones he didn't take. With a sigh, I pulled over to inspect this monster.
The battered truck crouched ominously. Like something out of Mad Max, it had seen many highway battles. Paul pointed out the Grim Reaper decal obscuring the windshield.
Believe me, you see this in your rear view mirror, you'll get out of the way.
It was parked in front of a vulcanizadora for tire repairs. If anything, the tire place looked more marginal than the truck.
An apparent believer in minimizing start-up costs, the proprietor had pressed a claw foot bathtub into service for locating punctures.
The truck had major tire issues. Several had chunks missing from treads. Others were virtually bald. The trucker had managed to squeeze every last kilometer out of the life of these tires.
Photo: Paul Latoures
A bottle jack supporting an axle of the fully loaded truck leaned precariously. I doubt there's a hydraulic rack capable of lifting this vehicle anywhere in San Miguel. Why buy a pricey machine when a $50 hand tool and a block of wood will do the same job?
I wondered if the truck could fall off the tiny jack. Well of course it could. But resourceful mechanics would see such a happenstance as a minor setback at worst.
A closer look at the truck revealed other signs of heavy use and repairs. The frame supporting the box had been welded where it had cracked. The box itself was supported on new-looking pine blocks—surely a stopgap repair.
The battery hold-down was long gone, replaced by a knotted rope.
The box was deteriorating. Paul, amused, points out broken slats. The load doesn't look any too stable either.
This truck would not be permitted to operate north of the border. I doubt it could even be restored to operational standards. But such matters are not taken so seriously here. I often find myself following vehicles like this as they labor up some grade, ghastly clouds of black smoke issuing from their stacks.
But today, vehicle safety standards are becoming part of drivers' lives. After losing a couple of rigs descending the long grade on the Carretera a Querétaro, a truck inspection checkpoint was established at the top. That this beast would be allowed through is dubious.
But I have to say I like this truck. It has the quality of a much-used and worn hand tool. You don't throw stuff out here. Not if there's any way of fixing it. I bet the owner figures there's lots more life left in this baby.