From Rio Nexpa, I hitchhiked with a dad and his two children1The kids were standing in the shotgun seat to see out the front window; who needs seat belts? to the next town. From there, I caught another ride to the funky beach haunt of Zihuatanejo, from which I planned to head to Acapulco.
I should note that I was a bit nervous to visit Acapulco. It was located in the state of Guerrero, known as a “narco” hotspot. Crime had been the main reason that Acapulco had fallen off the map as a tourist destination since the 90’s. While I’d met people who’d recently traveled there, and know that these sorts of reputations are often undeserved, I was still a bit apprehensive.
The next day, I took an early morning bus2For the first time, I found an economy ticket. Main difference – no personal TV screens, or bathroom. Well worth the difference in price, especially for what should have been only a 4 hour bus ride.. Around midday, we hit a snag: we weren’t moving. After an hour of sitting there, I asked the bus driver what was going on. He responded – rather serenely – that there was a protest blocking the road. We could be stuck here two, four, even eight hours.
I went out to get some food, and met a lady selling platano chips and a homemade sandwich for 30 pesos. On the bus, I chowed down on my lunch, took refuge in the air conditioning, and finished up Caravans as we waited.
At this point it had been around three hours, and I started thinking. Should I go back to Zihuatanejo and fly to Puerto Escondido? Was I really going to wait here for an undetermined amount of time without any form of entertainment and a dwindling phone battery? What will happen if I get to Acapulco late and still have to find housing? I realized that some of the people who’d gotten off had not returned, and there must be a way to hitch another ride or get across some other way.
I asked the bus driver, and he said that yeah, of course that was a thing. Totally dude, go for it. Wow, this guy was nonchalant. As I was talking with him, a group walked up saying their bus was turning around to Zihua(tanejo), and he let them board. So clearly this was possible.
Fucking Guerrero! Supposedly super dangerous, tons of narco traffic, and here I was, the only gringo for miles, crossing a highway protest in order to hitch to Acapulco, also purportedly dangerous. Here was some entropy!
I started walking, looking for any signs of trouble. Within 5 minutes, I reached the stoppage – 2 trucks parked horizontally across the road – and kept going. There were protesters, but the scene was far more reminiscent of a cookout than a demonstration. No angry people waving signs, but something smelled good. It also happened to take place in the center of this town, right by all the restaurants and shops. Political protest, or business move?
Six or seven federales3Mexico’s federal police were watching the show, holding AK-47s at their sides. They confirmed that the other side of the blockade was ten more minutes walking. I didn’t check out the protest further, but figured I’d have time to come back, and pushed on.
On the other side there was the same level of chaos and confusion, but a bus was leaving – guess I wouldn’t have time to see more “protesting” after all. Just as it was pulling on to the road, I dashed over and hopped on. It was only about half full, but after a three hour wait, we were getting the hell out of there4Ironically, the same lady who’d sold me my lunch two hours earlier was also riding – she’d run out of food to sell. Demonstration business was booming..
I took a seat and plugged in my headphones for a triumphant round of Callaita, when five cars rolled into our lane, no doubt trying to see what was going on. Our path was blocked. Puta madre, I thought, I’m never going to make it out of this mess.
Thankfully, I was wrong – our bus driver conferenced with the drivers, and everyone managed to find the side of the road; we squeezed through by the barest of margins. The rest of the ride was wonderfully uneventful; we cruised along seaside cliffs and rolled into Acapulco before sunset.
The next day was a beautiful one – hot and humid as always on the coast, but with a breeze. I wandered around the seaside cliffs of Acapulco near la Quebrada5For nearly a century, people have been diving off of this cliff into a small ocean channel that measures 7 meters wide and 4 meters deep. Divers have to time their jumps with incoming waves; if they mess up, they risk death by crashing into the rocks on the ocean floor. In 1934, professional group La Quebrada Divers was formed, and they put on shows to this day. More on this in a couple paragraphs.. Turns out everyone who was anyone vacationed in Acapulco back in the day – Diego Rivera, Ronald Reagan, Elvis; JFK even had his honeymoon here.
I was charmed by the history and beauty of the place. Walking around the seaside cliffs, there were few people to disrupt the incredible views of the cliffs and ocean, which would occasionally swallow the out-jutting rocks.
I spied a hidden beach between the mountains and decided to go for a cheeky snorkel. When I arrived, some ladies sitting outside a nearby ceviche joint heckled me good naturedly: “Hey skinny! You need to eat something!” Turns out they were the owners, and let me borrow their personal snorkel gear for free.
As I stood out the beach, the pure freedom of the moment washed over me. Acapulco, allegedly dangerous for tourists, had been anything but. I’d met incredibly friendly people, seen beautiful seaside cliffs, and now I would explore the ocean. It was one of those moments where I was reminded of how fortunate I was, and how flexible. I could change my plans on a whim; continue to Puerto Escondido, or stay here for a week snorkeling if I felt like it.
In the water there was significant swell. I also saw three, five, ten, then twenty different types of fish, colored in vibrant blues and yellows. The fish were practically sailing underwater, choosing where to go by the angle they took to the oncoming swell. If they wanted to be pushed back, they’d float parallel to the wave and let it carry them; if they wanted to move forward into deeper water, perpendicular.
I got out and had a Corona at the ceviche joint after returning the snorkel gear. As I finished my beer, the feeling of freedom washed over me again. I was ready to explore.
I climbed a nearby hill, and found an abandoned 3 story house with preposterous views of the beach and the ocean. Nearby was a house with one of the last sculptures/murals of Diego Rivera. Not huge attractions, little gems perfect for a solo explore.
I returned to la Quebrada for some food, enjoying delicious picaditas6In other parts of Mexico, these would be called sopes – thick maiz tortilla topped with beans, meat, onions and salsa.. As the sun began sinking toward the horizon I found a spot to watch the la Quebrada Cliff Divers. The divers walked out to the Rocky theme, and started at diving from 10 meters (33 feet), with the crowd oohing and ahhing with each jump. As they worked up to 35 meters (115 feet), the noise grew louder each time.
The sun set on a perfect day in Acapulco, and I headed to the bus station. Next stop, Puerto Escondido, aka Mexican Pipeline: the country’s true surf mecca.
Miscellaneous Notes:
- Free tip for traveling Latin America – the food outside of the bus stations is second only to the food in mercados. Fresh, cheap, and delicious.
- Acapulco has a museum called the Fuerte de San Diego, which details the history of the fort and of Acapulco, going all the way back to the beginning of Spanish occupation. Acapulco had been a key port for the Spanish crown since 1528, and a linchpin of the Spanish supply chain transferring wealth all the way from Manila to Nueva Espana and on to Spain itself. It’s awfully bittersweet to see a place with so much history and charm fall to the wayside due to current safety conditions.
- The whole time I was here in Acapulco, I saw maybe 3 other foreigners, all of them at la Quebrada. It’s truly a hidden treasure at this point.