Mar 4 – So here is our typical day at the beach: coffee in our room courtesy of the hotel, leisurely yogurt, cheese and tortilla breakfast in bed, courtesy of yesterday’s walk to the store. Down to the beach to alternately swim in the crystal clear water and sit in the shade of a restaurant umbrella.
Back to the room to shower and change for lunch, which is our main meal of the day.
Sometimes we eat at a beachfront restaurant with other tourists. This is a cold seafood and avocado concoction called vuelve a la vida, or “come back to life”. It is just about the most delicious food I have ever eaten.
Sometimes we walk down a little street to where the native fishermen get their meals. Incredibly fresh seafood, cooked just for us by a native lady who makes breakfast for the fishermen in the morning, but is not busy in the middle of the day. One day she grilled us a whole fish, freshly caught, the next day she offered us shrimp with garlic. No choice here, just whatever she has on hand.
A leisurely talk with Edgar, an 80 year old with excellent English from working in the US, and few remaining teeth, about politics and the state of Mexico and the world.
After an afternoon siesta, we swim in the pool, then walk up the street to the food store to buy anything we need for tonight’s dinner or tomorrow’s breakfast. Here they have canned or refrigerated processed food and drinks, and packaged tortillas, but no fresh bread or fruits or vegetables. In the states, this would be described as a fresh food desert.
On Sunday evening as we walked to the store, we met a funeral procession coming down the hill to the cemetery. About 50 people, dressed in tee shirts and flip flops or barefoot, some carrying flowers and some singing. A red casket carried on the shoulders of four men. We stood quietly until the procession passed. Later we walked into the cemetery, but couldn’t find where they had placed the new addition.
A block from the store is a woman sitting with her small children in front of her house, selling stringy bits of chicken and onion swimming in picante sauce on a corn tortilla – four for a dollar. When Jim asked her for eight of them, she warned, “they are spicy”, and gave him a taste before she wrapped them up. Every day, well-meaning people warn us that food here is spicy, but it’s not really – on a Taco Bell scale, it would be considered mild.
We eat whatever we have purchased for dinner, share a beer and read or watch tv in the evenings. Tv is how folks learn English to the extent that they learn it here – foreign languages are not taught in school.
That’s our week in Puerto Ángel! Hope you enjoyed traveling with us!