Darth Ramada

Lush plantations of banana and coconut trees lined our route as we left Cihuatlan early in the a.m.. We planned on stopping for breakfast shortly after leaving town, but as usual it was hard to justify slowing the momentum once we hit fifth gear. We emerged from the fruit filled forest onto a twisty highway reminiscent of the California coastal route. Our bikes shifted from right to left and left to right for over 100 miles as we navigated the serpentine road along a pristine coastline yet untouched by the throes of Hyatt and Hilton imperialism. Structures with thatched roofs and wooden walls weaved like intricate baskets occasionally appeared in small villages accompanied by the smell of wood smoke for cooking fires. These little outposts almost always have a few streetside vendors selling bags of oysters and other shellfish that they have collected along the coast.

I am developing a deep appreciation for the resourcefulness of the people in this country. They have the ability to find or grow their own food, build their own homes, and find something that they can bring to market. They are poor…that is obvious… they lead there donkeys to feed on the grass at the edge of highways, they burn trash on the side of the road to dispose of it, they generally have no cars, but their lives are a beautiful thing to behold. I wonder if I could survive in their shoes. Would I have the capacity to make an existence out of nothing? Could I live as people did 200 years ago and with the machines of modern day race by as I purvey my wares on the side of the highway? These people seem to have an uncommon strength of will that probably exists as a small seed within all of us. The circumstances of life determine whether or not seed grows into a vibrant tree or remains dormant until needed.

200 miles later our bikes were whining for fuel and our stomachs growled with anger for not being fed. We stopped in the small beach town of Playa Azul. A few street vendors trying to make a few bucks off the obviously small number of tourists sold swimsuits and floaty toys that would be sure to get your child killed in the huge surf that was crashing on the nearby beach. After having our usual lunch of meat and corn we set a heading for Ixtapa. The road leaving Play Azul showed the beginning signs of the infiltration of the resort imperialists. Road improvements and the construction of rest areas foretell of changes to come to this place. Empty coastal properties dotted with coconut trees and thatched huts had shingles hung on posts bearing the words “SE Vende” (for sale). I couldn’t help but think I was witnessing the beginning of the end for this place. If I returned in ten years would the pollo asado stand be there? Would I still be able to see the ocean from the road? Or will this place be filled with BMW’s, Outback Steakhouses, Pizza Joints, Jewelry stores, and everything else that makes Cancun a coastal subsidiary of Las Vegas? I wondered if I might one day return and be one of those dads or grandfathers that tell one of those “I remember when…” stories to a bored looking teenager.