You could spend a lifetime at Present Moment retreat without leaving its acre of Oceanside land. Each day offers a simple rotation. Yoga pavilion - pool - restaurant - bungalow. Rinse and repeat. Life is easy, the air is healthy and even the margaritas seem good for you. If it were not for David’s invitation to visit him in town, my body would have traced the same repetitive route for another full day, like a beached whale on steroids.
However, I abandoned routine to hop on the city bus, the highways bus, and journey to the central market of Zihuatanejo (Zihua). Navigating the Mexican bus system, or any Latin American bus system, is no easy task. There is no space (people and chickens alike spill out the windows), there is no designated ‘stop’ (you just hail the bus on the road like a hitchhiker), and there is no schedule. The driver just arrives when he feels like it. Construction, road accidents, passing cattle, and inviting breaks at taco stands are all reasons for delay.
Waiting is something Americans are not good at. Back at home I will become huffy if someone performs more than one transaction at the ATM, causing me to wait another one minute in line. Mexicans are different. They enjoy each minute as it is given, even if it is waiting for an unreliable bus along the highway. In comparison to my pacing and incessant clock checking, the locals laughingly watch the street dogs play, interestedly read the small town journal, or just blissfully stare out into the sky, recollecting a fond memory. Instead of merely just ‘waiting’ they are using the time given to them. There is no rush. There is just right now.
When the highway bus finally came, I breathed a sigh of relief, eagerly dolled out 15 pesos, and determinedly channeled patience for the additional hour into town. No time like the present to….er…enjoy the present.
And so I relaxed as Mariachi music blasted from the speakers, mustached cowboys in tall hats squeezed beside me, and the painted overweight bus scuttled down the highway like a Mexican bean beetle.
Two hours after leaving Troncones, I finally arrived in Zihua, a Mexican coastal town centered in a small bay with dramatic cliffs. The vertical earth supported tiered pastel housing of the wealthy and poor alike. I navigated my way thought the narrow streets, inhaling the smell of Mexico, a perfume that can be best described as a blend of roasted chili, chalky earth, and furious sun. As a type A American, I had given myself plenty of time for my journey and arrived at the agreed upon coffee shop destination perfectly punctual. However, true to Latin style, David was 30 minutes late. He was accompanied by his sun burnt friend Jerry, who has just made the long drive from Miami to spend the rest of his life in Zihua. As we sipped our coffees, David waved to passersbys he knew and more and more people came to join our motley group. Obviously no one was in a hurry to be anywhere at 11am on a Tuesday. Soon we were an overflowing loud table of American Jews, French Algerians, Mexicans, and Panamanians. We talked of Acapulco in its heyday, romances lost, the growing drug trade (we were on prime cartel territory, after all), and despite all the chaos, why we all had an ongoing love affair with Mexico. After a lingering breakfast of salsa drenched eggs, David offered to take us around town. According to him, there is only one place to go for each service or item you need. He has his preferred shoe repairman, the “most honest” dried chili lady, the ‘sweetest’ coco water stand, the ‘only’ place for calamari, etc. Mexican culture thrives on loyalty. We ambled through stands, streets, and shops, bartering and gossiping with the locals. It wasn’t long before I started to form my own allegiances. Now I just needed to move here.
Walking along the prestigious white sands of Zihua’s “Playa Ropa” I contemplated such a move. Life is cheaper, easier, sunnier. I speak English, Spanish, and most importantly, I speak adventure.
However I couldn’t start looking for property quite yet. My friends were due to arrive at the Present Moment Retreat back in Troncones. Too late for the bus system, I haggled with a taxi driver urged him to speed hastily up the windy road back to our remote village. I would arrive just in time for sunset cocktails. That’s one thing worth being punctual for.
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