Melaque Menaces

Some of you have read my posts and browsed my pictures of Mexico and more specifically the town of Melaque, where we we have over-wintered for the last half dozen years. It’s a quaint and mostly quiet little town in the state of Jalisco, nestled in a bay on the Pacific Ocean.

Sure, there is some noise, as in every other Mexican town, like roosters with messed up internal alarm clocks and barking dogs…the kind of things we’ve come to expect and eventually surrender to. Even the buses have been kind of modernized, with actual mufflers that work well enough you don’t have to shout at each other while dining on an outdoor patio.

Traffic can get congested at times, especially in the busy center of town, where locals and gringos alike, dump their vehicles just about anywhere on the street. Parking enforcement personnel are as common here as polar bears. But everyone zig-zags and dodges the clogged arteries, crawling at speeds barely above neutral, making for safe-crossing at unmarked intersections.

I’ve learned how to drive like one of the locals, forgetting turn signals, parking on the wrong side of the road, and even occasionally driving the wrong way on a one-way street. Signs might help unaware motorists like me but it’s more challenging having to reverse for a whole block, with nowhere to pull over.

But I’ve learned to negotiate streets with no names, unmarked speed bumps that tear at the car’s undercarriage, and even boulevards where you have to stay right to turn left. Speed and no passing signs seem to be posted for decoration only, unless you’re unlucky like me, getting pulled over in the same speed trap by the same two cops near the US border, two years in a row.

But the one thing I can’t stand here is the crazy young motorcyclists who weave in and out of traffic, passing you on the right or left, doing wheelies over speed bumps, riding up to five passengers at a time-with no helmets, and at night with no running lights whatsoever. They blatantly run red lights and blow through intersections with no regard for other vehicles or pedestrians.

And as luck would have it, mine finally ran out the other day when a motorcyclist crashed into my car. I was barely moving when I started to make my turn into a parking spot. No other traffic was near me at the time but a racing bike came up from behind me and tried to pass on the right while I was turning right, into a parking spot. Realizing he’d never get between me and the curb, he swerved left and slammed into my right rear fender. I was actually stopped at the time.

My car was damaged by the front tire of the bike and the passenger who’s knee also struck my car. But apparently neither the bike or either of the riders was damaged enough to stop and check on me or my car. They were gone from sight before I could get out of my vehicle. I considered going after them, for a moment, but realized it would be a waste of time. Any foreigner who’s been here knows how that would go.

And so I suck it up, consider that it could have been worse, and go back to enjoying the small town atmosphere. Being a bike rider myself, and victim of other errant drivers, I feel I’ve earned the right to bitch about the menaces of Melaque – the ignorant, aggressive, impatient, and crazy motorcyclists who just don’t give a fuck.

Snowbirds Returning Home

Anyone who understands my travel habits knows how I hate to take the same route twice, even when returning from a particular destination. So, why would our return trip from Mexico be any different. If you read my post, Snowbirds Who Drove to Mexico, you got to see how it really is possible to drive there, and see some cool stuff along the way.

They say, what goes up must come down. But in our case we did it in reverse, driving back home from Mexico and taking a completely different route to get there. After six days of 8 to 10 hour drives on the way down, we slowed things down a bit on the way home, taking 7 days instead. Daily stopovers were chosen in advance for peace of mind.

To prep the Silver Bullet for the trip home I attended the local outdoor car wash for an in and out. I had them check the air filter, top up my fluids, and repair a sticky hood latch. All for the scandalous price of $12 Canadian.

From out winter home in Melaque, on the Pacific coast. we chose the town of Tonala as our first stop. It’s kind of a suburb, southeast of Guadaljara. We chose this stop as a place to shop, hearing that it is the place to go in Mexico for wholesale and bargain prices on everything from furniture to artwork. Our car was already quite full, but we managed to stuff in a large mirror, tin sunburst for our patio, and a set of handblown glasses, all for a fraction of what they would cost anywhere else.

We spent the next night in Saltillo, an automotive town just south of Monterrey. For safety-sake we never travelled at night and mostly stayed on the larger toll roads or highways. The drive was fairly uneventful until we hit a large rock and blew a tire, in the middle of nowhere. No problem, we thought, we had full coverage Mexican car insurance that included flat tires.

While I checked the damage, Cathryn called the emergency numbers for roadside assistance. No answer at one and a message from the other stating to call back during normal business hours. Another call to the Green Angles (roadside help) also went unanswered. Seems nobody was working on Saturday. I had the trunk empty by the time she got off the phone and found the spare tire.

Thankful that I took auto mechanics in high school, I was able to figure out the newfangled jack and how to change the blown tire. Problem #1 solved. Our GPS found a Goodyear about a half our away but they closed for their 3 hour siesta around the same time. Problem #2. Driving above the recommended speed limit on the ‘donut’ spare, we made it just in time.

After some discussion with the garage manager, with both of us faking each other’s language, he agreed to the repair. He and the tire jockey had their own discussion about working overtime to take care of us. With the new tire is was easy sailing to the U.S. border, until we got stopped for speeding about 15 miles shy of America. 117 in a 60. Shit!

Now, you have to understand that we never encountered a speed trap anywhere in Mexico the whole three months in country, and for the most part I didn’t think police could afford radar guns. I’d heard stories of them using hair dryers to extort money from gringos, but I’ve seen my share of radar guns and got to see the digital readout for myself.

Add another 200 bucks to the cost of travel. There are few posted signs in the area, where it seems the cops prey mostly on the heavy truck traffic heading for the border. Perhaps the Silver bullet set a new land speed record. I never saw a 60k sign, I swear. They call that racing here at home. The border was a welcome site and we headed for New Orleans.

Our first stop in the U.S. was in Sugarland, just south of Houston, where we found a hotel near a Rudy’s Smokehouse. We’d stopped at one near Austin on the way down and had to do a repeat for some Texas Barbeque. No more tacos! Highway signs in Louisiana for Boudin and Crackling got the best of us and we stopped to check out the local snack food. The latter being something like pork rinds with some meat still attached, and sprinkled with cajon spice.

Our Airbnb

From there we were able to get into New Orleans early the next afternoon, where we found the coolest Airbnb in Algiers Point, across the Mississippi River from downtown NOLA. Only a 5 minute ferry ride from Canal Street, we were blown away by our quaint little neighborhood, with it’s colorfully painted shotgun style houses and eclectic cafes and restaurants. Our Airbnb was actually an old gas station at one time.

I’d been to NOLA once before but Cathryn hadn’t so we started with a trolley tour along Canal Street, then through the Garden District to ogle the fine mansions. We got off in the French Quarter and took in touristy things like beignets at Café du Monde, the waterfront, and Bourbon Street. We chowed down on Willie’s Fried Chicken while listening to live music on Frenchman Street.

Crown & Anchor English Pub

The best meal we had was back across the river at the Dry Dock Cafe, where we sampled Alligator sausage, seafood gumbo, a turkey Po Boy, and bread pudding. Our best breakfast was also in Algiers Point at the Tout de Suite Cafe, where we also scored a cool piece of stained glass art. They say NOLA is all about music and food. We ate our share and Cathryn gave her leftovers to hungry street people.

Our last night was spent along the Interstate, somewhere, less than a day’s drive from home. Most of the Covid bullshit was over by the time we hit Canada, and only had to produce our passports. With our side trips in Mexico we did a total of about 10,000 kilometers or 6,000 miles. Cheers to the Silver Bullet.

Snowbirds Who Drove to Mexico

Some of our friends already wonder about us when we tell them that we’ve chosen to spend our winters in Mexico. They worry about things like our safety and if our severed heads will end up displayed on a highway overpass for all to see. But this year, when Cathryn and I told everyone we were driving to Mexico, they looked at us as if we were from a different planet.

It’s not like I haven’t researched the idea or spoken to other snowbirds from places like Toronto, BC and Quebec who’ve made the trek more than once and lived to talk about it. So, with a bit of preparation and a good set of wheels like my Chevy Silver Bullet, why couldn’t we do it? That car has taken us to both of Canada’s coasts and back, so why not Mexico?

Of course this is me talking, the guy who travelled to S/E Asia and parts of South America with nothing but travel itinerary and backpack on wheels. Sure, Cathryn was a bit worried about things like scorpions and cartel hijackers, but she’s proven to be a trooper on our Harley trips around the continent. It’s not that she’s gullible and believes everything I tell her, she trusts me (so far).

And when she realized how much more she could bring by taking our car to Mexico, she made quick work of adding to her packing list. She had to consider what specialty foods and cookware to bring, instead of how many different outfits she could fit in her suitcase. After she had it all sorted out and in boxes, we went through it together and I cut it in half so we didn’t have to tow a trailer.

With the packing thing under wraps it was my job to plan the itinerary – the route we’d take to Sayulita, Mexico, how long we’d drive each day, and where we’d stop on the way to our final destination. According to Google Maps, it takes 40 hours to drive from Detroit to Sayulita, staying on major highways. That meant at least 5 days of driving for 8 hours. Easy peasy.

Our plan was to rent in Sayulita for the month of January, then in Melaque for February and March. So, I had to pick what date to leave home and an interesting place to spend NY Eve on the way south, without having to spend the night in a non-descript highway motel. December 29th became our departure date, after spending ample time with family over the holidays.

After rising with the birds, we ate our pre-made breakfast wraps gave Earl Grey hugs and kisses, and were on the road by 7am. Being only recently reopened, the tunnel to Detroit was a breeze with only two cars in front of us. Unseasonable mild weather meant clear roads, but we dealt with light and patchy fog most of the day. The mild temperatures stayed with us through Ohio, Kentucky and and Tennessee where fog turned into rain. It was better than snow, but driving in heavy rain after dark was nerve-racking.

I had hoped to inch further south on the map the first day but settled on Memphis for the night. The first day’s driving conditions took a toll on both of us and we wondered if we should make a planned pit stop near Austin, Texas to visit my old water polo coach. As it turned out, day two was better. There were some serious traffic jambs to contend with but my old map reading skills got us hooked up in time for an early dinner with my old friend.

The Alamo

We arrived in San Antonio, Texas early enough on the second night to take a short stroll for a well-deserved drink on the Riverwalk. Day three was NY Eve. We slept in, had a great breakfast out, the lolly-gagged around downtown San Antonio and it’s Riverwalk, taking in the sights. As the NY revellers took to the streets, we sat and people watched until calling it an early night without waiting for the ball to drop.

Being in San Antonio put us within easy reach of the Mexico border. Driving through the baron landscape made me wonder what those at the Alamo actually fought for. We crossed at the lesser-known Columbia bridge, something that looked like it was run by Barney Fife. We drove right through to the highway before realizing nobody stopped us for passports, visas, or the vehicle permit we needed to drive in Mexico. After turning around, to enter the country legally, we found ourselves the only visitors at the border crossing.

Day 4 had us cutting south-west across Mexico to a city called Torreon. The only difficult part of that day’s drive was trying to keep count of our toll fees – it’s quite expensive driving on Mexico’s safe highways – they are comparable to those in the U.S. with some things extra and some less. There aren’t many service centers along the way but emergency phones and even water is available every few kilometers. The Torreon hotel was basic but offered us the best breakfast omelets ever.

Day 5 was a shorter drive, but way more interesting than we had anticipated. Climbing the Sierra Madre mountains became breath-taking, a mountain range comparable to the Rockies without the snow-covered peaks. We lost track of how many bridges and tunnels we encountered, figuring there were at least fifty of each. By the time we started our decent on the western slopes, we were both a bit nauseous.

We arrived in Mazatlan before dinner. Our waterfront hotel was nothing fancy but the view from our room made it priceless. We even got to park on the road directly out front. Stopping is Mazatlan for 2 nites served a few purposes. First off, it broke up the drive, once again. And besides being on my Mexican bucket list, it got us to the Pacific coast where Sayulita was only another half day’s drive south.

The silver bullet looked dusty grey when we pulled into the garage at our Sayulita Airbnb on day 6. The odometer showed 4,000 kilometers or 2,500 American miles. After a couple of celebratory cervesas Cathryn and I agreed the drive wasn’t all that bad. There was that first long day of frayed nerves, but no high jackings or beheadings. Will we do it again next year? You’ll just have to wait and see.

Muy Bien Melaque

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We’ve been in Melaque, Mexico just over a month now, our second visit to this undiscovered gem on the Pacific coast. The towns of Villa Obregon and San Patricio help to form what is known as Melaque, a little known destination for many Canadian snowbirds. Although tiny in comparison to places like Puerto Vallarta, Melaque has a great selection of bars and restaurants to quench our thirst and satisfy our hunger. Although we’ve tried many different establishments in the last month, I am only mentioning three of our favorites in this blog post.

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Unintended Adventures

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            What exactly is an adventure and where do you find one? Touring companies offer them all the time—they must know. Usually, for a tidy sum of money, they promise unique adventures that anyone can go on. Is that being adventurous—going where everyone else has gone before? Sure it is, but we don’t need to spend our hard earned money to have someone else show us something different, off the beaten path.

            We call ourselves tourists, when we venture off to discover something new and different from the norm. Unfortunately, many of us become sheep, using travel agents and guide services to tell us how and where to find what we seek. For hard working individuals who need to get away from it all, there is nothing wrong with that.

            For real travelers, or adventurers, we know what is required. We know that you have to get off that beaten path, peek over that fence, look around the next corner, and drive down that next road to see where it leads. It’s not rocket science, it’s a yearning, curiosity, and desire to enrich ourselves and learn something new. It’s enlightenment.

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The Men of Melaque

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Who are the elusive men of Mexico? To us Gringos who flock south for the winter, if we pay attention, we might just catch a glimpse of the homosapien species. Our first exposure was at the Puerto Vallarta airport, where throngs of eager males threw themselves at arriving snowbirds in the hopes of snagging fares for the taxis and shuttles that were stacked up out front.

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