The Great Swine Flu Escape

The best way to deal with an oppressive, depressing city on lockdown? Leave!

For the rest of the world, last Friday was Labor Day, which actually meant something to the part of Mexico City's labor force that hasn't been off since Monday (by the way, my school might be canceled for two entire weeks). I drove down to Playa Bonfil outside Acapulco with Laura, our new friend Jonathan and my fourth floor neighbors and potential BFFs Roberto and Aram. We spent the night on the beach and were eventually joined around the campfire by some Bonfilian surfers and a man with drums, fondly named Jimmy Drums. He tried to get Laura and I first to dance for everyone, then to play the drums and then to sing, forcing me to hide behind my fro curtain while I waited for the heckling to subside. I hate him.

After a slow morning Saturday, we traded Jonathan for Paul, squeezed in tight and drove five hours north to Playa Michigan, a virgin beach near Zihuatanejo. After much pleading and begging from the three boys, Laura and I finally conceded to let them play Backstreet Boys as we bumped along the sandy path to the beach parking lot. They're really greedy like that. Car parked and luggage in hand, we boarded a small motor boat, or lancha, and crossed the lake to the beach. The only real development on the island are the tall thatch huts, stinky bathroom and shower stalls, piles of coconut husks for firewood and the corresponding restaurants that maintain the camping spaces, charging less than a dollar per night. There's no electricity, cell phone service or Facebook...it was hell.

As we wandered aimlessly through the maze of identical huts and tents, we serendipitously ran into Enzué and four Frenchies shortly after landing.
Tents pitched and bikinis fastened, we played in the amazingly intense and potentially murderous waves after a 30 second sprint from our camp across the blazing sand. Enzué, Laura and I explored the beach a bit, finding ourselves completely isolated and perhaps trespassing; we later engaged in hammock swinging and gross quesadilla consumption. After a quick lancha ride down the coast, our carpool team swam in the velvety but suspiciously warm and motionless lake, separated from the ocean by a thin strip of sand.

A golden sunset soon kissed the ocean's lips with its ardent haze...and then we got beer. Our hut neighbors lent us some space around their coconut-wood fire, the rhythms of an ipod pulsing through Paul's seven-dollar speakers. Others grilled hot dogs while I sipped slowly from my styrafoam cup, judging. When the beachside raucousness subsided, we snuggled against the hard floor of the sand from inside our tents and woke up when the smothering heat of the sun refused to back off. Sick of the clear sky, the crash of waves and all of God's splendor, we piled back into the car for what would turn out to be a 10 hour ride home (my favorite!).

ADDENDUM: I left out the best part of the whole trip...running on the beach at dusk with Aram and Laura. Of course I won by at least a mile.


EPILOGUE: Less than 24 hours after the reluctant end to the Great Swine Flu Escape, I had my first day as a payrolled reporter at The News! Everything went well, but the paper is horrendously slow right now as most city-wide events have been canceled and because Monday and Tuesday are national holidays. I mostly just took care of some paperwork and fingerprint scanning (fancy) and set off to find some inspiration for stories. Things will probably be a little complicated as I continue to teach at the preschool, but hopefully I can move full speed ahead come July!