We headed south of Puerta Vallarta in our rented Sentra, past a stretch of Mexico called the Mexican Riviera, which turned out to be quite aptly named, reminding us at least the Italian Riviera, from Portofino north. At Boca de Tomatlan, one of the more forgettable town we saw, we inquired about a water taxi that would take us to where the towns continued, even though the road had ended. We asked to go to Yelapa, for no other reason than we liked the sound of the name. The dispatcher asked for $100 for the two of us, clearly a case of gringo pricing. We negitiated down to $75, and it was the only time we felt ripped off on the entire trip.
It turned out to be worth it in any case. The taxi turned out to be a large dinghy of maybe 25 feet, powerd by a pair of twin Johnson 250 hps, which is capable of kicking considerable ass. As we kicked off, civilization quickly disappeared. From the flat seas, we skimmed along looking at some of the most breathtaking jungle I've eber seen. The shore was dotted by houses, some clearly hideaway mansions, others tiny jungle huts hard to pick out from the growth.
One of the the taxi "guides" was a curly-haired, tall handsome Mexican with the most elegantly tatooed back I had ever seen. He advised us shortly before we went ashore for a few hours at Yelapa, that this was a town where gringos came for an afternoon, only to be lost for years in the junfgles and because this was also the source of Mwexico's best mountain dope. He offered to help us score some if we opted, but we opted for tamer tacos and beers in a beach hut. The big thing to do in Yelapa is to hike about 15 minutes along a concrete path to a waterfall where one jumps in and swims. Again, this was our last day and we opted to just lull on the beach for a couple hours, spending more time swimming than sitting.
We had a full boat on the way back, most of our voyagers were Mexicans who made us certain they didn't pay no steenking $75 for the taxi ride. There was a good deal of smile and nods as several of our new passengers, were serious, muscular men carrying large Hefty bags and looking like they were working at being unfriendly. There were enough smiles and gestures of Mexicans bringing thumb and forefinger together at their lips and making sucking sounds. These guys were dope merchants.
We zoomed back to Boca De Tomatlan, stopping in a village or two. Then started accelerating in open water, when suddenly we hear a high-pitched whistle. I could have sworn it sounded like hawks I've heard, in Half Moon Bay, near where I live. The boat slowed abruptly and circled back toward shore, where we were joined by a tall, serious, shave head man who'se biceps would be envied by Schwarzenegger. He got on with a couple of heft bags. As the boat reared out of its docking point, this guy stuck a chunk of meat on a stick and emitted another whistle, at which time this huge hawk--maybe a falcon--carreened out of a tree, grabbed the meat, flew off leaving us with a screeching whistle sound idential to the one hawk man had given us.
Everyone on the boat gave a round of applause. Hawk man turned to us and modestly bowed as the slightest of smiles crossed his face.
Rumor has it that the bird flies between occidental and yelapa daily with a leather pouch around his neck. ha ha ha.
Posted by: gil wollman | Oct 01, 2005 at 02:18 PM