A Monkey in the Moment

It seems like the getting-to-know-Barra phase has evolved into settling in. We have a standing order with the French Baker (I even got a rose on Valentine’s thanks to our regular patronage), a favourite beach, we know where to get great tacos, and where to find our groceries, and we’ve even figured out how to crash the local posh resort for a swim in the pool. In other words; it’s time to move on…

 I realized this yesterday at the beach. The kids were having a blast, body surfing and digging holes (what is it with kids and dogs that they have such a driving need to dig?). I was as relaxed as I get—sitting under my umbrella, pondering Captain Cook, occasionally laughing at the kid's crazy antics. Ann from Hanacrew was thumbing through my Lonely Planet Mexico guide, planning their next adventure (Morelia) while I was daydreaming about ours (Moorea).

 It’s becoming harder and harder to stay in this moment. Our thoughts are straying across the Pacific well ahead of our boat. And while the books I read and websites I visit are all about the South Pacific, we’re still here, in Barra. The thing is it becomes even more difficult to stay present once a place gets familiar. No matter how cool a spot it is, and how much it has to offer, it’s easy to get distracted and restless and dream only about getting gone.

 From the beach last night we headed to a fundraiser dinner the Sands Hotel. It’s the local cruiser’s hangout with a pool, cheap happy hour drinks, and, it turns out, an unusual mascot.

“Mum!! Dad!! The monkey stole my potato!!” Maia yelled as she raced up to us. I’m not sure how you react to stuff like this, but I just shrugged and told her she’d have to tell her unlikely story to the dinner’s organizers and ask for a new one. Evan, being the more imaginative parent, went to see who exactly had stolen her food and came face to face with a spider monkey.

 Somehow we’ve spent almost three weeks here and never noticed the monkey, despite the fact we walk past him every day. And somehow, this very simple realization reeled my thoughts back in from across the Pacific and planted them firmly back in Barra.

We’re not leaving Mexico for more than a month. And if I keep dreaming about being gone, I might miss the monkey. Literally.

Crocodile Smile—the close-up version

 It took me a moment to see the first big American Crocodile. Not because it was obstructed or especially well camouflaged by the sun-dabbled background, but because it was so close, my fight-or-flight lizard brain refused to process the giant smiling threat.

 We had taken the bus to La Manzanilla with my parents and our friends from Hanacrew to visit the crocodile preserve. And after paying our 5 peso (50 cent) entry fee, we crossed a rickety bridge right into the heart of a swamp. Within a few minutes it was clear that the barrier between the crocodiles and us was token at best (and occasionally non-existent). We were relying on the fact that between a plentiful diet of fish and birds (and the occasional unfortunate dog), and the fact American crocodiles don’t attack people (that often) we’d be safe.

 Still, when you gaze at one of the huge still forms and it blandly stares back at you, it’s hard to decide whether to move closer (to see if it’s actually alive and breathing) or back up (to get out of range).

 The impulse is so strong that my step dad Frank actually reached his arm out toward one of the two-foot-long baby crocs—and then jumped two feet himself when the little croc exploded into motion and hurtled itself back into the water.

 Happily Frank still has a hand—but the lesson was observed and appreciated by the kids in our group.

Barra de Navidad

Barra de Navidad (Sandbar of Christmas) is bustling, folksy holiday town with a handful of streets and a smattering of seaside hotels, restaurants and shops. The downtown is located on narrow spit of land that creates a channel into a sheltered lagoon--a rare natural harbour that once housed a fleet of Spanish Galleons.

Sitting in a restaurant high above a steep beach filled with holiday makers, who ventured to the seaside for the weekend, we watched boats enter the harbour and pondered how the town got its name. “Maybe a Galleon entered the bay on Christmas day and found the harbour entry,” Evan suggested. On a coast with very few natural harbours, finding a secure anchorage would certainly have been good reason to celebrate.

 It turns out that the cheerful little town’s pleasant name has a more nefarious history: the first Viceroy of Mexico, Antonio de Mendoza, disembarked here on Christmas Day 1540, to put down the rebellion that was raging against New Spain. His success lead to the deaths of thousands of natives. A generation later the town’s shipyards built vessels for the expedition of Miguel López de Legaspi and Father André de Urdaneta to the Philippines.

 Urdaneta returned by the newly discovered Northern Route a year later making him a hero. But by 1600 Barra’s time as a major centre was over. The Galleons were now traveling to and from Acapulco and Barra  faded into obscurity.

 

Obscurity isn’t such a terrible thing when it comes to charming seaside towns. Unlike almost every other town we’ve visited in Mexico, Barra hasn’t changed much in the past 14-years. There are a few more tourist shops hawking the same old stuff, supplanting the booths where local artisans used to sell their wares (although I understand the unique regional art is still around), and the number of seaside restaurants sporting identical menus has risen—but for the most part this is still the same quirky little town we found 14-years ago.

 Setting out into the narrow streets feels like an adventure and we can’t wait to keep rediscovering Barras charms…

The French Baker

 “Almond croissant. No, pan de chocolate…” We had just seen the French Baker’s small panga enter the lagoon anchorage at Barra de Navidad and Maia was trying to decide what she’d order.

She stood on the back deck watching his progress, leaping up and down each time he left a boat and got back underway. Then the bleak realization hit her: he was zigzagging from boat to boat, in order—and we were at the back of the fleet. Her excitement turned to apprehension as she wondered what, if anything, would be left after he made it through the dozens or so boats ahead of us.

 But then he neared and she reported his orange crates still had something in them.

 An apple pie for Maia, pan de chocolate for Evan, oat cookies for me and an order for a baguette for tomorrow. Ah, Barra, it’s nice to be back…