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12/21 The bus ride was not exactly what we intended. Yes, we took a bus. As most of you know, we prefer driving our own car when touring Mexico. But the bus would give us both the benefit of seeing the sights along the road from Mexico City to Acapulco. It was not to be since the bus left a good hour late and it was dark well before we were out of the city. Cecillio picked us up at the Acapulco terminal around 10:30 and we quickly retired.
12/22 The first morning in Acapulco started with Cecillio’s eggs and chorizo. Afterwards we fought our way through the crowded Acapulco streets to the even more crowded central market. I bought some sandals (chanclas, that are currently for sale), Cecillio bought flowers and Sharon found breakfast tamales for tomorrow.
I like the market here. It’s big, crowded, loud and hectic. So we just put ourselves into this mayhem and go for it. Somehow it improves your Spanish, or at least it feels that way. Cecillio said “Hola,” to a few dozen people, (he knows everyone) then it was siesta time. In the early evening we went to pick up his sancha, Esmerelda. We had a few drinks at the Zocalo and listened to the piano guy at the pizza place. Upon returning to Cecillio’s house we realized Esmeralda doesn’t handle her wine very well, nor her relationships, life, dogs, air quality or anything else she can lament about, in Spanish. We played the “no comprendo” card, went to bed and left her in Cecillio’s care
12/23. We rode with Cecillio to a few markets so he could handle some business. It was collections day and we were his muscle. After we intimidated the locals, Sharon and I walked alone down the Costera, eventually meeting back up with Cecillio and settling down for drinks at Coco Loco. In time, his brother-in-law, Victor Hugo joined us along with some of his family. Victor Hugo is a funny guy and very entertaining, once you get a little Mezcal in him, which he seems to always have. We are all to meet up later tonight for a pre-Christmas party. The party, or pre-party, was at the old family home in La Laja, a worn down but bustling barrio up the mountain in old Acapulco. Cecillio is one of ten kids and best I could tell, they all showed up along with spouses, kids and grandkids. The sisters, all seven of them, played Lotoria while simultaneously cooking. The rest of us sat in the callejon out front, putting a serious dent in Victor Hugo’s mezcal. Around dusk we returned to Cecillio’s house. There was Marco Polo and his family. Sharon and Cecillio crashed but I was feeling particularly spunky and somehow got involved in a convoluted version of basketball with Marco Polo’s two grandsons, Ali and Alah. It was me verses a couple of 8 year olds. Bad idea. Besides their distinct home court advantage and my mezcal haze, someone should have told me to act my age. The match pretty much ended right around the time I lightly kissed the concrete… with my face. For the next few days I would wear the borracho mark of shame.
12/24 – The party. It’s Christmas Eve and Sharon and I were invited to one of the most moving experiences we’ve ever witnessed. All the cooking was done. The sisters were all dressed up and singing songs around the Christ-less nativity scene. Soon, Victor Hugo and Isabella came walking up the callejon, carrying a baby Jesus to be place in the crib. But first he was passed around the entire party for each of us to kiss, (Jesus, not Victor Hugo). The kids were cute and squeaky clean. The men were handsome and currently on their best behavior and the wives… stunning. At midnight, there were fireworks throughout the city and everyone hugged and kissed and gave each a “Feliz Navidad “. Then we ate a feast, the mezcal flowed and everyone danced in the callejon. What made it so special? There were no presents, no gifts, no big boxes with bows or new bicycles. It was a celebration of family and traditions. It was beautiful. Around 2:30 in the morning, we swerved and slurred our way back home.
12/25. We spent the entirety of Christmas Day on the road. Before us was the drive to Huatulco, down the coastline, through the mountains, into Oaxaca and through Puerto Escondido. We arrived around 9 at night, tired and hungry. Street tacos and bed and merry Christmas.
12/26 Our 4th floor, street side hotel rooms seemed bright, hot and noisy but we all slept surprisingly well. We got some breakfast then watched Cecillio do his thing; sell hats. He’s a wholesaler so we got to meet, hear the story’s and sift through the gossip of the various store owners. “This one is a good one. This one has to pay up front. And this one we call Pepe The Shit.” After a bit of explanation, it was clear that no one wants to have their name followed with “The Shit”.
The heat of the afternoon pushed us towards one of the seven bays that make up Huatulco. Under the massive palapa, we wasted the hours drinking beers, eating mojarra (fish) and selling a hat or two.
We returned to town and walked the shops while the sun started to set. I didn’t realize it last night but this village is long but only 4 or 5 blocks wide. That evening, Cecillio went to see a special someone. Meanwhile, I really needed a salad. No, really. Fortunately, we located an Italian restaurant. They always have salad, right? And wine? Some pasta? Correct on all three counts and suddenly we are kinda liking this town.
12/27 We headed back to Acapulco about 10:30 after Cecillio finished some business and we walked the square. There’s a beautiful church on the square with impressive wall paintings inside. We’re currently motoring through the mountain passes to make it back to Acapulco in time for the annual family soccer game. They may let me be the announcer. They may also regret their choices. Should be fun either way.
