Mar 29, 2009, 10:21 AM
Post #6 of 12
Dawg, I totally agree that the best beach to one can be a hellhole for someone else and although a bit cliché, beauty can and perhaps does lie in the eye of the beholder. Although some of us do have a strong tendency to segue in directions other than Mexico, as an aside, some writers make a good story/point in doing so, by drawing comparisons “very effectively,” which I find enjoyable. Tell me Dawg, what would we do without your poignant and interesting stories, without ever using Alabama to crest your persona?
What you bring to a beach, is you, your picture, your take and yes, at times a very enjoyable and wonderful story. Some call it artistry, some call it talent, and of course, there are always those who call it BS. What makes for a good Mexican beach story is an amalgamation of it all. And as MC is my witness, you’ve got a good mix going for you.
About 40 some odd years ago and as a young , single 27 year old youngster, I had just had a fallout with a gal from New York, in which we became an item in PV and then rented a house in Zihuatanejo, until we went our own ways, shortly thereafter. When we split, I headed south toward Acapulco, then north up the coast to a kind of shanty strip of land between a lagoon and a ferocious sea called Pie de la Cuesta.
Lodging and food then was very inexpensive and caution was thrown to the wind by emotional gusts, which fancied living on the edge. I was young, very young, eager, foolish and I had a penchant toward showing off while riding bone crushing waves at Pie de la Cuesta. Now as a surfer then, waves in PDLC, were not meant for surfing, so after bone breaking efforts, I played with these humongous wave’s but now only as a body surfer.
The Acapulco beach boys would come periodically to body surf these waves by negotiating and maneuvering the waves temperament. The wave’s main interest was to constantly crush anyone or anything in its way while claiming the sand on the beach. These thunderous waves at times would shake the shore, the huts, and the ground you stood on. They didn’t crash far enough away to give your body some room to ride it’s crest, instead they literally released its weight and power on you in less then 18 inches of water.
I enjoyed watching the Acapulco body surfers because they had it down to a science. They practically walked up to this mountain of water, seemingly determined to swallow them up and spit them out as refuge for the sand to claim, “if” they didn’t handle them right. With nerves wired like steel, these young defiant’s would wait out these foam spitting giants. As soon as they crested, at it’s peak, these youngsters would literally leap forward and upward into the air, feet first, upside down, their backs against the wave and the uprising water groaned as it lifted them feet first, and as the wave started to rise higher and higher to crash toward shore, the wave had already scooped them up, upside down and when it broke, the force of the water on the back of their legs would literally spit them out the opposite direction toward the sea. As if, being catapulted and/or shot out like of a cannon. This was not only dangerous but it looked magnificent. If you were standing on shore, you’d watch these surfers and against the translucence of the sun, sky and the sea, these beach boys looked like human fish, upside down, while the wave carried them, just like fish seen through the waves with the ease and grace of a Dolphin. I was young and strong then and getting up to speed with them was not only a challenge but also something tremendously enjoyable, I will never forget.
Of course, today is another day and as I sit here, reflecting, sharing is fun, and yes, it has its rewards in the form of entertainment…. Dos Centavos..
(This post was edited by Oscar2 on Mar 29, 2009, 11:31 AM)