Last night, it was noisy in the colonia. Since Friday, there's been partying and kids setting off bottle rockets. Poor Bo has been terrorized. So we decided to bundle him up in the Beast and head over to Penninsula Beach, where the Pitillal River empties into the bay. It was pitch black as we bumped over the potholed road leading up to the parking area. Bo bounded out of the car and took off across the sand.
Since we first came to the area, the river has changed course slightly and now runs almost parallel to the beach, cutting a gash in the beach with 2-3 ft. walls of sand. We walked along, marvelling at the confluence of rushing river and crashing waves coming from three different directions. Bo, who used to be tentative around the water, is now fearless about running into the current and lapping the sweet water before it mixes with the salty ocean water.
As we stood watching the violent surf, I spotted the silhoette of something moving through the river to the cliff of sand. It was a giant sea turtle, looking for somewhere to lay her eggs! We watched as the turtle mama moved up and down the river, looking for someplace she could climb up onto the beach, but the churning water and the high sand wall wouldn't let her. We trained our flashlight on the animal and watched her directly below us. Israel tried to collapse the sand to give her a place to crawl , but with no luck. After five minutes, she gave up and let the current carry her back out to sea.
Every day here is full of wonder and new discoveries. Yesterday I drove to Salulita alone. After walking on the gold-flecked sand and treating myself to an omelette at the local wi-fi cafe, I got back into the beast and drove to San Pancho, the next Mexican village -- looking for quaint old Mexico. As I drove into the town, I came across a Mexican cowboy on his horse training the animal to do short little hops sideways, back and forth across the road.
But the trend in these tiny beach towns is always the same. Developers. 
Gated communities. Rich, dread-locked hippies who take over the town with their galleries and boutiques, gradually edging out the locals until the towns look like theme-park versions of Mexican towns -- a little too precious and colorful. Like mini-Boulders. And they can smoke their dope with impugnity -- never making the connection between their benign drug use and the violent drug wars going on just outside the gates. I don't know what the answer is. I'm sure it's a love-hate relationship between the American/Candadian people with money and the poor Mexicans. "Fuck the Gringo" is a popular saying amongst the Mexicans who cater to the tourists. And I say, do what you gotta' do, Amigo.
Gated communities. Rich, dread-locked hippies who take over the town with their galleries and boutiques, gradually edging out the locals until the towns look like theme-park versions of Mexican towns -- a little too precious and colorful. Like mini-Boulders. And they can smoke their dope with impugnity -- never making the connection between their benign drug use and the violent drug wars going on just outside the gates. I don't know what the answer is. I'm sure it's a love-hate relationship between the American/Candadian people with money and the poor Mexicans. "Fuck the Gringo" is a popular saying amongst the Mexicans who cater to the tourists. And I say, do what you gotta' do, Amigo.
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