In the interest of keeping my finger poised above the pulse of our readers, I recently forayed into that place to which so many of you return each spring: the USA. What possesses you, I wondered, to spurn the idyll of tropical Mexico in favour of spending half your year in, well ... civilization? After only two weeks up there, I still can’t figure it out.
Like a winner of the consolation prize on a television game show, I received an offer of an all-expenses-paid trip to California. All I had to do is chauffeur a narcoleptic old friend from Los Angeles to San Francisco and Sonoma County to visit his family and friends.
Compared to my previous Stateside turnaround with the motor home in February, this would be a leisurely vacation. Besides, it was time for another road trip. Let’s see how the other half (probably closer to 80 percent) lives when they’re not here.
Spending (too little) time with some of my loved ones and being back in my old ‘hood was great. And, I admit, the accoutrements of civilization fascinated me. For about four days.
Oh the wonder of wide, paved streets, with left-turn lanes actually on the left side of traffic. And those streets lined with stores of every description selling everything imaginable, and restaurants purveying cuisines from all over the world. Palatial supermarkets with perfectly manicured and merchandised aisles brimming with epicurean delights, complemented by an unrivalled array of affordable California wines. Everyone may not know your name, but everyone speaks your language. One could easily re-acclimate to this.
What’s wrong with this picture? What’s not to like about all those bright, shiny people in bright, shiny cars filling all those stores and restaurants and shopping mall parking lots? Well, for one thing, there are so many of them. And they don’t smile, or make eye or voice contact, at least not in Southern California. Everyone seems so insulated.
People became much more sociable and open the farther north we were of California’s Central Valley. Long stretches of this once-verdant agricultural cornucopia are now a dust bowl bordering mile after mile of bad road on Interstate 5. Perhaps if I’d ventured farther up the coast, I would have found a veritable love-in of friendly people. As far north as Santa Rosa, however, one still simply did not start a conversation with a total stranger.
Traffic chanted its hydrocarbon Om 24/7 in the cities, punctuated all too frequently by honking horns and emergency sirens. Californians never seemed to stop moving. Except on freeways during rush hour. Four to six lanes of traffic idling in its own miasma of smog is a sorry way to live.
It was nice to drink water directly from the tap, go barefoot without fear of scorpions, and not have to fiddle with those annoying plastic regulator tops on liquor bottles. The novelty quickly wore off, however, and I was ready to go home.
La Manzanilla may not have vast dining and shopping options, but we manage to stay well fed and contented. We move slower, if we move at all, and take siestas. Our days are filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and occasional announcements from the La Manzanilla Information System. Nights are a symphony of crickets, tree frogs, and surf. Friendships are easily forged, and most people here have never met a stranger. Tell me again why anyone would want to leave here?
In honor of Independence Day, I wish a Happy 4th of July to Americans everywhere, especially part-time La Manzanilla residents who are marking time in what is conventionally knows as civilization. Enjoy your picnics, family get-togethers, and dazzling pyrotechnic displays. In about four months you can start packing up for your return to La Manzanilla – where it’s truly civilized.
Hurricane Andres
La Manzanilla dodged the bullet from Hurricane Andres – and we were the last to know.
When hurricane warnings were posted for this area on June 22, residents quickly set about “battening down the hatches,” securing patio furniture, moving planters, filling sand bags ... the usual hurricane protocol. Then we waited.
Andres’ arrival day started with skies the approximate color of curdled milk and eerily quiet – the “calm before the storm.” Our message board at www.lamanzanilla.info bristled with weather updates. The Category 1 hurricane was on course to collide with La Manzanilla, soon.
When the drizzle and breeze started shortly before 9 a.m., we were ready. We could track the storm on our favourite weather satellites, check the message board for info, keep track of each other via telephone, and communicate with concerned family and friends far from Andres’ path.
Until the power blinked, browned, and finally blacked out. Hey, this wasn’t supposed to happen – yet! It had barely started raining. But there we were, cut off, with no internet, no telephone (even the old-fashioned jack-only phones failed), no lights, and no way to tell where Andres was and when we should expect him.
Typical of power failures La Manzanilla, some areas of town had full or partial power while others had none. But no one had electricity for very long periods at a time. We spent most of the day in the dark and hoping for the best.
In a brief moment of illumination, I was able to get back on line at around 3:30 p.m. By then, it had become obvious either that Andres was stalled somewhere around the port city of Manzanillo, its last known location, or had taken a sharp left out to sea. Posts on the message board that had come in during our blackout hinted at the latter.
Power wasn’t fully restored until after 10 p.m. To the relief of all, La Manzanilla had escaped Hurricane Andres safe and unscathed. Distant family and friends, upon hearing the news that we’d suffered no more than a delightful day of refreshing rain, said they’d feared the worst when no word was forthcoming from here.
We’ve become so reliant on electricity and the instant communication of the Internet that it was disconcerting not to have it during what could have been a crucial time. Many of us remember the time before all this electronic wizardry, and even television, to keep us in touch with the realities of our world. How did we manage to survive the storms back then? Aside from static-riddled weather reports on battery-powered AM radios, we probably did just what La Manzanillans did: take siestas and watch the grass grow.
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