Whales and Butterflies

¨What´s your favorite season?¨ Griffin asked our Mexican friend Eric.

To which, much to my amuzement, Eric responded, ¨I like them both!¨ 

I had momentarily forgotten that there are indeed only two seasons: the rainy and the dry, and this is especially true south of the Tropic of Cancer.  Right now we are in the dry season.  It is cooler, less humid, and, as is implied by it´s name, doesn´t produce any rain.  It´s also the time to plant tomatoes and peppers, which seemed to be going in the ground shortly after Christmas.  Citrus season is still in full swing.  And so are papayas and pineapples (although these might fruit year round, like coconut trees?).  Mangos are mere buds ready to burst.  They fruit in the rainy season.  And, while they are really only categorized as two seasons, it seems that spring is in the air.  February is a month of flowers.  New blossoms seem to be poking out of the otherwise disguised, dry looking jungle.  And increasingly more butterflies seem to be showing up, like the whales in migration.   Especially since we entered Michoacan.

Soon after having crossed the state line between Colima and Michoacan, the mountains moved closer and closer to the coast until they met, creating a dramatic coastline, beautifully rugged and less inhabited.  First stop:  La Ticla, a large but slow wave and very uncrowded, despite the fact that the economy here revolves around surfers. 

The town is an indigenous village with it´s own language (spanish is a second language that everyone speaks) and sits pretty much on the edge of the ocean (and mountains).  A river runs through the town, shallow this time of year, creating a sanctuary for many different species of birds (also probably migratory).  We are camped right on the river, under a lush palapa surrounded by papaya trees, birds of paradise flowers and expansive green leaves.  The surf is a short walk down the shallow river, or down the cobblestone road, although the river is certainly the scenic route.

Cuixtemotl, or something like that, is how you say burro in this village´s language (I have yet to remember the language´s name), and often, as we walk down the river for a morning surf, a herd of donkeys meet us at the riverbank for their morning drink. Lounging in hammocks later in the afternoon we can hear the donkeys he-hawing on the other side of the river.  Roosters crow in the morning, followed by the tortilla man, delivering fresh, hot corn tortillas early in the morning and proudly anouncing his arrival through an intercom.   It is in every way, quintessentially Mexico here.

No pics this time... it hasn´t been as appropriate to pull out the camera yet here, but soon to come!