Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Mexico, Part III; In search of sea turtles

Note the check marks, and the big red Xs.
I napped on the bus, kinda curled up over two seats.  In the moments I was awake I noted the landscape change, prickly pear cacti and agave gave way to stereotypical Saguaro cacti and palm trees.
The bus ride was along an unsettled stretch of highway - as in, no settlements along the way, and perhaps an unsettled feeling as this area borders a "Red Zone" of traveller's advisory where drug cartels seemed to have fortified themselves.  My couchsurfer guide circled that area on the map and scribbled it out in red; although there is heightened military presence and federal+community police performing frequent road checks, there's still "bad people" that could target even a scruffy bum for profit or amusement.  I'd like to take this opportunity to note that I don't believe in bad people, just bad behaviors.
But then again, perhaps I'm just very lucky.
The bus dropped me off in a tiny bus depot in Lazaro Cardenas.  The woman at the ticket sales counter said the next bus to follow the coast-hugging road wouldn't leave the depot till late that night, giving me a full day in a hot city that I had no intention of lingering in.  This is the a manufacturing town and largest western port in Mexico, so I suppose it's similar to Vancouver with its own history and charms, but it's not what I'm there to see.  I'd already wasted enough time wandering in circles around Morelia so I spurred myself along the main road leaving town.  While walking would be slower, I'd at least have some satisfaction in making progress pointed in the right direction, and I might luck into a ride - hopefully not with a "bad person" - leaving the city and driving nonstop all the way to Faro de Bucerias where I was headed to.
There was no breeze despite being on the coast.  Hot and dry, long straight stretch of highway, and the traffic was at a crawl.  I was passed by an unusual abundance of taxis so no regular traffic would pick me up for a lift.  Eventually a taxi called out to me and I hopped in, he waved the fare.  His English was minimal, but he explained that this was a funeral procession for a taxi driver and that these were all friends and coworkers heading to the cemetery, he'd give me a lift as far as he was going along that road.  A slow drive, but a welcome reprieve from the hot dusty highway I could sit and not walk.  Where he dropped me off I wasn't waiting long and got a lift from two other nice fellas who made it their mission to speedily intercept the bus heading to Faro de Bucerias, which we did.  I paid my fare, somewhere under $300 Mxn..? and settled in for the ride.  This road had no landmarks and I had no idea how far along Faro de Bucerias would be, but the driver assured me he'd let me know when we'd reached my stop.  I asked at several stops some semblance of "Are we there yet?" and tried not to annoy the driver.  I am still mistrustful of the "Si, si", especially if I'm left in the middle of nowhere on the border of The Red Zone.
Afternoon turned into dusk and then night.  I didn't want to be travelling this area at night.
Then I fell asleep.

Faro de Bucerias
I awoke to two young fellas standing above my seat, most passengers had left, and the driver peering back at me.  I shook off the creepy vibe.  The driver indicated that this was my stop and these fellas would take me to town.  [nervous laugh] okaaaay...
The bus left us in the dark, no streetlights or much ambient light in the night sky to distinguish ground from sky, just a faint glow of light above the jungle between highway and beach.  A pickup truck came down the road and we three got a lift in the back - in this time and place seatbelts are an unnecessary luxury.  So are rear-view mirrors, but rest assured if a vehicle has a rear-view mirror it'll have a rosary hanging from it.
The truck let us off at the main square/pavillion, where lo and behold there was a sort of carnival going on.  It was a surreal welcome, all loud and bright after hours of dark highway, and I somehow thought of Disney's Pinocchio - we'll have some fun and be turned into donkeys here, never to be found again! I had no compulsion for toys or games in booths, or the rides or bouncy castle for kids, so I had a pop with the two that brought me and they guided me to the small beachside... lodging accommodations, I suppose.  Rental cabins on the beach really.  It was dark and late, and the receptionist/owner was nowhere to be found.  The guides checked the carnival grounds - at least they know who they're looking for - and I sat awhile on the steps and spoke with an older man there, another guest who was staying with his son.  One of my guides returned and couldn't produce anyone that I could pay for a room, and with the night half over anyway the older man then offered I could stay in their cabin for the night.  The young guide returned back to the carnival, which was the reason he'd come from a neighbouring town that night.  
With my strange luck I am frequently blessed to find "dads" and "brothers" along my travels.  They mean no harm, and these two larger men shared a bed and let me have the other to myself, though I was tired enough to simply take a chair or the floor even.  I communicated with the son via a translating program on his tablet.
Bed felt so very very good.  I fell asleep to the surf pounding the shore just a few feet away.
Main intersection, quiet morning after the carnival. Aside from the strip of beach huts, this is pretty much the whole town.
Typical building here.  Ever have an 'exquisite' hot dog?
The next morning the father+son were off for a morning jog and wished me well, I gathered my bags and scouted the town in daylight.  The one Internet place that seemed closed indefinitely, I lingered patiently awhile and eventually I approached some curious onlookers and somehow communicated if there was another place for Internet.  They put me in the back of the truck with the wife+kid and drove me several hundred feet around the corner - not many streets to get lost in here - to a blue house/business with a few computers set up and a woman who looked half confused/irritated to have a customer in the morning.  At least someone back home will know where I am now.  I barely know where I am.  I browsed the local grocery store but I had no cooking facilities anyway.  No restaurants.  No postcards.
I returned to the beach and snacked on the last of the packed food from Ciudad Hidalgo that did not suffer well in this heat without refrigeration.  Despite having been wrapped in both foil and plastic bags the lamb tacos from the birthday picnic had tiny red ants on them.  The ants left the vegetarian quesadillas alone, so that was my brunch.  I gave the lamb tacos to a friendly dog on the beach who was appreciative regardless of ants.
I compared prices with two businesses of beach huts and settled on one for the night.  I even got a cheaper deal for having three beds and only needing one.  Now that my accommodations are settled I can plop my bags down and walk the beach unencumbered.  Both turtle egg laying and hatching happen at night but I was far too tired to have searched the sands the night before.  This afternoon will rest easy and be up late looking for turtles.  The beach hut businesses had thatched awnings and hammocks for customers.  And I got a cheap Corona that was... absolutely perfect.  This must be what people back home though of when I mentioned a trip to Mexico!
View to the left.
View to the right.



       
Eventually I freed myself from this terrible relaxation and walked the beach, right then left.  The sand was coarse and unbearably hot, so I left my boots and padded around sock-footed, hence my footprints have no distinct toes.
This structure is for sale! Wanna live on a rock?
I resisted the temptation to bring _every_ pretty shell home.


The beach hut businesses are mixed with private residences, so their grilled/barbecued fish dinner smelled delicious, but I couldn't assume to have or purchase any.  I didn't plan on being near to coast, but now that I am, I will have seafood!
I managed to communicate that I was here to see the turtles.  The beach hut owners shook their heads and said "Tortugas salidas." Uh oh.  I've seen that word "salida" on exit signs at airports and bus stations.  The turtles have exited.  They repeated Colola several times, while waving vaguely indicating south the way I'd come.
Very well, onto Colola in the morning.
That night I walked the beach with a wee flashlight looking for turtles anyway.  I instead found a black dog that was eager to walk in front of me and proceed to sit on my foot (doggy sign of acceptance) so I'll stop moving and pay attention, lavish with his affection and begging for mine.  I find friends in the far reaches of tiny towns.

Colola
I walked away from town and to the gas station/bus stop at the main highway.  Three schoolgirls were in uniform waiting as well.  They stood apart from me now, likely curious or horrified at my appearance; it's too hot and flat beach terrain to warrant wearing heavy hiking boots and socks, but I'd rather be over-prepared than hiking up butterfly mountains in sandals.  Bathing suit bottoms and a wrap skirt, tank top, Tilley hat (yay Canada!), and ratty bags stuffed full with Bunny dangling off my purse.  I do not look like a schoolgirl.
So I was ready to wait for a bus, until the attendants at the gas station mentioned Colola was only 20 minutes drive away.  A truck pulled beside us and the schoolgirls chattered with the driver and passenger, I heard Colola and piped up, then got the nod to join the back.  The girls sat primly near the front, between us along the floor were scattered flats of 2L bottles of Coke.  I just heaped myself in the back ungracefully and draped myself over my bags to make sure nothing flew out if we hit a bump at top speeds.  Keep smiling, hang on!
The truck almost whizzed past Colola until we brought it to their attention.  I can see how it could be overlooked.  There appears to be... nothing here.  As in, less than Faro de Bucerias, and I hadn't thought that was possible.  There are houses here, some operate small stores out one end but just dry/canned goods, maybe diapers and basic pharmacy/first aid products, occasionally a vending machine with cold pop.  No postcards, no Internet, no touristy trickets.  I suppose the locals have everything they need to survive, or it's assumed all have vehicles and can drive to a neighbouring town for additional purchases and services. Around the middle of town was a beach hut place, I considered staying there and got a tour around their plush rooms.  Price seemed right... but then I heard from some locals on their porch about the official "turtle camp" further along, so I pressed further along and found the bare-bones camp.
I got my choice of bunks in the bunkhouse.
My roommates.
What can I say? The town is barely on the map, let alone the turtle camp.  I'm not sure if all or some are paid or volunteer.  I can't find a website for them, despite many informative billboards and signage intending to educate the public about turtles.  There was barely anyone there when I arrived, a young couple which spoke little English who seemed to oversee the place and seemingly no other visitors.  They wrote on my paper the prices with some words I didn't understand and they couldn't explain further.  Both were cheap enough I could afford, so fair enough, let's give it a try.  I put my bags down and wandered around for a bit along the beach that looked like a crater-pocked sand trap for golfers, and returned to nap so I'd be well-rested for nocturnal activities.  The walls of the bunkhouse were slats of wood with gaps for light and ventilation that let in the wildlife; four fat toads were quietly keeping cool in the corner.
Around dusk I walked the beach again, eager to find turtles.  I was to back at camp by 8pm for whatever presentation or orientation (most of which I wouldn't have understood anyway).
Then I found my first turtle.  A big momma turtle coming ashore to lay her eggs.  All speckled, ain't she a beauty? I needed to figure out the flash on my camera while trying to be as unobtrusive as possible so I don't piss her off.  If she's uncomfortable she'll turn around with great effort and head out to sea, try again tomorrow night.  My first dealings with a live sea turtle, I tried to get as close to her as I could, knowing that you'd not try that with our native wildlife with tooth and claw back in Canada.  I'll stay away from the business end of her beak.
Back to the camp, I joined two men minding the fenced-in compound that held man-made nests.  Equally spaced and measured, marked with stakes with notes on date of burial, species of turtle, number of eggs etc.  Wire mesh cylinders keep birds from disturbing nests and plucking up new hatchlings.  The fence keeps wild dogs and related predators out.  And the night watchman keeps poachers from taking turtle eggs to sell as folk-remedy aphrodisiacs - supposedly they help men maintain an erection.  The watchmen poked around these December nests and expect some activity tonight.  With a little digging to help the young'uns, we soon had baby turtles! In the time it took me to handle the first three and get a photo, more had risen to the surface and were scrambling against their mesh cylinder like a furious hornet's nest, called to the punishing pound of the waves on the shore and the light of the moon (or our pseudo-moon LED lantern).
     
Their unbridled energy and instincts to keep moving were unfazed by any mesh barrier or by being handled by a big scary human.  They didn't bite, just flap their tiny flippers that smack against my fingers as soft as floppy egg noodles.  It was amazing to believe that someday they'll harden into horn-edged broad oars.  It was humbling to think that they will most likely outlive me, if they're safe, healthy, and lucky.
I personally escorted two of these to the sea, gently from my hands just to be inevitably tumbled by the waves.  Good luck little ones.
Next was on a tour to see the mothers digging nests and laying eggs.  People appeared from wherever they'd been during the day, we went down the beach together and found mamas making their way up on the sand, stopping where they saw fit, and laying their eggs.  They're in a sort of trance as they lay eggs, oblivious to us around them and we could even touch them.  They occasionally had a serene sigh as they were breathing, but were otherwise silent, and it was a very peaceful atmosphere.   I could've sat there with them all night.
When the turtles began covering their nests over with sand our hands were in there immediately scooping up the new turtle eggs, counting and recording.  They look like soft ping-pong balls with a small dimple.  We brought them back to the fenced-in compound and a man dug a hole with a post hole digger to the right depth, where we carefully placed the eggs.  Mesh cylinder in place, wooden stake numbered and dated.
I note here that we can't save them all.  Some must fare their luck without our assistance, eggs and hatchlings will be eaten as part of some other animals' natural diet.  Already the birds were circling.  It's easy to want them to just switch to fish or something less cute, but nature is not sentimental.  I saw over a dozen turtles laying on that beach just that night, but we only relocated four nests.
While we were just gone for perhaps an hour, two more nests had hatched and a tour bus full of people arrived. These were perhaps the people staying in the nice beach hut place I'd considered earlier, while enviously eyeing their swimming pool.  They got to release a baby turtle and watch the mothers lay, so I followed them for another turn - there were over 100 hatchlings, plenty to go around.
The people came and went, I didn't speak to them.  They had their turtle experience and would go back to bed, whereas I intended to not miss a moment of any of this.  This is what I'd come to see! When they left it was just the night watchman and I, patiently waiting to see if more nests hatched.  His English was fine, we chat about turtles and Mexico and his work here and my travels so far.  His buddy brought us coffee.  I was aware the camp had a stove, but only being here one night wouldn't have much point in getting groceries.  I'm not much of a night owl, and perhaps I was exhausted from the heat or travel, but I stayed awake as long as I could before surrendering to my lone bunk for a brief rest, then returned to keep him company.  In the time I'd been gone another nest had indeed hatched, and I got to release the whole batch of 71 to the sea.  Aside from the lack of development there is (or should be) regulations in effect to cut out the light pollution on the beach so the turtles can be guided by moonlight and not confused.  There was a crisp bright half moon and more stars than I'd seen in a long time.  The moonlight illuminated the Tortuga Negra as slow-moving black lumps but lost the distinction in the terrain, and I stumbled into every old turtle nest depression like foxholes while the watchman laughed and moved nimbly avoiding them.  He must be used to it.
There was also a phosphorescence in the sand where the broken waves kept it wet.  I noticed my footprints radiating out a few feet ahead of me, glowing, and even more emphatically when I sharply kicked my toe into the sand.  I'd never seen this on land before, what a treat!
The next morning - view to the left...
...and to the right.
I went to bed after that and must've really fell asleep, as when I awoke it was daylight.  And nary a soul around.  The camp, beach, and even the fenced-in lot were vacant, no sign of where they'd gone or when they'd be coming back.  Another surreal night, almost as if I had simply imagined it all.  I could've simply walked away with no one there to pay, but for such a great time and worthy cause I gladly left my money on the picnic table under a rock, along with a note of sincere thanks.  I'd stay for longer - a whole season even, if I could figure out how their volunteering works - but was told that I'm somewhat close to Zihuatenejo, the Mexican town mentioned in "The Shawshank Redemption", one of my favorite movies. 
I have a few days left, I'm sure I can get there...