In the original Nuatal language of the area, "Zihua" meant "woman" and "tenejo" meant "place." Hence "Place of Women," who, like the Amazons, ruled in this area to the extent that when the Spaniards came in the 1730's men had been sacrificed more than women and women outnumbered men by four to one. When Mexico decided in the 1970's to make Ixtapa, a few miiles farther doen the coast, into a major resort (like it created in Cancun) Zihua, as the town is familiarly known, was a sleepy fishing village of about 7000 people. Now Zihua and Ixtapa togethr have a combined population of about 110,000. While Bill and Ted went snorkeling, I took a land tour known as "the terra cotta countryside." I had visions of great, colorful vistas of land and sea, perfect for my photography, but the countryside was disappointingly brown and grey, as though it hadn't been dusted since the end of the rainy season last October. I did learn quite a bit about coconut palms at a coconut palm plantation where we had a vivid demonstration - and some edible samples - of all the things coconuts are used for. New coconut trees sprout from coconuts - no surprise - have to be watered for the first five years and then, once established, their roots deep down into the earth, can live to be 110 years old. During harvest, about every three months, a crew of 20 - 30 men can harvest as many as 7000 coconuts a day. Aren't you glad you know that? On the same farm, owned by a doctor friend of our guide, we saw growing pistachios, cashews, papayas, red peppers, all in their so-called "natural" (read planted for tourists) environment. I did get some nice photographs of those.
Then on to an indian tile-making enterprise, four men, working outdoors, scraping wet clay into forms to make those half cylindrical roof tiles so endemic to hot climates. The head man, who can make 400 tiles a day, allowed us to try making one; it was much harder than it looks. If you're not precise, the cylinder loses its oomph and flattens into a pancake.
Next came a seaside cafe, in a small fishing village on the coast where the resident parrot, Lorenzo, resolutely refused to say hello. He was busy picking at the feathers in his green chest. There was a vast pavilion on the beach with a lot of kids, scrambling around in the dirty sand and their parents trying to control them. There were many picnic tables with benches and everyone was having a grand time. The ceiling of the pavilion was covered with very colorful paper streamers, crinkle cut like fancy french fries. These all blew madly in the breeze and I got some great photographs of this riotous confusion of color.
We, the elderly and infirmed set, limped back to the harbor and caught the last tender back to the ship, which sailed immediately for Acapulco.
The weather is markedly hotter - the temperature is 84 degrees and the humidity 77 percent. My ankle remains swollen even though I'm taking medication to reduce the edema. Ted and Bill are delightful traveling companions: caring, funny, easy.
Acapulco at night, from the ship now anchored in the Bay, is very romantic, thousands of lights, like fireflies, scattered over the hills, beckoning. Still, we've been warned not to go ashore, especially at night, unless we're in a large group. So we ate aboard and turned in early for an 8 AM departure tomorrow for the famous cliff divers.
Stay tuned.
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