Along the Pacific coast of Mexico, far from the so-called “Mexican Riviera’s Gold Coast”, quite removed from the glitz and glamour of the splashy resorts of Acapulco, Mazatlan and Puerto Vallarta lies “La Costa Alegre” or the “Happy Coast”. Clustered within this area along the border of Colima and Jalisco states, small towns and villages awaken to a new Mexican tourist industry reality. These hamlets, once nearly forgotten, are fast becoming the tourist destinations of tomorrow.

Amidst these, sits La Manzanilla, a small fishing village hard by the southern end of Bahia Tenacatita on the west coast of central Mexico. Its main claim to fame is as a commercial fishing cooperative, which serves the local fishing community. There are a few bungalows for rent along its pristine beach but these hardly stand for much in relation to the local economy. A German expatriate named Helga occupies a large home, within a compound that comprises three of these bungalows.

Helga rents these cottages under the name Casa Maguey, as well as an apartment in the main house, at extremely reasonable rates. The prime rental, to my mind, is La Mer, a three room cottage that sits near the edge of a cliff, facing north, overlooking the broad expanse of the bay and the adjacent town. As mentioned, the town is really a fishing village and the colorful fishing boats line the beach awaiting the next day’s foray into the blue-green waters of the Pacific.

In the afternoons, one can see these boats as they return from the day’s venture, trailing their nets and only just tolerating the attendant flock of sea birds itching for some small spillage from their overflowing catch as they return to the beach and their small shanty homes. Later in the afternoon, one can find these men at the cooperative where they sell their catch of silver-red “huachinango” (red snapper) and other species in bulk. They also will sell these tasty fish singly to any lucky customers who happen by.

The town itself is hardly equipped as a tourist town unlike the nearby villages of Barra de Navidad and Melaque just over the hill. For those willing to ride the local transport bus, these “turista” communities are easily accessible. If one does not mind sharing the ride with a passel of poultry, it is an affordable (read cheap) means of transportation that runs on a surprisingly reliable schedule. Clambering over hill and dale, with any manner of livestock sharing the compartment with various and sundry locals, proves to be quite an adventure, for those possessing the requisite temerity.

The town offers little in the way of amenities. There are few restaurants or clubs that cater exclusively to the tourist trade. I usually travel to this area in early October, before the traditional Thanksgiving start of the tourist season but towards the end of the rainy season. This usually allows me freedom from the frighteningly misbehaved North American tourists while concomitantly avoiding the deluges associated with the rain.

The beach, while sometimes laden with rocks (the product of storms upon the sometimes tumultuous seas), is usually a carpet of blazing white sand, framing the softly rolling surf upon a turquoise sea. Because of the fishing industry, the rocks rarely endure more than a week as the industrious fellows at the coop clear the beach religiously the better to serve the incoming flotilla.

Just after sunrise and again before sunset, pelicans form long lines along the break line of the incoming waves, gliding in perfect synchronicity inches above the roiling surf, managing somehow to avoid the rise and fall of the impossibly close waves. Standing on the veranda of La Mer, watching the sun sink into the Pacific, while the ballet moves of a string of pelicans entertain with one of the simple, miraculously choreographed movements seemingly so ubiquitous in nature, epitomizes the simple beauty this area of Mexico offers to the intrepid traveler.

© Stephen Alexander 2008