Having made our sketchy drug purchase upon immediate arrival to Acapulco, the boys and I were quickly off to our next adventure destination. My memory gets a bit faulty, but as I remember we followed the highway out of town and made inquiries along the way as to the illusive Roberto. Finally when a group of vendors all pointed in the same direction when we asked, “dónde vive Roberto?” we turned off the highway onto a sandy trail toward the ocean.
The narrow beach road proved to be a nightmare. We managed to damage the underside of the van crossing a dip or possibly a dry creek bed. The van limped along, but it was clear that we weren’t going anywhere for awhile, certainly not back to Cholula to start classes. Oh shit.
We pulled/pushed into a clearing with the pacific not fifty meters (160 feet) away. The family who lived here looked at us as if we had dropped in from another planet. It took us days to figure out that the two room, dirt floor house and assorted shelters we had found were actually a fishing base camp. And btw, Roberto who lived further down the ‘road’ was out of town.
The language barrier was monumental, far beyond my one year of high school Spanish. The other worldly environment that we stumbled into took us days to make sense of. Our brains exploded with each piece of the puzzle we assembled. The bottom line was that a young couple with their three children and grandma lived in a two room mud and stick house with pounded dirt floor. The woman cooked meals for a group of men who slept on the ground during the heat of the day and fished by night. I watched intently the daily routine which did not include electricity or running water.
We added interest to their lives, and they in turn went out of their way to entertain us. I have to break the story down because there were so many layers which included:
*Eating turtle eggs (it took me years to figure out what we had eaten). *Horseback riding *turning ears of corn into tortillas *cheese making *drying coconuts, going for a bath, and cold rum and coke.
I could not swim as the undertow was so strong and the pot was not very good so there was no getting stoned and yet somehow the days flew by. We slept on woven-mat cots which I now suspect belonged to the family. They gave us their beds! To be continued…
DOS TORTAS
the adventures of dos tortas 
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