Oceanic Liberation

I.

There are some days where something just ain't right. This turned out to be one, for whatever reason. Started out good, great even, but come the hottest part of the day I found myself struggling down a sandy road in San Blas, biting gnats swarming around my profusely sweating face, yelling at dogs for yelling at me, sick of being on my bike... Just pissed, and not knowing why or what to do about it. On top of all that, feeling really alone and not wanting to be. I knew these days would come on this trip, but foresight didn't make it any easier. I finally made it to the beach and chose one of the numerous and nearly identical palapa restaurants, to have a beer and sort myself out. Nursed an ice-cold Pacifico (maybe the single best earthly beverage on a day like this) and watched the waves come in, realizing it was the first time I had seen the ocean in a while, too long.
"Another?" the waiter asked.
"Maybe later," I replied, "I gotta swim."
I quickly and nimbly speed-walked across the hot sand and into the water - blue-clear and salty and just the right coolness. Plunged my head beneath the surface of the Pacific, and whatever it was that wasn't right disappeared. To paraphrase my Uncle John, avid surfer and wise man of the ocean(s), "Sometimes that's all it takes."


II.

8:30 am at a small cafe in Playa Chacala, Nayarit. I was here three or four years ago and it was much different. The influence of tourism is clear: The "RV Park", really just a large beach side grove of palms with a few pit toilets, is now fenced off and inaccessible. I asked the security guards what was up. "Future hotel," they said. Go figure - what was once a locals' weekend camping/fiesta beach is soon to be another resort destination. Progress? Some might say so. A cryin' shame? Others would agree. Regardless, it's still incredibly gorgeous, and it's still possible to have an epic, free night here (for how long?). A small, secluded, azure bay with a beach no more than 200 yards long - tranquil and quiet, save for tourists getting drunk at the palapa restaurants, but a short walk to the south side will get one away from all that. Which is where I went - pushed my bike through the sand to a group of slightly more primitive palapas, approached the small shanty home behind them, and asked the señora, "How much to stay here?" "Nothing!" was her answer. "Sold!" I said.
After dinner I set up camp and went to sleep early. So early in fact, that I awoke at 5 am, still completely dark, the stars penetrating the night sky in the millions. With relief, I noticed that high tide had come up to within 6 inches of my tent. Oops! Tourist mistake. You'd think I'd be aware of these things, growing up so near the ocean. No matter, I thought an early-morning swim would be perfect - a pre-coffee stimulant - so I got naked (not even the fishermen awake yet for me to exercise modesty) and ran in. After getting past the small breakers, I noticed that beneath the surface my body was enveloped in sparkling green. Phytoplankton! Also know as "red tide" (why? maybe they're red in the sunlight?), these tiny little creatures are bio luminescent - glowing fluorescent green when agitated. It looks like a thousand submarine fireflies twinkling around the skin, leaving psychedelic tracers as an arm or leg sweeps through. Magical and beautiful. It had been maybe ten years since I'd last seen it so powerful, in San Diego, and now I was in it. Stars above, stars below, floating weightless in the cool waters of the Mexican Pacific Ocean.