Zihua.

Seems like, with each day here in this totally laid-back place, our agenda shrinks. Today Sally decided to forego yoga so we could sleep in.
About 10:00, I packed my surf fishing gear and we took a taxi downtown to Zihuatanejo Coffee, one of the only true espresso shops in town. With not a word of English from either the menu nor the staff, and lots of coffee terms I didn’t know, ordering was sort of hit and miss, but we each ended up with something resembling the coffees we enjoy so much at home. We also shared a simple scrambled eggs and toast breakfast. Then, about noon, we walked down to La Playa Principal where I was going to try fishing again.
Yesterday, we’d watched the faintly dark spot on the water of the bay—like a cloud shadow—as the resident school of bait fish moved among the moored sailboats, trying to evade the dive-bombing pelicans and, I assumed, the hungry jack crevalles feeding on them from below. At times, the feeding frenzy had come close enough to shore that I knew I could reach its edges with a flashy lure.
We staked out a pleasant table at Tata’s with our favorite waiter, Jesus Christo. While Sally chatted (mostly listened to) an engaging Canadian woman from Vancouver who was sitting at the next table, I continued to practice my casting. But the action managed mostly to stay maddeningly just beyond my range. Nonetheless, I didn’t get completely skunked thanks to the two-inch jellyfish, the three-inch crab and the 12-inch plastic bag I hooked.
I also enjoyed chatting with a group of elementary-school-aged boys on their way home for lunch who took an interest in my equipment and stopped to offer their advice.
The sinister note continued to sound in the background of our otherwise ideal vacation as we learned, through ZihuaRob’s message board, that there’d been yet another policeman assassinated in town yesterday (the fifth this week). One poster (unsubstantiated by any more credible source) claimed to know that the Mexican drug lords had decided to make Zihua. an example of their power and control. Taking all this with a grain of salt, Sally and I still decided to keep our adventures confined to the tourist areas of town where we’d be the least likely to stand out from the crowd.
Meanwhile, our new friend, Liz, had been shopping at the open-air produce market where she witnessed, literally at arm’s length, what she is quite sure was the kidnapping of a young mother, leaving her mother and small daughter both sobbing and all the shopkeepers looking on with resigned concern.
We’d planned to go to a movie Si, Señor (Yes Man), with Jim Carrey at the quirky three-screen theatre, but, when we got back to San Sebastian to clean up, Liz invited us to her villa for a dinner she was making from the fresh ingredients she’d bought at the market earlier. Liz had also invited Mario, our caretaker/host. We brought down our iPod music system, and some of our china and silver, and had a wonderful time over drinks, appetizers, a delicious pasta and zucchini dish and chocolate-drizzled “crepes” (flour tortillas).