Acapulco by Benjamin Ergas
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Camino Real Acapulco Diamante
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Far away from the commercial clatter, package tours, fast food franchises, theme bars and mariachi bands that one finds behind the 50 skyscrapers rimming the 7-mile Bay of Acapulco, lays the old, original Acapulco, cherished in the 50s and 60s by the glamorous LA crowd, and still very much in vogue with the discerning Mexican families. The Peninsula de Las Playas is no longer the paradise that it once was several decades ago but its pace of life remains far more soothing, its views of the Pacific Ocean far less cluttered.
The successive owners of our house exemplify the sort of crowd that Las Playas attracted. Built in 1946, Villa Roqueta was first inhabited by a famed Mexican Torero, then by an upper-class Mexican family, and finally for 8 years by “I will survive” 70’s disco singer Gloria Gaynor. It was then bought by our hosts in the mid-1990s. With nine bedrooms on five floors, five terraces and a large pool area, all decorated in a neo-colonial style with wrought iron furniture, it is one of the largest and most refined in the area, it seems. From dawn to dusk, its views of the Pacific Ocean and of Isla La Roqueta are majestic. One can also see from the main terrace the town’s Bull Ring, Main Square and two local beaches, as well as a handful of houses, including the one right behind where JFK and Jackie spent their honeymoon and those two in front, of musician Juan Gabriel (whom I recently heard at a concert in Chicago) and muralist Diego Rivera.
Fortunately, there is nothing pretentious about this neighborhood; this is not Las Brisas, that brash and flamboyant residential gated community for the world jet-set on the other side of the bay. Simplicity is valued here. Structures are deliberately discreet so as not to take away from the majestic view of the horizon. With its calm water, this has become a place for Mexican families with children. Restaurants here are simple and far cheaper than anywhere else in the Bay, but their sea-front locations, with the evening breeze oozing through the compounds, are unbeatable; three of note are La Cabaña, a seafood restaurant shaded by giant trees behind Playa Calita, Boca Chiqua, a romantic hide-away beyond Playa Caletilla just opposite Isla La Roqueta, and Los Flamingos, a 1930s one-story red-stucco hotel stretched along the cliff, 450 feet high, and which became famous as a hang-out place for John Wayne, Johnn Wesimuller and Cary Grant and their Hollywood friends in the 1950s.
Thursday is pozole day. Although strangely not often served in restaurants catering to tourists, pozole is considered by Mexicans as their national dish. And since it originated in this state of Guerrero, here more than anywhere in Mexico people honor faithfully the ritual of eating pozole on Thursday afternoon at one of the pozole restaurants. We are told that Los Flamingos has one of the more festive pozole lunches in the area, so we jump into one of those tiny green-and-white, 25-year old Volkswagens, inevitably adorned with religious artifacts by the driver’s seat, and make our way to the hotel, whose parking lot is a lot fuller than the previous evening. Families have assembled to spend the afternoon together, eat some fine stew and sing along…
Our waiter Pablo recognizes us and greet us warmly, with local beer. Pozole is a rich, rather earthy stew made of chicken or pork (pollo ó cerdo), and prepared in three ways: red, white or green (rojo, blanco ó verde), from spicy to mild. It comes in a deep bowl and is served with an assortment of garnishes including fried tortillas (tostadas), white corn, chopped onions, cabbage, sliced radishes and avocado. Like most traditional food here, I find it heavy but tasty. At the center of the festivities are two guitarists and one cellist, el Trio, cheerful middle-aged musicians with flower shirts and white pants, singing romantic ballads from the 1920s (e.g. Jose-Luis Jimenez, Alfredo Vargas), honoring from time to time guests’ requests written on napkins and passed on by the waiters. The party lasts several hours, with the fading sunbeams calling it an end by early evening. The musicians pack away their instruments, and guests go home, some booking on their way out a table for the following week. I am for my part thrilled to have experienced a very local ritual, to have caught a glimpse of the Mexican soul.
No trip to Acapulco would be complete without a sight of the famed cliff divers. As it is best to see them from as low a point as possible, we hire a private boat called The Stardreamer, skipped by Jose and Jose-Luis, two friendly and noble chaps, who would wake up daily at 6am for four or five hours of fishing - not for themselves but for local charities. It takes us 30 minutes from the harbor to reach La Quebrada, several miles north of Las Playas, passing on the way our villa, nestled on the slopes of the Las Playas Peninsula, as well a small rock shrine, where a fisherman had an apparition of the Virgin of Guadalupe.
We are not the first boat at La Quebrada but manage a front row seat nevertheless in the narrow gorge. 125 feet above us, divers are warming up. Dozens of people have lined up along the road above and nearby cliffs. There is both tension and excitement in the air. They, probably just like me, are both thrilled to witness such amazing feat, yet are on the edge given the risks involved. Jose-Luis tells us this tradition has gone on for over 70 years, with 55 divers honing their skills at a nearby diving school before being let down this treacherous cliff. Five divers jump early afternoon; another 20 in the evening, under the lights. These daring men not only have to deal with the height of the precipice, but also the current, having to time their jumps perfectly with incoming waves so that there will be enough water in the gorge… After praying at a small rock shrine for safety, the first three divers leap gracefully over the edge, one at a time, into the narrow chasm below; the fourth jump involve three simultaneous divers; the last, probably more experienced diver jump from a base 150 feet high. Since they do this for a living, we give generously to them when they swim to our boat for a tip.
I wonder what the name “ Acapulco” means, how it originated, but it seems that there is a distinct explanation for every resident. A taxi driver thought it had to do with the skin color of the indigenous population; a beach vendor was adamant it was the Aztec name of a mountain goddess; our waiter Paolo at Los Flemingos thought it meant “plentiful” and had to do with the bay being full of fishes; our host said “Acapulco” meant “where the reeves were broken”. I would have thought it would have been straightened out by now.
For me, the name “Acapulco” initially conjured up what’s worst about the impact of mass tourism on pristine coastline, and I think the new Acapulco still does. But even in the area, hidden gems abound off the beaten track. I managed to escape the worst and access the best here. So come over, and enjoy Las Playas, the cliff divers and pozole Thursdays.