no hablo espanol

We just spent a week on the Pacific coast of Mexico in a town called Zihuatanejo -- or Zihua as the locals and regulars call it. The town is hunched around a small bay surrounded on three sides by desert mountains. Houses and hotels climb the hills, looking out on the Pacific Ocean. The town is not pristine and pretty like it's resort neighbor, Ixtapa. It's real and cramped and loud and colorful.

We stayed all the way up the far hill at a place called Amuleto. From our terrace, we watched boats come and go all day long. We watched how the light changed on the ocean throughout the day. We ate breakfast at a little table on the terrace (tropical fruits, carrot muffins, lime pancakes and huervos rancheros). We huddled under the umbrella when the Mexican sun was at it's strongest. We curled up in a hammock with a book in the late afternoon. We ordered margaritas from room service much too early in the day. And at night, we sat quietly on our terrace after dinner to look out across the city lights, bright and persistent in the otherwise dark.

We rented a tiny little car, and Ben bravely took the Mexican streets, where we quickly discovered that lanes are a figment of the imagination. We walked through town to better understand our street map. We discovered Cafe Zihuatanejo in a leafy courtyard and, in broken Spanish, ordered coffee with leche.

One day, we secured a boat ride with a guide named Fernando. He took us out to sea in his modest little fishing boat. Fernando grew up on the water, born and raised in Zihuatanejo. We docked near Manzanillo Beach, so named for the scrubby Manzanillo trees along the coastline. We climbed over the side of the boat and swam through the ocean to a stretch of coral, Fernando leading the way. There, we spent hours snorkeling quietly. We glided along the ocean surface, letting the tide lead us back and forth across the coral. We had the reef all to ourselves.

On the way back to town, Ben reeled in a yellowtail - a sleek, sinuous silver-gray fish. Although the four boating hours we paid for were long gone, Fernando steered the boat to dock at a local beach that can only be reached by water or strenuous hike. He hopped off the boat with the giant fish curled up in one hand, barefoot and still in his swimsuit. We followed him to a restaurant on the beach, where they grilled the fish for our dinner. We sat on the beach drinking cervezas, with locals all around us speaking rapid fire espanol. And we got to know Fernando, who we found to have both a tender spirit and a wicked sense of humor.

We spent two whole days on the beach under a palapa, reading and resting and watching local kids play an impromptu game of soccer on the sand.

We forgot about work. And obligations. And the things that seems so important when we are up close to them at home...did not seem so important on the beach in Mexico. We felt very far away from home. In the best way possible.