Leaving Pasquales

We really couldn’t get enough of the waves at Pasquales. Our setup was more than ideal: cheap rent, pumping surf, great local seafood and good company. It’s funny though, as a tourist it’s easy to become easily enthralled with a place; only seeing the idyllic setting and alluring aspects while being completely ignorant of what may really be going on, the dark side so to speak.

            A certain local (who will remain nameless) at first meeting seemed to be completely accepting and helpful, ready to cater to your every need. This individual in particular, with a highly developed degree of charisma, frequented the surf camp nearly every waking moment schmoozing with all the tourists. At first he seemed totally amicable, and with his impeccable English we all thought highly of him. Within a few days the schmoozing quickly transformed into mooching and our communal acceptance of him began to dwindle.

            On Friday night we were all partying a little (well maybe a little more than a little) and “our friend” showed up at the camp with his usually high energy and desire to be the center of attention. Someone asked about the legitimacy of a few isolated stories concerning banditos in the notorious state of Michoacán, to the south of Colima where we were staying. What ensued was a nearly hour long monologue of “our friend” reciting the account of how he and three Americans were kidnapped by banditos in Michoacán. Apparently the banditos took two of the Americans to a stronghold while they sent “our friend” and one other American with all of their credit cards into town to buy an excessive amount of luxury items, video game consoles, and withdraw cash.

            With all of us at the camp completely intrigued with the story he went on about how he went to the Navy while trying to meet the deadline and return with goods before the Americans would be executed if the ransom was not satisfied. Allegedly “our friend” convinced the Navy to mobilize hundreds of troops to surround the bandito stronghold and hopefully capture them after they returned with the shopping list of ransom items. We all, in unison, became suspicious of the story when he claimed to have mobilized some 500 Navy soldiers to overcome the banditos, as if he was a heroic general leading his troops into war. The night ended without anyone uttering a word about the growing suspicions about “our friend.”

            The next day some guys in their late thirties showed up from California and introduced themselves to AJ and I. They told us how they had been coming to Pasquales since 97’ and, without our asking, mentioned that we should be cautious of who we share out travel itineraries with. As it turns out the guys from Cali know the three Americans who were abducted in May of this year. According to them they were set up. The cracks in the story “our friend” told us became wider than that Rio Grande as we heard the other side.

            The next morning, when he saw us packing up the van, he asked us where we were off to. I quickly, and hopefully with a degree of believability told him that we were headed north to Barra de Navidad, when in reality we were going south, right into the heart of Michoacán to surf the legendary left-hand point break called Rio Nexpa.

            My desire in telling this story is not to incite an exaggerated degree of sensationalism concerning Mexican surf travel; after all this was only one isolated incident. My intention is to convey that sometimes the places that seem most utopian attract some shady characters who thrive in an environment where unsuspecting tourists assume that local peoples character is comparable to the picturesque destination to which they have traveled.

            Regardless, we made it to Rio Nexpa in the heart of Michoacán no problem and were waived through the multitude of military checkpoints whose aim is to interdict the precious cargo the notorious drug cartel “ la Familia Michoacán” traffics through the rural countryside to ultimately feed the very country I call home.

            For those of you reading I would like to express that aside from this incident I have felt completely safe in Mexico and have found nearly every Mexican to be helpful and friendly. This type of event could occur anywhere in the world so it would be unfair and biased to tell this story without mentioning that this is only one person, and in all fairness, who knows which side is true, it’s really all hearsay. What is most important is to use common sense when traveling and trust your instincts. The photo was taken in the heart of Michoacán; it’s hard to imagine what is really going on in this idyllic setting.