People watching is a favorite past-time of mine.  I love noticing the subtle intricacies of human behavior, and as I watch for these details I can’t help but take in the surroundings that affects human actions.  In this case, the surrounding is a beach.  More precisely, is it Zihuatenejo, on Mexico’s Pacific coast.  We have taken a three day break to relax from our field work, and I now find myself hiding in the shade, soaking in the sights and sounds of this beautiful place.  The ocean waves provide a constant soundtrack to the scene, as well as provide some comic relief for the sun-soaked people watcher.

The majority of travelers to this beach are Mexicans, as this beach, Playa de la Ropa, is a much more subdued beach, with the resorts built into the sides of the cove that surround the green-blue waters.  There are also some Europeans, as I hear German, British and Dutch accents wander in and out between the crashes of waves.  A group of Mexican boys have now begun a game of soccer on the beach, with the ocean waves sporadically joining in as a player, stealing the ball in its surf and carrying it back to the sea.  Play is halted until the ball is retrieved, only to be lost again by another splashing, white wave.

People slowly walk up and down the beach, enjoying the view the ocean provides.  A tall German man, bald and wearing a Harley-Davidson tank top, walks a very minuscule dog up and down the beach.  With his sun-burnt head and the small dog’s fear of the ocean tide, the pair make a comical duo.  Down the beach a contingent of Canadians have stuck a Canadian flag on a pole firmly into the sand, marking their place in paradise.  No one takes notice, as the red maple leaf doesn’t exactly strike fear into any on-lookers.

I venture back into the ocean to try and catch some waves to body surf on.  There, from the ocean looking in on the beach, I notice other subtleties that are a stark reminder of the outside world.  First, more trash is in the ocean and on the beaches than I noticed in my last visit four years ago.  The beaches were also littered with people four years ago, whereas now they are devoid of the tourists they are so used to attracting.  Resorts are operating at half capacity, and the beaches are almost empty of the sea-vendors that usually frequent the beaches.  They are the wave-runner renters, the para-sail providers, the little old women who sell silver and shell jewelry, and the tanned and tattooed old men who roam the beach with pictures of large fish that people have caught on their deep-sea fishing tours.  Only a few remain, and business is not doing well.  The resorts will last, they will suffer but they will last.  But these people, the everyday entrepreneurs, they suffer the most.

Dinner-time rolls around, and I make my way to one of the beach restaurants, where one can purchase a steak and a margarita for 12 dollars and have enjoy it in the comfort of your swim suit.  The sun slowly sets behind one of the large outcrops of rock jutting from the sea, and the city of Zihuatanejo slowly starts to shimmer in its evening lights.  The brilliant red streaks of sun and the purple clouds paint the sky, and couples take this opportunity to stroll hand in hand under the vast watercolor scenery.  And there I sit, a speck no more easily visible from the heavens than the millions of grains of sand that surround me.  And I watch.

(I apologize to any proud Canadians who might wander across this post)