I never tire of sounds of Zihuatanejo. It’s music to my ears. There are the sounds one would expect in a beach side community, like the crashing waves which on a very still night I can hear from my back porch although I am a good block away. There is the sound of music coming from the neighbors back yard or the restaurant across the street, but my favorite sounds are the songs of the street vendors. Each of these have there own song. The loudest is the propane truck that announces his presence in your neighborhood with a horn that plays “the charge sound followed by “gaaaaz”.
First thing in morning one hears the call of the bolillo man calling “boy-lee-yos” with a basket on his head filled with just baked, warm, crusty buns from the oven of the bakery 1/2 block away. I put a few pesos in my bag, lower it down on a string from the back porch. He takes the pesos and puts a fresh bollio in my bag and I pull it up. This is so much more efficient than looking for my shoes, purse and mask and keys to go down stairs out on to the street and hope he hasn’t moved on. It save both he and I time and is more, fun and more Mexican.
The knife sharpener is another of my favorite mini merchants. He pushes his sharpening wheel through town to the tune of a high pitched penny whistle. Fruit carts of every size and shape are pushed others are powered by bicycle. The coconut man cry’s out “cocooo, cocooo” and then with his machete he will wack out that coco nut, put a straw in it and you have a delicious drink. The candy man is strangely quiet as he moves from one location to another pushing an enormous wooden wheelbarrow filled with the most beautiful array of candy. Ice cream carts have the sound of a tricycle bell, or a clown horn depending on what type of ice cream. I still prefer the home made ice cream that you get from the big metal tubs. They usually sell 3 types from their divided tub, vanilla, lemon, and coconut, all really yummy.
Come evening you hear the hamburger carts getting pushed across rough streets to their corner locations where folks say you can get the best ever hamburgers. And listen for the steam whistle of the “comote” man selling his hot roasted sweet potatos with a sweetened canned milk drizzled over them, one of my favorite dinners. So much of life here is just as it has always been from the earliest times, the fishermen selling their catch on the beach and carts being pushed through the streets.
And yes there are still tiny children selling trinkets to the tourists at the bars and restaurants while mama watches from a distance, frequently with this years baby wrapped up in her shawl.
Still having trouble getting pictures placed where I want them, and some just won’t up load. This iPad is quite the learning process. Signing off KO