I was able to get in another walking trip around town before the rains. Today I came down from Colonia Los Flores to Café Bean. This is a place I like for world-class cappuccinos prepared by friendly and professional baristas.
Typically, I would take time to savor the coffee, but I was eager to head out on my trek and take advantage of the cloud cover and the cool air. I wanted to get to Las Brisas before the midday sun, so I hailed a moto taxi and got a ride from the front of Juanito’s to the monument El Velero.
Boulevard Miguel De La Madrid is very busy this time of the morning, and there are certain risks associated with riding in these tuk-tuks, so I don’t recommend this mode of transport for everyone. If you ride in one and feel uncomfortable or insecure for any reason, don’t be shy about telling the operator to pull over and stop. Throw a few pesos his way and wait for the next one. There are plenty.
I hadn’t been to this part of Manzanillo for ten or twelve years and was anxious to see how things might have changed; some things hadn’t.
The pet store that I remembered was still in the same location, as were a couple of open-air comida economicas. Some buildings that I remembered had some architectural changes, mostly façade work for an upscale look; some stone, glass, and metals; an earnest attempt at industrial chic. There is a smattering of new cafes or old ones with
name changes.
I took a side street and walked deeper into the neighborhood. On one corner, trabajadores were gearing up for construction work on a residence; setting up scaffolding, and laying out lumber for formwork. Their truck door was open, and the radio at full volume.
Neighbors had started to get in their car, but instead, set down their bags and began to dance. It was Banda with a rumba rhythm, so how could they possibly pass up an opportunity to express their passion for life? Their eyes caught me smiling, and they smiled back.
A few blocks more, I came across a gentleman with car problems, and he was in luck. I have some experience with old Volkswagens, and in a short period of time, the two of us were able to adjust his points and carburetor. His engine was soon ticking over nicely, and off he went to his job with the port.
I chatted with a couple of navy chaps, and they asked if I’d seen the crocodiles in the surfline. I replied that I hadn’t been out this way for a while but would keep a lookout.
Maybe they were ‘messing’ with the gringo.
Now I had walked my way to Café Andrade, with time for another coffee drink and an order of plato de platano frito. Is there ever a wrong time for a fried banana dessert?
