The unpaved section of Highway 5 between Laguna Chapala and Bahia San Luis Gonzaga is awful. Some of it is really awful. Some of it is less awful. Short sections are quite good for dirt. But overall, it something only off-roaders would look forward to. It's doable, though. It's even possible in a sedan. Two cars passed me going the other way. It's very slow going, and things rattled around in the Rolling Steel Tent, but nothing broke.
The previous time I was at Gonzaga Bay, I stayed at Papa Fernandez's and scoffed at the price they wanted at Alfonsina's. But, darn it, I deserved a palapa on the beach after driving the hell road. Last time, a guy in an RV told me it was $25 a night. But he must have been using the way-out-of-date currency conversion guideline of one dollar equals ten pesos. (Drop the zero for no-brainer conversion.) These days, it's seventeen pesos to the dollar, so the 250 pesos I paid were more like $15. Still a bit steep, but not all that bad.
When the guy at the market across the highway gave me my receipt and hang tag, I learned the palapas south of the airstrip are called Casa Grande. Casa Grande is all about the sandy beach and your view of the bay. Otherwise, it's a compacted dirt patch with all the charm of the airstrip. I suspect it was built by the same crew. There are a lot of outhouses, though.
I was able to ignore the less idilic aspects and just enjoy the view and the weather. Thanks to a gentle breeze, the water was almost glassy. Fish about the size of large cucumbers were jumping about twenty yards from shore. Seabirds were plentiful. A pod of porpoises cruised by, then did their fish corralling thing. A
Sea Shepherd ship anchored in the bay. Haze on the horizon made the sea and sky appear to be one continuous piece.
It was also the night of the full moon. First there was just an orange slice on the horizon. Then the band of light on the smooth water, like a golden path inviting you into the sea. Somewhere someone lightly played a ceremonial drum.
Toom-a-toom-toom-a-toom... Only for a moment—enough to mark the moment without devolving into an annoyance. I sat and watched and breathed the algae-scented air as the moon continued to rise and the sky darkened. Heaven.
Come the morning, I took a walk along the low tide line and contemplated whether to stay longer or move on. I could see a different set of palapas about a half mile down the beach. Since there was little chance of repeating the previous day's experience, I decided to give the other place a try.
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