Coastal Areas Mexico

Maybe you were planning to come here for the sea and sky, which is fine, as far as it goes. Both tend to be blue and 80 degrees, and who could complain about that? Your attention may wander to nearby Ixtapa, Cancn's cousin, until you learn about the Novels of Dawn, the key to relaxation here. If you can then pry yourself from your chaise longue, you may even be tempted to see the Palace of the Crooked Cop.

Maybe you were planning to come here for the sea and sky, which is fine, as far as it goes. Both tend to be blue and 80 degrees, and who could complain about that? Your attention may wander to nearby Ixtapa, Cancn's cousin, until you learn about the Novels of Dawn, the key to relaxation here. If you can then pry yourself from your chaise longue, you may even be tempted to see the Palace of the Crooked Cop.

"Boardheads" on mountain bikes are awaiting its arrival from the hills above town. Those on the tennis court are watching for it between games, while snorkelers, sun-soakers and book-readers are maintaining their vigil from the water and beach. The telltale signs of what attracted them to this area could appear any time. The shimmering on the horizon, the band of rough water steadily approaching the coast. This could mean only one thing: The wind is on its way.

Perhaps I should have flown into Catemaco on a broomstick rather than arriving by bus. This town in the southeastern part of Veracruz state is renowned for its annual gathering of brujos (witches) on the first Friday of March. They were gone when I arrived a week and a half later, but Catemaco capitalizes on witchery all year. Stalls sell T-shirts printed with Halloween-style witches, pointed hats and all.

Livio Santini is blessed: He owns 26 acres atop an ocean bluff ripe for houses and condominiums, just when this beach town's cachet has never been higher. And he is cursed: A dozen rustic bungalows, long occupied mostly by Southern Californians, block what would be a multimillion-dollar ocean view from his property. He wants them out. The residents, whose homes sit on seaside land owned by the Mexican government, have dug in.

Terry Kennedy was stunned, but he managed to push the button on his video camera and keep a steady hand. Joyce Clinton couldn't hold back the tears as she watched, but she, too, was able to shoot away.

Say hello to this rustic little beach town on the Pacific just north of Manzanillo. It's got a sandy shoreline full of bright umbrellas and a dozen seafood eateries under thatched palm roofs. There's a roaring ocean, a tranquil bay, a fleet of water taxis and a 2-year-old luxury resort that looms across the bay like Xanadu with sand traps. If you've never heard of it, you're excused.

A friendly boatman tells a little girl that if she blows bubbles in the sea, a whale might come. She does and it does, swimming close enough to the boat that the little girl can reach out and touch its great benign, barnacled snout. The girl strokes the creature as if it were a family pet, and one of the largest mammals on Earth--almost twice the length of the 20-foot boat--lolls on its side, bumping gently against the gunwale, the long crease of its jaw forming a smile line.

The oil slick left after a spill off Baja California began to dissipate Saturday and its remnants did not appear to pose any further danger to the shoreline, Coast Guard officials said Saturday. The slick, about the size of a football field, was moving south at about half a mile per hour, away from the spot where a pipeline broke as a tanker was pumping oil to an onshore facility. The spill occurred about 1 1/2 miles off the coast near Rosarito, a resort town about 30 miles south of the border.

Perhaps I should have flown into Catemaco on a broomstick rather than arriving by bus. This town in the southeastern part of Veracruz state is renowned for its annual gathering of brujos (witches) on the first Friday of March. They were gone when I arrived a week and a half later, but Catemaco capitalizes on witchery all year. Stalls sell T-shirts printed with Halloween-style witches, pointed hats and all.

Our family goal for the turn of the millennium was straightforward but elusive: to spend the week at one of those intimate and peaceful getaways that we were certain still existed somewhere on Mexico's Pacific coast. The search began with hours of Web-scouring to check out the many family-oriented resort areas along the ocean. But the popular spots, like Manzanillo and Mazatlan, seemed just a bit too big, too organized.

Over the objections of the Mexican government, the California Coastal Commission on Tuesday joined opponents of a giant salt plant proposed for a cherished calving ground for the gray whale. The Mexican government and the Mitsubishi Corp. have for years talked of constructing what would be the world's largest salt-evaporation operation in Baja California's 17-mile-long Laguna San Ignacio, virtually the last undisturbed refuge for the massive California gray whale.

Just so everyone understands: It's shortly after dawn and we're sitting in a small boat nine miles off the coast of Ensenada, Mexico. We're here because readings last night from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration's #6 buoy off the Northern California coast, 750 miles to the north, indicated that gigantic swells were rolling this way. You'd never know it from the way the Pacific looks now, flat and glassy.

No phones. No air-conditioning. No television. No electricity! They call this luxury? Italian fashion designer Marcello Murzilli does. And after a blissful week at his Hotelito Desconocido, so do I. Hotelito Desconocido, a small, ecologically friendly resort on a part of Mexico's Pacific Coast that is relatively undiscovered, is just the right combination of nature retreat and hedonistic playground.

Say hello to this rustic little beach town on the Pacific just north of Manzanillo. It's got a sandy shoreline full of bright umbrellas and a dozen seafood eateries under thatched palm roofs. There's a roaring ocean, a tranquil bay, a fleet of water taxis and a 2-year-old luxury resort that looms across the bay like Xanadu with sand traps. If you've never heard of it, you're excused.

The oil slick left after a spill off Baja California began to dissipate Saturday and its remnants did not appear to pose any further danger to the shoreline, Coast Guard officials said Saturday. The slick, about the size of a football field, was moving south at about half a mile per hour, away from the spot where a pipeline broke as a tanker was pumping oil to an onshore facility. The spill occurred about 1 1/2 miles off the coast near Rosarito, a resort town about 30 miles south of the border.

Along a curving white-sand bay framed by austere desert mountains, the billboards for the beachfront condos proclaim "Act Now--Only 42 Available" and "Location, Location, Location." The signs aren't in Spanish. They are in plain realtor's English. Although the Mexican Constitution forbids foreigners to directly own land within 30 miles of the coast, they can hold it through trusts. And English is the preferred language for pushing these home sites 800 miles south of the U.S.

Just so everyone understands: It's shortly after dawn and we're sitting in a small boat nine miles off the coast of Ensenada, Mexico. We're here because readings last night from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration's #6 buoy off the Northern California coast, 750 miles to the north, indicated that gigantic swells were rolling this way. You'd never know it from the way the Pacific looks now, flat and glassy.

Efforts were underway Friday to clean up as much as 110,000 gallons of fuel oil that spilled off the coast of Mexico near Rosarito a day earlier. The oil, which was being piped from a U.S.-owned tanker anchored 1 1/2 miles offshore to an onshore storage facility, spilled due to a pipe failure, according to the U.S. Coast Guard. Officials said some of the oil had come ashore and 200 Mexican navy personnel, working with a U.S. cleanup contractor, spent several hours Friday cleaning beaches.

Along a curving white-sand bay framed by austere desert mountains, the billboards for the beachfront condos proclaim "Act Now--Only 42 Available" and "Location, Location, Location." The signs aren't in Spanish. They are in plain realtor's English. Although the Mexican Constitution forbids foreigners to directly own land within 30 miles of the coast, they can hold it through trusts. And English is the preferred language for pushing these home sites 800 miles south of the U.S.