Lost and Found in La Manga

Last week George, a local gringo, gave me a guided tour of an area I've never before visited. It's only ten minutes from home, and yet a completely different world. There's an stretch of beach and desert north of town where developers have been erecting pancake-stack monstrosities and mega-mansions near the second of San Carlos's two marinas, Marina Real. I feel sorry for any poor gringo who, sight unseen, reserves a room or rents a condo along this vicinity of the coast; while the rest of our zone is beautifully warm and sunny all day, here it's forever chilly and windy. But where the pavement ends, yet to fall under the developers' control, is a "squatter" area known as La Manga.

 Here you see a string of fishing huts, a few restaurants and a number of simple getaway casas, trailers, schoolbuses and lean-tos in varying state of repair. This is privately-owned, not ejido land, and someday the inhabitants will be forced to leave when the owners decide the time is ripe for more condos. But meanwhile, people from as far away as Hermosillo and other sweltering places inland have come here for generations to put up vacation homes using found materials, plus some who brought bricks and concrete for sturdier structures. Permanent residents have established a school and a kindergarten next to the beach. There are little farms and ranches further inland and rocky, winding roads beckon toward the distant mountains. And on a Monday morning only a few fishermen, some grazing horses and hungry dogs were to be seen.

Today I paid forward the favor of the guided tour by taking my friend Jan to La Manga. Of course I got us lost a couple of times, but we just kept driving until I recognized where we were. We couldn't give up, because we had a mission: to bring kibble and water to a couple of small dog packs.

These dogs are a mix of previously-owned, sort-of-owned and feral, and though when they were first spotted last year they appeared to be starving, the efforts of a few people have begun to make a difference: their ribs are not so sharply defined, their coats are shining and clean and their eyes are bright. Most have been neutered, except for one shy La Manga mama. A concrete feeding bowl and water trough were made for them, and when they saw our Jeep they knew just where to greet us.

Down on the beach, stands a little chapel built to house a concrete statue of the Virgen de Guadalupe which was discovered on the seabed by a group of gringo divers a couple of years ago. George says the Virgen was originally sent to her watery sanctuary more than 40 years ago by fishermen hoping she would improve the fishing. So when she was brought back to shore there was some conflict, with one side insisting she should go back to sea, the other wanting to enshrine her. After the little chapel was erected, apparently the fishing went on as usual, so now there are masses every Wednesday at 4, pews have been brought in along with flowers and candles, and visitors are invited to contribute any further amenities by contacting Elizabeth, owner of the nearby La Gaviota restaurant.


We found Elizabeth and asked her if she could get together a crew if we brought some paint for the chapel. Si, she agreed, and make it blanca pura. The building, made entirely of plywood, will look great with a coat of white paint, and Jan and I plan to deliver it. hopefully next Monday.

We also got acquainted with the young señora who lives next to the chapel, Alejandra, and her three niños.  The little ones hurried over when we parked to sell us seashell art created by their mama, who wields a mean glue gun. Last time they sold me a perfect starfish, this time a frutero, a little fruit bowl. Here's her shell arbolito (little tree) decorated with dyed fish scales.