Surfside Secret’s Out

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. I live and work in the relentless swirling madness of Mexico City, and I needed a few days of real peace. And with 3-year-old Daniel in tow, my wife, Maxine, and I were cool to the mega-hotel resort scene. Our vision was of hammocks on an empty beach, backed by middle-age-suitable comforts.

Early on, we thought of Zihuatanejo, an almost mystical destination for backpackers and wanderers in the 1960s and ‘70s when it was still a tranquil fishing port, the antithesis of crowded, jet-setting Acapulco to the south.

But our research soon turned up worrying signs that Zihua, as aficionados call it, had itself grown into a small city, with several hotels and condo complexes crowding the beaches around its pretty bay. What’s more, Ixtapa, a formal, planned resort, had sprung up five miles away, giving Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo a touristy feel that was hardly the escape we were looking for.

Our search finally uncovered a getaway from the getaways named Troncones, 20 miles north of Ixtapa.

We couldn’t find Troncones on any map. It’s just a wide spot in the road--coastal Route 200. At the northern end is a typical ragged village of poor farmers; the vacation area is a collection of bed-and-breakfast inns, guest houses and private homes sprinkled along three miles of beach.

We spent a week there at the end of December, luxuriating in an affordable, elegant and virtually solitary escape. We swam in the private pool of the villa we had rented with a few friends (four one-bedroom suites costing $100 to $150 a night, or $400 for the whole villa, including housekeeping service). We read pleasantly mediocre paperbacks while rocking lazily in hammocks just a few feet from the ocean. We cooked fresh fish on our barbecue in the outdoor communal kitchen. It was the height of the winter vacation season, yet we never saw more than two dozen people on the beach.

Troncones--it means tree trunks--became a minor beach-bum and surfer hideaway back in the 1980s, when Seattle native Dewey McMillin arrived and set up the first guest house. More Americans followed, seeking to escape the clutter of modern life; the first phone lines were installed only last year. The single road skirting the beach is still unpaved (and at times unpleasantly dusty). There’s still no piped water or sewer system. All drinking water must be trucked in, at substantial cost.

But in the years since McMillin set up his first funky B&B; and a bar called El Burro Borracho (the Drunken Donkey), an encouraging development has changed the lives of the villagers and of the several dozen American and Canadian families who call Troncones home.

In 1992, the Mexican constitution was changed to allow owners of communally held lands--ejidos--to divide up and take title to individual plots, and then sell them if they choose.

The privatizing of ejido land throughout Mexico, and especially in potentially valuable coastal areas, has been tempered by conflicts in recent years. Since foreigners cannot own land within 30 miles of the coast or 60 miles of the border, those wanting to buy ex-ejido property have the added complication of having to create trusts or corporations in Mexico to own the property. Some of these arrangements in Baja California have ended in tears for unsuspecting U.S. buyers whose ownership titles were challenged later--in some cases, many years later.

The Troncones story has been happier, by all accounts, and that has led to a spurt of basic but chic development--sufficient to add a measure of comfort but without detracting from the splendid isolation that makes Troncones so attractive in the first place.

The villagers, working with McMillin and a few other pioneers, carved out 300 quarter-acre plots along the beachfront. The 60 native families got five sites each. They have sold off about 200 so far for small inns or private homes.

Only about 50 homes have been built, none more than two stories high. The first lucky buyers paid $10,000 to $15,000 for their lots, which now go for $65,000 and up.

The village’s total of 77 rooms for rent wouldn’t fill a single wing in one of the luxury Ixtapa hotels. They are scattered along a wide, sandy stretch, most of it open ocean but warm and relatively safe for children at wading depth.

The well-equipped and lovingly maintained house we rented is called Regalo del Mar (Gift From the Sea). It is owned by a Canadian couple, Cam and Bev Gesy, who reclaim the prime front suite from January to March.

We found fresh flower petals strewn around the bathroom sink each day, and big, thick towels made showering a pleasure. There are no mosquitoes in the winter, and there was no charge for the dead bat we found on the floor one morning, an apparent victim of the overhead fan that keeps the non-air-conditioned room cool.

Locals say Troncones is doable in summer, but I wouldn’t advise it for anyone not used to tropical temperatures and the July-to-November storm season.

The accommodations in Troncones--all right on the water--come in a wide range of prices, from as little as $30 a night off-season, usually May to November, to a handful of superb thatch-roofed bungalows for high-season peak prices of $250 per night December to April.

While the food available at most of the beachfront enramadas--palm-frond-shaded cafes--is adequate, you can find enough good-quality seafood restaurants to eat heartily for a week. And you don’t have to leave the comfort of your hammock. A woman named Carmen from the Costa Brava restaurant delivered ready-to-eat plates of fresh fish, French fries and salad to our villa. On days when we planned to cook, she obligingly bought us fresh red snapper and chickens on her daily shopping trips to Zihua.

Although it feels isolated, because of its proximity to the international airport at Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo, Troncones is doable even for a long weekend from Los Angeles. From the airport, either rent a car--all the major U.S. companies are there, charging roughly $50 to $100 per day--or take a taxi for the half-hour journey.

A rental car would make it convenient to drive into Ixtapa or Zihuatanejo for a meal or golf if you get tired of the peace of Troncones. If you don’t want a car, mountain bikes are available for rent in the village. And be careful driving at night: Donkeys, cattle and goats often roam the roads.

We kept meaning to check out Zihuatanejo. But day after day went by, and we never did get up the energy to make the journey--what with moving from the hammock to the swimming pool to the beach and back. Friends who did go regretted it.

The one excursion we made--twice--was to the neighboring village of Los Llanos, drawn by the wonderful beachfront cooking at Restaurante Jacqueline: terrific grilled lobster for less than $10, breaded or grilled shrimp for $7, whole red snapper for $5.

The drink of choice for lolling in a hammock is an ice-cold Pacifico beer or a gin and tonic (stock up at the airport duty-free shop).

Troncones now has electricity around the clock, but it’s still an early-to-bed kind of place.

Still, there is one activity certain to stir some people out of their hammocks. The surfing at Troncones, from February through November, is world class.

At the north end of the beach, the ocean surf cuts into the tranquil bay. Mike Linn, a manager of Las Chozas bungalows there, said surfers would want to know that “there’s a left-hand point break with a hollow drop--it never closes out. It is one big giant shoulder moving across the bay. You’re looking at easy 100-meter rides.”

I stopped in at Las Chozas and a few other places to chat with the owners and check out the digs, but I can’t vouch for them. One caution: Some rental houses sit on treeless lots, with no shade and minimal privacy.

One of the prettiest inns is Hacienda Eden, built and owned by Jim Garrity and Eva Robbins. Its restaurant is terrific too.

Next door is Posada de los Raqueros, with two restful and well-appointed bungalows that come with kitchenettes, a plus for families. The main house has two more sea-facing rooms for rent. Other options include Glen Novey’s friendly and comfortable six-room Casa Delfin Sonriente (Smiling Dolphin House), midway along the main beach, with a welcome (if small) pool.

Novey, from Santa Cruz, has spearheaded community action programs with the Troncones locals. He built his house for his family, then transformed it into a B&B; to help defray costs, including $5,000 a year for trucked-in water.

McMillin, the father of modern Troncones, says development will be slow but steady in coming years as people build quality private homes. ‘Most everyone down here is not trying to make a fortune, but just pay for their vacation home in paradise. We rent bedrooms here, not hotel rooms,” he said. “Those who visit us are going to get some quality hammock time.”

(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX / INFOGRAPHIC)

GUIDEBOOK

Beached in Troncones

Getting there: Alaska Airlines flies nonstop from L.A. to Zihuatanejo; Aeromexico and Mexicana have connecting flights. Round-trip fares start at $280.

Troncones is a half-hour drive north of Zihuatanejo. Airport taxi is about $45.

Note: No one accepts credit cards in Troncones. Change dollars for pesos at the ATM in the airport.

Where to stay: The community’s useful Web site, https://www.troncones.net, describes most local lodgings.

We stayed at Regalo del Mar, a four-unit beach villa with pool and maid service; $100-$150 per unit in high season (December to April). Contact owners Cam and Bev Gesy in Canada, telephone (604) 685-0782; in Mexico, 011-52-755-32865; Internet https://members.home.net/troncones/default.htm.

Some others on the beach:

Casa Delfin Sonriente, six rooms, $65-$119. Tel. (831) 688-6578; in Mexico, 011-52-755-32803; Internet https://www.casadelfinsonriente.com.

Hacienda Eden, $50-$75. Tel. 011-52-755-32802, Internet https://www.edenmex.com.

Posada de los Raqueros, two bungalows and two rooms, $55-$125. Tel. (847) 255-0635; in Mexico, 011-52-755-32870; Internet https://www.raqueros.com.

Bungalows Las Chozas, nine units with pool; $85-$100 high season. Tel. 011-52-755-32884, Internet https:// www.laschozas.com.

Where to eat: Burro Borracho, a local hangout; Hacienda Eden, comparatively elegant; Las Chozas for local seafood; superb Restaurant Jacqueline in Los Llanos, six miles north of Troncones.

James F. Smith is a correspondent in The Times’ Mexico City bureau.

--- UNPUBLISHED NOTE ---

This story has been edited to reflect the following corrections to the original published text: the Casa Delfin Sonriente has six rooms, not four; prices start at $65, not $85; the owner’s name is spelled Glen Novey, not Glenn Novey.

--- END NOTE ---