We were trapped in the small town of Melaque, locked securely behind the gates of our little hideaway; safe from the thousands of drunken revellers but not the headache inducing noise of the nearby discoteca's. Sleep deprived and cranky, we were taken unawares by Semana Santa (Holy Week), Mexico's biggest holiday of the year.
　
We had mixed feelings and expectations for mainland Mexico knowing it is much more developed and populated than Baja. The first 2 weeks proved to be a bit of a disappointment; the waves had not yet delivered and most of all the main Mexican holiday, Semana Santa or Holy week, forced us into hiding while every inch of coastline was invaded by hoards of Mexicans. Highways had become one big demolition derby, making it safer to park up and sit out the madness. As Shay pointed out, 'it could be a whole lot worse', after all, most would give a limb to be in our position, no work, relaxing day in and out. But after five days of crowded beaches, the constant throb of the 'Mexican Top 20' from the nearby beach palapa's and the distorted base from the neighbouring boy's car stereo at 2am was beginning to wear thin. To make matters worse, according Surfline, there was a good south swell running and Ollie knew that not so far from here the waves were 'going off'. So close, yet so very far away.
　

Apparently the best part of Mexico is not too far south. Famous breaks like La Ticla, Rio Nexpa, Puerto Escondido were waiting. There's volcano's to be climbed and National parks with mangrove forests to be explored. If only we could get back on the road again. We realize that the Mexicans can't be blamed for the blip on an otherwise carefree journey, if anything; these hard-working people deserve to relax and let their hair down. It's mainly the "could-a, should-a" questions that haunt us... looking back, maybe we should have stayed at the remote beach of Punta San Pedro in Baja, riding out the holidays. But its too late for that now, here we are quite possibly in the worst possible place to be, Melaque, a renowned Mexican holiday destination, the only choice left to us is to stop looking for places to hide and go out and join them!
　
Mainland Mexico
　
Things actually did start off OK. After a month of 'roughing it' in our camper with its musty mattress it was very welcoming to have crisp, clean sheets and comfy beds within our ferry cabin, and beyond all expectations to have our very own steaming hot shower. The sun was rising as we rolled off the Baja Ferry and had our first glimpse of mainland Mexico. It was a peaceful morning and the streets of Topolobampo were empty; with exception for the packs of dogs scavenging for left over food scraps. We parked up by the harbour for a quick 'Norwegian' breakfast and discussion on what our plan for the day would be. The decision was to head south along the cuota (toll) road to a small village called Celestino Gasca, we had heard that there could be good surf there and a nice RV park to stay in.
　
　
As we made our way out onto the main road, there was a realisation that Baja Mexico was long behind us. This is a totally different chapter, one that has large highways, mega shopping malls and gas stations every few blocks. Welcome to modern Mexico!
　

After a long, but easy drive down the Mex 15D highway we arrived at our destination. Celestino Gasca was a dusty seaside town with minimal services. It was nice to be back to basics after witnessing 'progress' in the larger towns and cities we passed through on the way. We found the Celestino RV Park and secured the prime position by the beach. The camp was occupied by the last remaining 'Canadian Snow birds' (retired Canadians), who fly south to escape the cold winters up north.
　
　
After setting up camp, we orientated ourselves with the beach, namely any prospective point breaks that Ollie could surf. With two identified, one directly out front of the RV Park, we enjoyed the evening sunset with the other camp residents and eagerly awaited the next morning to see if the breaks would deliver.
　
　
We were awaken to another gorgeous sunny day, and as Ollie drank his morning coffee, on the dawn wave patrol, Shay enjoyed a therapeutic run down the beach. Both the beach and the messy average point breaks had no one on them which suited us great. Invitingly, the water and air temperature was considerable warmer then Baja, approx 25 degrees for both now.
　
　
While contemplating the second point break, Ollie met a Brazilian guy, Noel, on his way out for a surf. Noel was on his way home, driving all the way back to Brazil from Los Angeles, California. After finishing his studies in Switzerland and some work in Finland, he went travelling solo through Australia and Africa. He regaled us with his interesting and some hair-raising travel stories over a few beers that night at our camper. One that comes to mind was the time he was dropped off in the middle of know-where in Botswana, alone and with only a weeks worth of food supplies and the promise that the boat would return in five days. Ten days past and still no boat, he had to resort to Bear Grylls survival methods to make it out alive. He definitely put our best travel adventures to shame!
　
　
Eaten Alive!
　
As we headed south, the city of Mazatlan was a shock to the system and totally disruptive on our calm Baja Zen. It was not too dissimilar to the Costa del Sol in Spain with a long line of mega resorts and cheesy disco's lining the far from relaxing beaches. We quickly grabbed a body board in a surf shop for Shay and decided to move on. Quickly!

We decided to head to San Blas as we were curious about stories of the famous waves there. One in particular is Stoner's Point, memorably ridden on a perfect day in the film Cosmic Children. Another is Las Islitas which the Guinness Book of Records certifies as the longest wave in the world, covering 2250 meters as it wraps into Matachen Bay. Unfortunately the famous wave from the 60's has been destroyed by several constructions and hardly ever breaks these days so what we found in San Blas was flat water, a pretty town and Mexican jejenes. The infamous jejenes are tiny gnat like insects with huge appetites for human flesh and after two sleepless nights camped on the beach we had been eaten alive. Our bodies were covered in the bites which made us look like we'd contracted chicken pox or some form of leprosy; a permanent Mexican souvenir.
　

Realisation and rumour's of the coming Easter holiday made us panic and start looking for a hide away to ride out the madness. We heard its Mexico's biggest holiday and all the people from the cities pack up and head to the coast. We were also advised against driving on the roads during this week as driving standards deteriorated significantly. Hell, we'd already witnessed seen some pretty scary driving in our time in Mexico without a holiday and alcohol added to the mix; needless to say we didn't have to be told twice!
　
　
We found refuge in the tiny town of Santa Cruz, the other side of the bay from San Blas. Camped behind a family restaurant with some surfers from Oregon, who we'd met earlier in northern Baja, we waited with anticipation for the masses to arrive. The following days were the calm before the storm, we fell into a routine of reading, morning surf sessions on the 50 cm waves (measured on the front side), and cooking on the fire (as we had run out of propane). When the final hour to the start of the Easter holiday clicked by, the first of the holidaymakers arrived. A pick-up truck dangerously loaded with everything but the kitchen sink, revved its engine as they tried to back up onto the sandy beach and as the day wore on more and more tents and makeshift shelters were erected. Within hours, our peaceful hideaway was being over-run with the ever expanding family next door and the Mexican equivalent to Super-gran had only just started. Before the day was out she had completely taken over the once serene campsite, moving rocks, ordering around the men around and even tipping over the restaurant owner's water tank as it got in her way! The quiet nights had been replaced with youth's blearing their car stereos on the beach and loud snoring from the drunken males in the neighbouring tent. We were the only gringos in town, and a sideshow attraction. Shay's tall, blond appearance was turning heads, 50cm + below her in all cases.
　
　
The little surf that existed died, and we were getting bored of the daily routine of doing nothing but reading and food making on the fire. With the theory that most Mexicans had now gotten to their holiday destination, we decided against better judgement to continue south. A decision we found, only hours later, was to our detriment. As we entered the little surfy town of Sayulita we where met with mayhem, tourists everywhere and traffic jams building up in the narrow streets. Unfortunately by the time we discovered this we were caught up in the biggest jam, caused mainly by ourselves and other drivers who impatiently drove on, making a bad situation worse. The sun was beating down, sweat was dripping down our necks, car horns were hooting; we thought back to our little posy in Santa Cruz. Why had we left again?
　

An hour later we had somehow managed to get on the main road again. Punta de Mita down the coast proved to be another disappointment and traffic jam experience. There is apparently some great point breaks here but the hotel chain, Four Seasons, has bought the whole point and is heavily guarded with big gates which makes it impossible to get down to the ocean unless you are a guest at the $650 per night resort or have a boat. It would have been nice to treat ourselves to a night of luxury but we're sure hotel management wouldn't have been happy to see our camper rumble up the drive-way and park up next to all the Porches and Ferrari's.
　
　
Living the Life of Luxury
　
　
After the frustrating morning of being stuck in traffic jams we were just keen to find the first available place to lay our weary heads. We decided to head for one of the many resorts in and around Puerto Vallarta and splurge out on a hotel room with crisp, clean sheets on the bed, TV with English speaking movies/channels, pools, bar, air-conditioning and internet. We justified this by the fact that we had saved money by not booking into the $650 per night Four Seasons at Punta Mita. The Iguana hotel was expensive but no where near that amount.
　
It was tough to check out the next day, I guess a small taste of luxury can actually be a bad thing when you have to get back to reality so soon. We waited until the final minute before check-out time and reluctantly drove away. The Oregon boys had headed to Barra de Navidad with the expectation that it would be the perfect place with the perfect waves to ride out the rest of the week, so with our expectations not so high and options limited, we decided to follow suit.
　
　
Bahia de Navidad; a small bay with two towns at either end, our supposed hide-away from the Easter crowds, turned out to be the worst place we could of chosen. It is the Mexican equivalent to Ibiza. With the sun going down, we had no other choice but to try and find a place to stay. By pure luck we came across our savour, Roberto, an English speaking Mexican who offered us a fully fenced property with a homely palapa to make camp under. For a price we could lock ourselves behind a tall fence and away from the Easter break madness. The waiting game has now commenced.