Life in troncones,
majahua & saladita

Cacao. It’s “kuh·kau”, a tree, native to South America, that produces a pod containing seeds, or “beans”, which for over 7000 years have been harvested, heated and transformed into beverages and foods, liquors and chocolates. Its scientific name, Theobroma cacao, is Greek for “food of the gods”, a reflection of the bean’s place in Mexico’s Mayan and Aztec culture where it was considered a gift from the gods, where its use was typically reserved for special occasions, weddings and ceremonies. Among many of Mexico’s indigenous tribes, cacao as a dried bean became a currency, its value and status plainly understood. Cacao. It’s nourishment. It’s medicine. It’s an essential. It’s a luxury. It’s comforting. It’s over-stimulating. It’s earthly. It’s sacred. It’s everyday. It’s special. It’s complicated. Ligita Lapé and her Troncones-based brand Tribu Del Cacao, caught my eye on Instagram before I happened to meet her for the first time at Jahvé, the vegetable and fruit store just south of the T. Ligita knows the complexities of cacao first-hand, as a maker, artist and brewer and as someone who’s sure cacao speaks to her, as a guide, a co-conspirator and a source of inspiration. We sat down together in her treehouse-like apartment in early September and talked about how she was drawn to cacao’s magic.

I first learned about Noches Lucidas in the summer of 2022, from some young surfers who said they were going dancing at Amor Tropical. A few days later they told me the music was fun and that they got home just before dawn. This year, during Semana Santa, two seventy-year-olds asked me how long the electronic music festival at Costa Brava was going to be around. They went one night and they loved it. I asked, “Which festival?” And they said, “Noches Lucidas”. Hmmm. Same event; same reaction from two very different age groups. What is Noches Lucidas? Answering that led me to its organizer, a DJ named Santa Maria. It turns out he lives in Troncones.

Mutual friends introduced me to Maggie Miles in October, a former New York Times reporter on her way to her next assignment. She seemed to be another young person passing through Troncones. I was wrong. Maggie stayed. I kept seeing her around and I kept hearing she’s doing her work from here. That intrigued me. How does she do it? How does she sustain her career remotely? From Troncones? As we got up from this interview, I noticed the words “GOOD TROUBLE” tattooed on her forearm. I asked her what that phrase referred to. Maggie explained it came from a series of speeches made by American congressman and civil rights activist John Lewis—a phrase born of his refusal to stay silent in the face of injustice—a reminder that making “good trouble” can encourage social change. Good trouble. After talking to Maggie, I can see how she’s doing that, through her writing work and with her choice to call Troncones “home”.

I could’ve stayed all day listening to Jorge Valencia talk about the Playa Saladita he knows. Not the one the surfers know. Not the one Instagram knows. Not the one that’s being hyped up as being “the spot”. Jorge’s family started making its home in Playa Saladita in the late 19th century, right along the beach, when no one wanted to be near the ocean, when the area was considered undesirable. After our interview, Jorge described some of the ridicule he took on as a kid—being called “poor” because he walked around barefoot—living beachfront, wild, without much of anything. Even then, he didn’t see the value in getting “dressed up”, not when he was living in a dusty place and he was going in the ocean four times a day. Today, things are different. People come from all over the world to be on the Playa. His brother Benito and his sister Lourdes run successful restaurants that have become local landmarks, and his famous “surf fishing” house is an easy find—a mural by MuckRock adorns its back wall, a nine-foot-tall Jorge holding his catch. And fishing outfitters send him their latest gear and sportswear. Jorge still walks around barefoot.