Life in troncones,
majahua & saladita

A tattoo parlor opened in Troncones, near the T, about three years ago. I’ve heard nothing but good things about it. So much so, I’m thinking about getting another tattoo. Aura heard there was a motorcycle rally coming to town. A little checking around led her to Chuy [Jesús Santana Morales] and “the guy from the tattoo parlor”. Well, I’ve already interviewed Chuy and I’m thinking about getting another tattoo—so, what’s the guy’s name? Pelón. Doesn’t that mean hairless, bald? Yes, but he’s not bald. Meet Pelón.

“It takes a village” is an old expression recognizing that a child’s upbringing is a community effort. That it takes more than just family and school. That expression is also true when it comes to finding the right mother to talk to about raising children in Troncones. I talked to a lot of people about whom I should interview. Those conversations led me to Sandy Lopez, whose teenage son Henry recently won an award for an academic achievement no one could describe to me. Many people knew it was in a specific subject, but not exactly which one. It turns out I know Sandy—she’s our landlord. She owns Casa Sandy, on the north side of the bridge, where the La Onda Troncones office is. She also knows what it takes to be a kid here, what it takes to be a mother here and what it takes to make a life here. Meet Sandy.

Life was hard for the families who were re-settled here in 1976 by the governor of Guerrero. No houses. No water. No work. Somehow, they made it through and created a village that’s known for its determination and tranquility. Enedino Sanchez told me Doña Matilde knew the stories of how that came to pass. I went to see her. Members of her family were there when I interviewed her. I was nervous about having them listen. I was glad when they joined in.

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.