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All across Mexico, giant, colorful letters spell out the name of their location. They stand in plazas, on embankments, at town entrances and in front of beaches and mountains. Travelers recognize them instantly as a go-to spot to take photos. Residents pose with them, too. They are known as letras monumentales—monumental letters—and over the past two decades they’ve become one of Mexico’s most recognizable civic symbols. Those letters will soon be part of our local landscape.

Local animal care/spay & neuter non-profit Surfers for Strays is in the midst of planning its third annual spring festival—a scrappy-heartfelt-slightly improvised community event—a unique reggae concert, surf gathering, kids’ workshop, grassroots fundraiser—to held in Saladita, Troncones and Zihuatanejo on three consecutive nights in late March. It’s a lot. But why not? It’s a good time—part road show, part music festival, part education platform, part animal-welfare fundraiser—each part a reminder that in this part of the world everything is connected.

The Castillo started to sizzle around 9:45 on Friday, its rockets, sparklers and whistles going off perfectly, just as planned. “Everyone” was there to see its magic—people of all ages, from Los Llanos to Buena Vista, from Pantla to La Unión, turning out the first night of the Troncones Fair. The villages of Saladita, La Boca and Majahua were pretty much empty, except for their cats and dogs. And in Troncones, those critters went looking for a place to hide as their owners enjoyed the loudest and brightest community celebration of the year. The community events carry on through this week, a highlight being Thursday at 6 pm—a showcase of the restaurants of Troncones—a muestra gastronomica. That’s followed by boxing at 8 pm. We’ll be updating the calendar you’ll find after the photos. Check our GO section to see if there’s anything new. We’re still looking for the time of the donkey races.

Along Mexico’s Pacific coast lives the American crocodile [Crocodylus acutus]. Its range stretches from southern Florida through Mexico, Central America, the Caribbean and into northern South America. It’s a coastal species, built for estuaries, mangroves, lagoons and saltwater marshes. Unlike freshwater crocodilians, American crocodiles tolerate and even prefer brackish and saltwater environments. They will occasionally enter the open ocean, especially when moving between estuaries.

Many cultures combine song and dance, chanting and movement, to create a transcendent community experience. It’s a practice as age-old as it is modern. For example, the line-dancing popular in American country music today can trace its roots back centuries, to early European folk traditions. In ancient Persia, Greece and India, dances were ways of teaching, of telling stories, honoring gods. That was and is true in the tribes of the Americas, too. Currently, “ecstatic dance” is a craze in Tulum, Mexico City and Zipolite, young people meeting, twirling and shaking to a vibrational sound bath, no shoes, no alcohol and no phones. In Troncones, all those traditions come together in an annual two-week retreat—a dance leader training followed by a dance camp.

Our latest What’s That Bird? looks at a seasonal visitor who gives new meaning to being “in the pink”, and whose distinct color comes from what it eats.

There’s a new place to find what you need—and share what you’ve got.

A pop-up is typically a short-term “thing”, a brand or company taking over a location to promote itself differently, create a different experience. Pop-up. It’s a good word. Descriptive. Explosive. Sudden. I heard someone use it to describe what’s happening on the beach at the La Boca surf spot, where a surf shop/restaurant started appearing a little bit at a time last spring. I went to see what it was all about last week. It’s no pop-up. It’s a world of fun, being built to last.

APCAT is the de facto Troncones Homeowners Association. It's a community group made up mostly of people from other countries. Its formal name in Spanish is Asociacion Para la Conservacion Ambiental de Troncones, hence, APCAT. The organization’s name in English translates as the Association for the Environmental Conservation of Troncones. When I came across this letter from the 2005 APCAT board, I thought presenting it here “as is”, with a few photos from back then, would make a good time capsule for some, and give others who may not know Troncones’ extranjero history a look at how it developed. This was written 20 years ago. It’s published here with no edits.

Archive already? Yep! Since we launched La Onda Troncones in early October, we've published nine newsletters, one every two weeks. If you missed one, or you're searching for a specific story, this is where you'll find them all—and where you can connect to our sponsors and the photographers behind our hero shots.

It’s like something out of a Troncones fairy tale. Two people come together and find they have a shared interest. In fact, it’s more than one. It’s a whole set of ideas about self-care, daily rituals and life-appreciation that neither of them expected would be anything other than something they mulled over quietly on their own. The notion that their passions could be “more” took on new meaning when they decided to launch a brand called Santu.

Starting in late fall, the beaches and bluffs of Troncones become prime spots to witness several different species of whales. If you want to be in the water with them, trained boat captains can take you closer.

On Thursday, February 12th, Casa St. George will host the grandest event of the Troncones winter social season—the Las Hermanas annual gala. This gathering is the group’s tenth celebration, a fundraiser to help follow through on a commitment to “provide opportunities through education for local women and children”. While opportunity may be its mission, stoking the imagination and creativity of the community may be Las Hermanas’ legacy. That’s true even in how the gala works—you don’t have to be there in person to make a difference. I sat down with Las Hermanas president Ann Merritt and gala organizer Mariana Salas to learn more.

Each winter, when the Pacific waters along our coast cool just enough to unsettle the steady rhythms of the deep, something strange and beautiful sometimes drifts onto our beaches—Pelamis platura, the yellow-bellied sea snake. These striking reptiles, with jet-black backs and golden undersides, are open-ocean hunters built entirely for life at sea. But when those cooler currents disorient them or push them toward shore, they sometimes wash up—helpless, twisted in seaweed or barely moving on the sand. If you come across one lying motionless at the tide line, you're witnessing something rare—and very much alive.

Palm trees feel inseparable from life in Troncones. They frame the beach, shade the road, soften new buildings, and quietly define what “tropical” looks like. But here’s the thing: most of the palms you see here didn’t originate in this region. Some arrived centuries ago. Others came much more recently. A few don’t belong botanically at all—they just look the part.

In the heart of Ixtapa‑Zihuatanejo, where the mangroves meet the lagoon and the birds wheel over the water, one name has been impossible to ignore: Tamakún. Born Roberto Piza Ríos in Guerrero and raised in Atoyac, Tamakún has been known across the coast not as a bureaucrat or tourist attraction, but as the man who walked with crocodiles—and lived to tell the tale. He passed away on Saturday and will be much missed.

Our local wrens are small creatures with big songs. Each one is different—in how they look and how they sing. Once you can tell one from the other, you’ll know you’ve arrived.

On January 6th, I happened to be in Café Cuattro when the staff started cutting up some sort of cake. Everyone took a different approach when they got the knife in their hands—twirls, curtseys, bows, a flourish of some sort—always laughter. I’d seen those big cakes before, but never knew what they were about or what’s inside. On my way out, I saw what looked like little bones poking out from around the cake. I had to ask.

12 pangas left Majahua early Sunday morning, 40-some fisherman setting out for sailfish and a good time. Among the boats and crews were fishermen of all ages from Majahua, Troncones, La Boca and Saladita. Tournament organizer Antonio Berber said, "We’d like to see this become an annual event for the local community. Part of the plan here was to get the community and its kids out on the water. We did that today, and I’m going to start planning for next year right away. I’d like to see if we can make this a three-day event that involves all aspects of the community.”

On Sunday mornings, just before 10 a.m., a crowd begins to form along South Beach in Troncones. Known as “Boogie Church”, the gathering blends boogie boarding, community and a shared respect for the ocean.

If you’ve spent any time near coconut palms or cacti around Troncones, you’ve probably seen this sharply dressed character—and maybe even heard it before you spotted it. That sharp, high-pitched call? Think squeaky toy with attitude.

Our nature writer, William Mertz, heard about an orca going after a baby humpback, did some homework and sent us this report before the attack became a "thing" on social media.

Shopping for the holidays was always a nightmare for me—either I waited too long and found myself in the mayhem of frantic shoppers—or I just couldn't think of the perfect gift. But here in Troncones, holiday shopping is great fun. Easy, with so many options. Here are a few gifts I would like to give or receive.

If you’ve ever scrubbed your back with a loofah and imagined it came from the ocean—think again. The loofah (or luffa) isn’t a sponge from the sea, but a gourd from the garden.

They sun themselves on rock walls, dash across roads like fleeing dinosaurs, and hiss from the rooftops of old hotels. Some are green as jade, others black and spiny, and all of them are dragons—scaled, ancient, and wholly at home here on the Pacific coast of Mexico. Two species of iguana dominate the Troncones landscape: the Green Iguana [Iguana iguana] and the Black or Spiny-tailed Iguana [Ctenosaura pectinata]. Locals call them panchos and garrobos, and if you stay long enough, you’ll learn the difference not just by sight, but by story.

It may not be getting the action it used to get, but the Troncones skate park is a place where the younger members of the community have gathered for at least 20 years. Lorena Castañeda, manager of Hotel Tres Santos, is making sure it’s cared for so the next generation can continue to ollie, grind and slide.

If you're walking near brushy trails or weedy field edges along Troncones’ coastline and suddenly catch a flash of brilliant blue and yellow, stop and look again. You’re probably looking at an Orange-breasted Bunting [Passerina leclancherii].

“When in doubt—shop”. I’m not sure where I heard that for the first time but, to me, it always works. If you’re depressed, bored or have just a general mal d’esprit—shop. Some call it, “retail therapy”. Then there’s the shop-while-traveling. That's a variation. It requires shopping and eating, my two favorite things to do while exploring the world. It’s a way to bond with a place, to dig into what’s there, what’s unique, what’s different from your own. It’s treasure hunting. The more different, the better. And when you find that special thing, it’s forever a memory of your trip. There are many treasures to be had here in Troncones, and it’s amazing fun searching for them and finding them. This set of treasures is things to wear—hats, blouses, pants, shoes—and some tiny jewels—bags, medals, sunglasses, kaftans. Next time, I plan to come back with more fashion, gifts to give here or back at home, and things for your house, wherever you live.

There’s something about Troncones that tends to pull people back once they leave. Maybe it’s the ocean; maybe it’s the sand; maybe it’s the people. Perhaps it’s a heart-filling sense of being entirely present, of being here now, that’s hard to find elsewhere.

Late last year the dump trucks, bulldozers and backhoes started heading toward Troncones South, past the new cliffside houses, down toward Buena Vista. A big boulevard was cut towards the mountain. The rumors started flying. Then, this summer, a bunch of Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Maseratis and Porches, plus a Mercedes AMG and an Audi R8, rolled through town, stopping at Lo Sereno before heading down to a beach palapa in front of the new boulevard. Some of those cars run $200,000 USD and more. What’s going on?

It’s hard to build a house anywhere. In Troncones, the challenges can seem insurmountable especially when things get lost in translation or twisted by expectation. Those snafus often lead to on-the-spot creativity and new connections.

The last five years have brought a tremendous amount of development to Troncones and its surrounding area. New houses, planned communities and condo projects are re-shaping the landscape, the culture, la onda. What’s next? Where will the growth go? What will it bring? How to prepare for what’s coming? There’s a new approach coming from La Unión, Lagunillas and from the community.

Hollywood’s given them a bad name, but these eight-legged creatures are out looking for food and sex. They have absolutely no interest in you. And two species living in Guerrero are the prettiest tarantulas on the planet.

Dewey McMillin has a tidy history of how he came to buy in Troncones. His friend Bob has another story.

Folk art is sometimes dismissed as primitive and cute. It has always been a way of expressing ideas that are hard to put into words.

Protecting the local wave spots that attract visitors and sustain the year-round economy is important to more than just surfers; it’s called “surfonomics”, a quality-of-life conversation that’s happening here and around the world

It’s not Halloween. It’s not a sugar-skull-selfie moment. It’s not an excuse to wear face paint and call it culture. Día de los Muertos is older than that, deeper than that, and if you’re going to talk about it—respect it.

Eight legs, massive pincers, antennae like violin strings gone feral, an ancient horror movie prop come to life. But what you’re looking at isn’t a monster. It’s a tailless whip scorpion, known here in coastal Guerrero as madre de alacrán, scorpion’s mother. Despite the ominous name and even stranger looks, this creature is completely harmless to humans. No venom. No sting. No bite you’d ever feel. They look like they crawled out of prehistory, and in many ways, they did. Yet here they are, sharing our gardens, our walls, our nights.

The village of Majahua, long known for its dusty road, distinctive fishingfleet, feet-in-the-sand restaurants, hidden surf breaks and slow pace of life, has had a makeover this summer. A brand new concrete road, complete with safety curbs and access ramps, now covers the ancient lumpy gravel from the entrance of the Punta Majahua condo all the way past the local primary school and the entrance to Piedecito de Cielo restaurant.

In the first tourism boom, Troncones found its way by coming together to eat, drink and learn new things. A lot has changed recently, but that's still the way.

In Mexico, welcoming guests always begins with food, drink and a warm embrace. This ritual of la bienvenida—the welcome—is so central to local culture that it extends beyond the living. Every autumn, we-the-living prepare the same kind of welcome for those who have passed on. It’s called la ofrenda, the altar, built to guide our loved ones back home for Día de los Muertos. An altar is more than decoration. It is memory, tradition, and love made visible. Some are simple — a few candles, flowers, and a photo. Others are elaborate displays with arches, tiers, and dozens of offerings. All are equally valid. What matters most is intention.

If you've spent more than a morning in Troncones, you've likely met the Uraca (“ooo-rah-ka”). Maybe she woke you at dawn with her wild, laughing calls, or maybe he eyed you boldly from a mango tree, head cocked, tail swaying like a pendulum. These Uraca birds, also known as the white-throated magpie-jays or Calocitta formosa, aren’t just part of the background. They announce themselves, demanding attention with the same unapologetic flair that defines life in this little coastal town.

Scathing. Funny. Not everyone had a great time at El Burro Borracho.

Beverly Hills, San Miguel de Allende. Troncones. Screenwriter and novelist Cynthia Posner calls each of them “home”. La Onda Troncones recently asked Cynthia what makes Troncones special for her and what keeps her coming back here. This was her reply: