Finding unspoiled beach paradise, and love, in laid-back Zihuatanejo

ZIHUATANEJO, Mexico — Rick never married, never had children. He used the money he made in a career selling cars to find the perfect beach with the perfect sunset.

Aruba, Bahamas, Belize, Costa Rica, Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, St. Croix, St. Thomas, Vieques, all the British Virgin Islands — he visited each over the years in search of a warm place to retire.

So it was with little surprise that I got a phone call a year or two ago from a place with a melodic name pronounced "zee-WAH-ta-nay-ho."

"Ricardo has found paradise," my friend Rick Barrett said, explaining that he had paid $67,500 for a one-bedroom condo with air conditioning, satellite TV and a hammock on the terrace.

"It's also got a swimming pool with cement bar stools overlooking the Pacific — a big plus."

Zihuatanejo? I remembered the name as the final escape for the prison friends in the movie "Shawshank Redemption."

A little Internet research revealed that an Indian king founded the fishing village some 500 years ago on a half-moon bay on the rugged Pacific side of southern Mexico, where the forested Sierra Madre mountains run down to the sea. He built a rock wall that still stands in the shallow waters; legend says it was to give his daughter a calm place to swim.

Americans began discovering Zihuatanejo by accident after the Mexican government picked a bay four miles to the north in the 1970s to create the high-rise tourist resort of Ixtapa, much the same as Cancun was constructed on the Caribbean side. With its golf courses, upscale shops, classy marina, luxurious resorts with spacious pools and party-till-dawn discos such as Señor Frog's, Ixtapa provides a modern mix to the traditional charm of Zihuatanejo.

Zihua, as the residents call it, has grown to some 35,000 people, and Playa la Ropa, its main beach, is a favorite vacation destination for wealthy residents of Mexico City. The milelong beach is lined with restaurants and classy hotels such as Villa del Sol.

Rick, who has a history of finding beautiful places, showed up in our hometown, St. Louis, in May to show off the silver 1986 Buick Electra he had bought and was driving back to Mexico. And he had made one other important purchase to take back to his new home: a diamond wedding ring.

I never got the promised invitation to his wedding, but I headed down anyway. I wanted to see what one aficionado of beautiful places had picked as the best. Plus, the thought of Rick sweating profusely in a black tuxedo at a beach wedding was too good to miss.

Traditional charm

As the airplane left the brown cloud that obscures Mexico City, the landscape below soon turned to green mountains with tiny towns tucked here and there. The plane made a turn at the sea and landed in the small, modern airport shared by Ixtapa and Zihuatanejo. The flight took 30 minutes.

A cab ride led through the cobblestone streets of Zihuatanejo, which had a Third World look with open-fronted shops and boisterous colors but without the junked cars and mangy dogs. The parks were manicured, the palm trees painted white at their bases. Volkswagen Bugs and vintage Nissans were the cars of choice.

At the market in town, each shop owner used a broom and soapy water to give the sidewalk a morning scrubbing before opening to sell painted and glazed pottery in vibrant colors, silver jewelry set with deep green malachite and embroidered clothing from Oaxaca and Guatemala.

The Villa del Sol was as advertised. Conde Nast has listed it among the "Top 25 Small Hotels in the World." I can't wait to see the other 24.

Built in 1978 by architect and owner Helmut Leins, the hotel has four swimming pools, two restaurants, three bars and 55 units in two-story adobe casitas hidden in a lush, tropical setting. Arches held up by twisted tree trunks drip with pink bougainvillea, and the walkways follow a clear stream that meanders through blue-tiled canals. Footbridges cross a rock-lined lagoon near an adults-only infinity pool that seems to reach into the sea. Beneath the tall coconut palms on the private beach, couples dine at tables set with white cloths.

My room had an alcove in the private entry, a sitting room and marble-lined bathroom on the first floor and a canopy bed in a loft with wooden shutters on the windows. A hammock was on the terrace, Mexican art was on the wall.

Rick picked me up in a cab. His Buick had survived the goats, cows, potholes, bandits and hairpin turns on the long drive down through the mountains, but was in the shop mending from a run-in with a local telephone pole. Rick's driving had deteriorated as the wedding date grew near.

'Sunshine 340 days a year'

We headed to Ixtapa Island for an afternoon of snorkeling. The cab driver stopped where a bridge crossed a small river of black water. Crocodiles with bellies as big as washtubs sunned on the banks. In the mangrove trees just over the water, herons and egrets had set up a rookery. The fluffy gray chicks in the nests had one chance to learn to fly. A splash-landing would awaken the dozing crocs.

A small boat that looked like a tug ferried us to the island for 30 pesos, about $3, roundtrip. Lounge chairs lined the beach, but we claimed the best spot under a thatched umbrella on an elevated finger of land that protruded into the surf between jagged chunks of black lava rock.

Frederico, the waiter, put cloths on the table and brought us a bucket of iced Bohemias and, later, a Coco Loco, which turned out to be four liquors poured into a green coconut with a smiley face fashioned from fruit. When we asked to see the menu, he carried out a tray for us to pick from the red snapper and lobster fresh from the sea.

"It's the people that make Zihuatanejo," Rick said between swims. "And there's sunshine 340 days a year, and no fast-food joints. I was going to Ixtapa and found this place."

He also found Evelia Marraquin, whom I was introduced to that night over fish tacos at Bandido's Restaurant, where she was working when the two met. Explained Rick: "I asked her out, she said maybe. I asked her out, she said maybe. I took her to dinner five times before I got a smooch."

Evelia proved to be stylish, self-assured and in love with my friend. Rick planned to adopt Evelia's 13-year-old son, Richard, after their marriage. Since Rick never had a child, and Richard never had a father, they are helping each other in the transition, especially with three now sharing the small condo. Rick is teaching Richard English, and Richard is teaching Rick Spanish.

"I tell him, 'My TV, your TV. My CDs, your CDs. My Buick, your Buick," Rick said.

Richard, who was eavesdropping nearby, countered: "No, no. You can keep the Buick."

Evelia took care of the wedding plans. The ceremony was on the beach behind Paty's Restaurant, which is two doors down from the Villa del Sol.

Wedding day

The owner, Patricia Montufar, set up tables covered with floral displays atop white linens on the sand. Plastic chairs were covered in linen and tied with golden ribbon. A horseshoe of yellow flowers was the backdrop. A large heart was outlined in the sand by luminaria, which were lit as the sun began setting.

Rick showed up early in his tux, sweating profusely. His face was red, as if his bow tie was too tight.

"He's the most nervous groom I've ever had," Montufar whispered in my ear. "I told him, 'It's no wonder you waited so long to get married.' "

Soon, the bar area filled with guests bearing gifts. The crowd murmured when Evelia made an entrance. She wore a simple white satin dress with a long, flowing veil hoisted by three giggling girls with tiaras and garlands in their hair.

A judge spoke in Spanish above the pounding of the waves. A preacher spoke in English. The couple donned a lasso of flowers to signify their unity.

As the sun set, the formalities ended and the partying began. Rick took off his coat and tie and smiled for the first time.

Two days later, on the way to the airport — in the Buick that still bore the imprint of a fallen utility pole on its roof — Rick said, "I've not had a bad day since I got here. This is home."

But, he added, "If I had it to do all over again, I'd bag the tuxedo."