Wherever I go in Canada, the US or Mexico, people come up to me and say "Don’t mention this place when you write in The RV Times because we don’t want anyone to know about it."

Well, doesn’t that kind of leave my hands tied? There are so many wonderful places to go and they are all a secret?

So I have decided to tell you about a place where we stayed this winter in Mexico, but I will not mention the name. (Rudy and Donna would kill me.)

We boondocked in a small village on the Pacific Ocean – a very small village on a very small bay. How small? If you want exercise you can walk up and down the beach several times and wave to the same people as you go by. Some of the newcomers jog, but they soon get over that. You’ll see them several days later, just ambling along like the rest of us.

There is no RV park yet in this unnamed village; you just pick a spot and squeeze on in. Someone will collect money from you, whether they own the spot or not. This is sometimes debatable, but you feel purer if you pay someone something.

You can have a shower outside one of the restaurants, enclosed of course, and included in your rent. It makes me laugh when people ask how much rent we pay, because it’s all so negotiable. If someone hooks your hose up to their water in their house or restaurant, then that’s worth something. If they supply you with a toilet, then that’s worth something, too. And how about that elusive commodity, electricity? You’re very lucky if you get that. We just used solar power and candles. I always think having soft candlelight on the beach in the moonlight is so romantic, while Jan (my husband) thinks it just attracts bugs. Okay, so I do spend a lot of time cleaning scorched bodies off my patio table.

We usually woke up with the sunrise in this unnamed village. First one up put the coffee on. We opened the curtains to see what was happening on the beach. We always had to wait for the sun to clear the heavy dew off the windows before we could see clearly. We would carry the coffee back to bed, snuggle under our down blankets and watch the day begin.

The pelicans were always the first up looking for their morning catch. Next came the fishermen and their pangas, heading out at the crack of dawn and usually following the pelicans. Then came the people from the unnamed village, walking the beach before they opened their businesses. Dressed for work, the men avoided the waves and the women carried their shoes, lifted their skirts above their knees and gossiped as they walked. They strolled slowly, seemingly not for exercise but for the pure joy of it.

Behind us on the dirt road the traffic picked up – people heading into the nearby town, children heading for school chattering away, spotless in their white shirts and blouses and slicked-down hair. "Toot, toot, toot" meant the tortilla man was coming on his motorcycle. Fresh, hot tortillas delivered to your door every morning, carried on the back of his cycle in an old cooler. We never got any as we were never dressed in time.

The honking that always got us moving quickly was from the waterman. We NEVER wanted to miss him. We’d grab our five-gallon plastic water jar and our pesos and sit on the road waiting our turn. We’d get him to pour the jug straight into our tank (he was younger and stronger). We fashioned a funnel out of an old one-gallon milk container and we didn’t dare lose it.

The rest of the morning was spent puttering away at our chores. When those were done we grabbed our walking sticks and headed for the jungle, past the banana plantation, past the horse tied to the shade tree, past the chickens running loose, past the bridge where the alligator lives, past the hotel grounds and past the woodworking shop with the salsa music pouring out. Up, up, up we went through a narrow, winding trail through the jungle, usually accompanied by one or two stray dogs. Up to the top where the goats were grazing accompanied by their shepherd and his two dogs. Awaiting us was a breathtaking view of the beach down below. Sometimes we were treated to a show of one or two whales cavorting out in the open sea. When we arrived back down in the village the sun was at full strength, and a dip in the ocean finished off our fitness regime for the day.

We made sure we put our shower bucket out in the hot sun to catch the afternoon rays. We were then assured of a warm shower later, as the sun seemed to shine every single day.

After a quick lunch we would walk the short distance to town. We had to remember to keep our hands on our heads as we walked through the coconut grove; those coconuts are lethal if they hit you. We bought tortillas, salsa, re-fried beans and fresh vegetables and fruit. Our Spanish was laughable, but the people were friendly and tried to help us as much as they could. We didn’t always get what we wanted, but we sure had fun trying. We would walk home along the beach. It was so interesting looking to see what boats had anchored overnight in the bay, or check out the busloads of white (to be sunburned at the end of the day) tourists who were sipping ice-cold cervezas, and sitting in beach-front cafes with Latin music blaring.

Afternoons were whatever we wanted them to be. We visited with our neighbours; they dropped in on us and sat in the shade of our little palapa. Small schoolgirls with dimples plied us with homemade doughnuts and cakes. Vendors wandered up and down the beach selling hats, ice cream, carved fruit, hammocks, jewelry, trinkets – you name it, and it would come to you. We ended up with two hammocks strung across the palapa.

I was in the van on one of our last days, preparing our dinner when the hammock salesman arrived again! I really coveted a hammock chair. That way, I only need one tree, as I can never find two trees together, ever. Jan and the hammock salesman began the bargaining. Jan decided to throw into the price a piece of upholstery fabric we didn’t need. It was under the bed and took me 10 minutes to find. Next he needed his wallet, and then he needed me outside. I gave up and turned off the dinner. By now a small crowd had gathered, including another hammock salesman and most of our neighbours. The men hooked the hammock under the palapa and I tried it out, so did all the neighbours. The salesman took the fabric and some money, shook our hands and left. The neighbours hung around for a while discussing the deal and then returned home. I turned the gas burners back on and finished cooking dinner. A typical day!

We had late afternoon showers and then came outside to watch the sunset. The pelicans returned and the fishermen in their pangas hurried home. The sun set crimson in a brilliant blue sea. People lied to me and said they saw a green flash and I always humoured them.

It was pitch dark by 6 p.m. and everyone went into their rigs. Soft lights came on and soft music played. Another day was over in the village I’m not allowed to mention. DON’T EVER GO THERE.