I woke up early and was getting ready to head into Zihuatanejo for a busy day at work when I heard my friend Paco in front of my house calling my name. I stepped to the window, surprised to see him at the early hour.

“What’s up?” I asked and smiled. After all, everyone likes visitors, even at 6:45 in the morning.

Paco skipped the standard Mexican small talk that precedes any conversation here and went straight to the point.

“Nick, Beto died last night.”

“He died?” I asked. I was hoping that some combination of the early hour and Spanish as my second language would conspire to erase what I thought I’d just heard. But Paco’s face said it all; there was no conspiracy here.

I stared straight ahead silently. I didn’t know what to say. One result of leaving home (Oklahoma!) after high school and moving around every few years (or months) is that I’ve never been there when someone close to me has died. I’ve made it to funerals, but I’ve always been separated from the first news of death by hundreds of miles or the lo-fi audio of an international phone call.

Not today. The pain of death, evident on Paco’s face, was looking right at me this time.

“I’ll be back in half an hour.”

I nodded, stepped away from the window, and went to get a shower.

–

Beto, short for Beto Bravo, short for Alberto Bravo Villalobos, was a man I met shortly after arriving in Mexico. He was the president of an organic farmers’ cooperative, and was one of those guys you needed to know, mainly because he knew everyone and everyone knew him. Paco and Beto were partners in the cooperative.

Beto was widely known throughout the Costa Grande for his support of organic agriculture, environmental stewardship, and his endless stream of ideas to harness one of the world’s most productive ecosystems to build a better Mexico. A few weeks before he died Beto was explaining to me how he was going to build his next house from organic bamboo using techniques he had learned during a weekend seminar.

A few days later I saw Beto again. We talked about his next house again, but this time bamboo was all but forgotten – mud bricks were now his material of choice. He was enrolled in a course for the following weekend to learn all about it.

–

Unfortunately, Beto never made it to that course. Last Wednesday he entered the hospital with chest pains. The doctors ran their tests, and his family and friends waited for results. By Friday, Beto had stabilized and the doctors equivocated between a diagnosis of digestive inflammation or heart problems as everyone had initially suspected.

On Saturday, I went to see Beto again. He was in good spirits and had cabin fever. The doctors released him later that day with a recommendation to see a cardiologist in Lazaro Cardenas, a city about an hour north of Zihuatanejo.

His family talked about going that same day, but decided to wait. Sunday was a holiday and the celebration would carry into Monday as well. They made an appointment for Tuesday. I think everyone thought Beto had dodged a bullet and that the hard part was over.

–

Paco was back in front of my house just as I finished getting ready to leave. As we drove to Zihuatanejo, he didn’t say much. I didn’t know what to expect when we got there.

We arrived at the funeral home for the wake before most people. I greeted the mourners I knew and soon followed Paco over to speak to Beto’s wife, Angeles. Her face was a mask of sadness. We embraced as her sobs shook her body as well as mine.

When I saw Beto in his casket, the larger-than-life man I had known seemed much smaller.

At noon Beto’s family took him out to his farm, Rancho La Ceiba, for the last time. The señoras from the neighboring community surrounded the casket, began to pray a rosary, and sang hopeful hymns while we looked on from the shade of the trees Beto had spent years caring for.

–

Rancho La Ceiba was Beto’s pride and joy. I first visited it just a few weeks back. Beto took a group of us on a tour, and as we walked he excitedly described each plant we passed. Tropical flowers, bananas, bamboo… The variety seemed endless and Beto’s pride was evident as we strolled through his organic paradise—no small feat in an agricultural environment that promotes a chemical solution to every problem. As dusk settled over the farm, Beto described one of his latest finds to me. Water spinach, he explained, was a delicious green that was perfectly suited to this tropical climate. He insisted I take some home with me to plant. I did, and it’s growing behind my house now.

I was never surprised at Beto’s success on his farm; he was used to beating the odds. When he, Paco, and their other partners had first talked about growing and exporting organic basil, many of their peers dismissed Beto’s project as a waste of time.

“Beto thinks he’s going to sell basil to the gringos,” they smirked.

Six years later Beto was laughing. La Costa, his organic cooperative, had shipped more than a million pounds of organic basil to the US and was projecting more than half a million dollars in revenues for the coming season.

The export market had been a success, but Beto wasn’t content with what La Costa had achieved. He turned his sights on the local market – selling organic produce to the hotels and resorts in Ixtapa, and increasing availability of organic produce to local consumers as well.

–

As the funeral procession drove away from Beto’s ranch, we followed the coastal highway and looked down from the cliffs on Ixtapa and its high-rise hotels below. They were minutes away from his ranch, but cracking open the market they represented was the last big step Beto didn’t get to take.

We drove south through Zihuatanejo, on our way to Beto’s hometown. Police stopped traffic along the route, and within the hour we arrived at the church in Petatlan. Family, friends, and acquaintances filled the pews. Beto’s casket was in the main aisle, surrounded by six people. Throughout the mass, different family members and friends took turns standing by the casket, accompanying Beto on his final journey. Paco, his father, and I took our turn near the end.

From the church, we drove truckloads of flowers to the cemetery, while mourners followed the casket through the streets. We carried wreaths of flowers up to the grave; there were flowers from legislators, schools, civic groups, and his friends. As the burial came to a close, Beto’s uncle spoke a few words. He remembered Beto’s enthusiasm and big ideas most of all. He called Beto a revolutionary—said he was out to change agriculture in the Costa Grande. Finally, he called on all of us to stay true to Beto’s dream, finish his projects, and make his ideas reality.

–

By the time we headed back to Juluchuca, the sun was setting. We were on the same highway I’ve traveled up and down nearly every day since I got to Mexico three and a half months ago, but this time felt a lot different. I knew the town would be the same as I had left it that morning, but I was much less sure what tomorrow, or the next day, might bring. I had expected to make great friends when I moved to Mexico, but I never thought that I would lose one too.

Paco was thinking about the future too.

“We were supposed to become old men together and spend our days teaching courses on organic farming,” he said suddenly. The surprise of Beto’s death had changed so much.

“You still can,” I answered. “He would want it that way.”

I knew Paco knew this better than I did, but it made me feel better to try and make the future less uncertain.

“I remember his laugh, how it made me want to laugh too” I said, preferring to focus on the past, where I already knew what surprises awaited me.

“You hadn’t seen the half of it,” Paco answered. He smiled as he stared at the road ahead.

“You were just getting to know him.”

Yeah, I was.

This was Opportunity Collaboration’s third annual ‘convening’ in Ixtapa, and the first time I attended. I wasn’t there as a full delegate bragging on all the great things we’ve accomplished in Juluchuca (next year maybe?). Instead, I was there to get a taste of the latest happenings in the social enterprise sector, and to make sure that everyone else got a taste of the local, (mostly) organic basil margaritas that were on offer especially for the conference.

The basil margaritas were a hit with attendees, and also with the local farmers who grew and supplied the ingredients. They were the culmination of a multi-year collaboration between Playa Viva, I-DEV International, and Opportunity Collaboration and are an early step in the conference’s journey to expand its local impact around Ixtapa. I worked with farmers, the hotel, and the conference for two months to make sure the margaritas were on the menu, so I thought they tasted especially good.

Local sourcing is part of the mission at Playa Viva, but is not yet part of the organizational DNA at a large resort like Club Med. With a push from Opportunity Collaboration, that’s changing. Locally harvested and produced sea salt and bath salts were also centerpieces of local sourcing at the conference and will be part of the hotel’s usual purchases going forward.

These kinds of collaborations are what Opportunity Collaboration is all about. After just one week there, my head is swimming with ideas that will keep me busy for at least the next 51 weeks between now and the next conference: expanding local sourcing throughout Ixtapa/Zihuatanejo (and building a model for other tourist destinations), funding projects in Juluchuca through an innovative online donation site, and building a sustainable salt products industry just down the road from where I’m living now, among many others.

Stay tuned for updates on these and other projects. Oh, and if you want try a basil margarita for yourself come on down to Playa Viva and order one from Johnny, the bartender who invented the local version.

Using local salt means that the extra pinch you toss on the morning huevos rancheros didn’t travel hundreds (or thousands) of miles to land on your plate. But while this arrangement seems so much simpler, it’s still a pretty complex operation to get that salt from the ocean-side salt pools a few miles away to Playa Viva.

Low prices for bulk sea salt have put that complex system at risk. Farmers are switching to plastic-based, non-organic production methods that risk not only their cultural heritage, but also the local ecosystem. An article (in Spanish) in one of the Costa Grande’s local newspapers highlighted this challenge and the damage it could provoke in the salty lagoons near Juluchuca.

The answer is simple, right? – Stop producing sea salt using black plastic sheeting that contaminates the environment, and switch back to centuries-old methods that use sand and clay to form shallow pools to evaporate seawater.

But low-income producers have an equally simple response:  produce as much salt as cheaply as possible in order to earn enough pesos to feed their families.

In reality, neither response is sufficient. Using local salt doesn’t allow Playa Viva to opt out of a complex global food production system. Instead, it just brings the complexity closer to home and makes addressing the risks that much more pertinent.

A longer lasting solution is to work with the salt producers to adapt to the market dynamics they face. That’s why Playa Viva partnered with I-DEV—to help farmers profit from the benefits that organic, artisanally produced sea salt offers consumers. It’s a multi-year process, but we’ve already taken the first steps. During the next harvest season, which starts next February, a select group of salt farmers will rededicate themselves to the artisanal production methods their parents and grandparents used. This will mean more work and higher production costs, but also means they’ll be able to charge higher prices in the local and international markets.

Group members vote for their leaders with carefully placed hash marks.

The group has been meeting weekly for the past month, getting ready for a production season that is only a few months away. They recently elected three of their members to lead them through the next season as they buck a national trend in Mexico and say ‘No’ to plastic-based sea salt production. Members scratched three hash marks each on piece of paper taped to the wall to cast their votes. I was the outside election monitor (first time!), and I can say that we avoided any lengthy legal battles over the group’s leadership.

So what do hash marks on a crumpled paper in rural Mexico have to do with you? Whether you’re eating salt that’s been flown, trucked, and shipped around the world, or savoring that simplest spice from right down the beach, complexity is infused in the food you consume. These artisanal salt farmers are learning how global markets have influenced how they produce their salt, and are opting for a return to traditional methods of production instead.

Watch for kitchen and bath salt products from ‘Sal Mar Azteca’ next year. Or, if you can’t wait to get your hands on some you can order Playa Viva’s ‘Sal Viva,’ an artisanal sea salt produced right up the beach from the eco-resort.

These coconuts are an important source of income for the landowners, farmers, and workers who harvest them, but selling fresh, unprocessed coconuts can be a gamble in a commodity market.

With the support of the Guerrero state government, one group of young entrepreneurs in Juluchuca is taking their local coconuts and turning them into coconut candy (dulces de coco). About 20 local residents are participating in a year-long program through which they are learning how to make candy from coconuts and other local fruits. Once they’ve got the basics of candy-making down, program instructors will also teach them how to start their own businesses to market their locally produced treats and develop brands that they can sell in nearby tourist centers.

The participants just finished the first four-month stretch of the year-long program and celebrated a couple weeks ago with a graduation ceremony (and after-party). They invited me to attend and the ceremony was a great chance for the students to share what they’d learned and show their excitement about the next phases of the project.

In between plates of chicharron, guacamole, and tacos I got to taste test some of the new candy and it tasted great—not too sweet, slightly crunchy texture, and a delicious essence of coconut throughout.  In fact, I’m munching on a piece as I write this.

Programs like this one are vital to helping Juluchucans turn their natural resources into sustainable livelihoods. One of my roles in Juluchuca is to help connect these efforts with the nearby tourist market so the benefits that visitors bring to Ixtapa/Zihuatanejo can extend beyond the high-rise hotels and into nearby communities. Places like Playa Viva already ‘get it’ and have long engaged and integrated with their communities to spur local economic development.

So what’s next for Juluchuca’s latest batch of candy-makers? As they start their businesses, we’ll start to connect them with selling opportunities outside Juluchuca. Judging by the taste of these candies, finding buyers shouldn’t be too hard!

Miguel just spent a second weekend with the volunteers from La Tortuga Viva turtle sanctuary upgrading the bio-diesel plant, reviewing  manufacturing procedures and teaching them how to make a cleaner form of bio-diesel that we can use in the Playa Viva Passenger Van. So as of today, we are officially operating on bio-diesel made from waste oil from nearby restaurants. Yep, the emissions smell like french fries and tacos.

What is so significant for us about this milestone? First, this allows us to realize one of the goals we had for Playa Viva since we first started envisioning this project. Second, this is part of a brought strategy of “cutting the cord” from some of the largest companies/utilities in Mexico.  We started as 100% off grid solar and do NOT pay a bill to the Mexican monopoly utility company, CFE.  We use satellite rather than land line and are NOT paying a bill to Telmex. Now, we are looking forward to not paying bills to Pemex.  CFE, Telmex and Pemex free.

I’m curious if anyone has any good information on how going with bio-diesel will cut down on our total emissions.  Please share.

Photo to the right is of the new head of La Tortuga Viva turtle sanctuary volunteers filling up the tank of the Playa Viva van with bio-diesel.

¿Número?
174.
¿Fecha?
7 de agosto.
¿Huevos?
63.
¿Tipo?
Golfina.

As I watched, the volunteers marked each of the previous night’s finds—recording the nest number, the number of eggs, the type of turtle, and the date.

—

Fast forward one week and I’m back at Playa Viva, relaxing before the start of a new week, when I hear the 4-wheeler headed down the beach from the turtle sanctuary. The volunteers arrive carrying a bucket, and when I peer inside I see tens of scrambling baby sea turtles – the first hatchlings of the year!

My timing couldn’t have been better: one week earlier I was watching eggs go into the ground for their two month incubation period, and now here I was looking at the season’s first set of turtles ready to be released into the ocean. Julia (Playa Viva’s manager), the two volunteers, and I made our way down to the waves where they poured the turtles onto the sand and we all watched as they scrambled toward the ocean.

Tortuga Viva’s volunteers told me that last year they released more than 100,000 baby sea turtles into the ocean. My fortunate timing—seeing eggs buried one week and baby turtles entering the ocean the next—is the result of the time and dedication these volunteers devote to gathering and caring for the eggs that mother turtles leave on Juluchuca’s shoreline. They protect the eggs from predators and poachers and shepherd the baby turtles back to the ocean when they hatch. Playa Viva supports and partners with local volunteers to support these conservation efforts.

Check out the video below to see this year’s first release, or, better yet, come down to Playa Viva to see it for yourself!

Nick’s Turtle Video from Playa Viva on Vimeo.

I’m used to the familiar sounds of a rural town, the friendly manner of the Mexican people, the never-ending supply of fresh fruit and juices, and the delicious foods to be found around every corner.

Playa Viva is a Mexico I haven’t seen before. In the week I’ve been here, the calm and peacefulness that pervade this refuge have impressed themselves upon me. After serving vacationing guests for the past year, the hotel and its staff are preparing for a vacation of their own during the upcoming rainy season. So, things have been quiet—quieter I’m sure than they are when there are a few other guests roaming the beachside paths.

But, even in the midst of such peace I’ve begun to recognize all the sounds that make up what I recognize as such a calming silence. The biggest component is the crashing waves—24 hours a day they’re just a couple hundred feet away providing a steady beat of soothing rhythm to my days here. Chirping birds (and squeaking salamanders) punctuate the ever present sounds of the surf. Come meal time you’ll hear the clanking of pots and pans and the clinking of silverware and glasses as we get ready to eat. Here and there laughter rings out as the hotel staff prepares for a well-deserved break. As the sun sets a steady hum of insects fills the evening and the rest of us slip closer to sleep.

So silence here really isn’t that silent at all, but that doesn’t mean it’s not relaxing. When the waves pause for a moment you notice their absence, and it’s like the ocean is taking a deep breath in preparation for its next cascade on an unblinking beach. Playa Viva seems designed to promote this kind of closeness to the living, breathing earth that surrounds this beachside enclave. Breezes blow through open air buildings and I look up to see shifting palm trees and iguanas scrambling across the sand. There aren’t walls to shut these creatures out and envelop me in an artificial bubble, there’s just the steady sound of rolling waves that draws me closer to them.

Editors Note: Nick comes to us via i-Dev International. More on them via this link.

What is your role in the Social Capital Market?

Pure Entrepreneur. As an entrepreneur, business is about doing, learning and perfecting. I believe that there are no original ideas only original execution. As social and environmental entrepreneurs, we subscribe to building enterprises in a regenerative manner. That is, we can make it better. Just like the land we now steward was depleted and degraded, our role as developers is to make it the place better, not just settle for doing less damage. We also subscribe to principals of regeneration including developing a “history of place” and understand our roles as stewards of the land for the relatively short time we will inhabit the place. We also see our role as organic – launch, listen, learn – adapting as nature does. Finally, we see our role as integrated and holistic combining enterprise with environment and social impact. Each of these has equal footing as part of our role and mission.

How can the green movement progress from simply eliminating harm to adding value?

We subscribe to the term “regeneration.” When my wife first met Bill Reed from Regenesis Group at the Green Build Conference back in 2005 and then hired him to head up our design Charettes, I was skeptical. My first thought, “just by the fact we are building means we are degrading.” But Bill made a quick convert of me when he stated, “in most cases we are taking over a location that have already been degraded.” Our role was then to understand the “history of place” and define our role, mission and values as to how we, as stewards of this place, could go beyond doing less harm, to restoration and eventually regeneration. Today, we are experiencing exactly that through our investment in permaculture and community entrepreneurship. We are regenerating over 85% of the land and engaging in making a positive social impact on this community of 600. Come to our session – learn more.

What does Money + Meaning = to you? What should the social capital market stand for?

Every day, we vote with our wallets. “Money + Meaning” = making financial decisions based on your values, values that go beyond just the highest-short-term return. We spend a significant amount of money on regeneration of our land. Many would argue that this investment is a waste, it contributes very little if anything to our bottom line – profits. Why not invest that money in revenue generating assets? But we take the long term view: What is the value of 10,000 trees planted today in 30 years? What is the value of restoring a lagoon and the resulting biodiversity ? What is the value of our investment in the community? What is the value of these “externalities?” Do our customers appreciate this investment and are they willing to pay a premium for our product? We believe so and are committed to make those investments.

Excerpt below:

“Despite the bleak outlook the drug war summons, the Mexican economy is humming along, not without warning signs, but growing considerably faster than that of the United States.

Even as drug organizations battle for turf around them, more TV sets are being assembled, car parts boxed up and electronic widgets soldered together in the large manufacturing plants here known as maquiladoras. The result is a boomlet in jobs in some of Mexico’s hardest-hit cities, a bright spot in an otherwise bleak stream of shootouts, departing small businesses and fear of random death.

Over all, jobs in Mexico’s manufacturing sector increased 8.2 percent to 1.8 million as of January, the most recent figures available, driven mostly by what Mexican officials called regaining health in the auto and electronics industries, the engine of the economy along the border. Even Ciudad Juárez, which has both the highest level of violence and the largest number of maquiladoras, added 1.3 percent more jobs, to 176,824.”

Click here to read full article in the New York Times