Hurricane Otis lands in Acapulco. How will the tourist city recover?

Acapulco was ravaged by Hurricane Otis on Oct. 25. Chaos ensued with roads closed from floods, looting, as well as power and internet outages, leaving citizens frustrated with Mexican authorities who lacked the resources to address the damage.

|
Marco Ugarte/AP
Cars attempt to cross a flooded avenue following Hurricane Otis' landfall in Acapulco, Mexico, Oct. 25, 2023. A powerful Category 5 storm, Otis unleashed massive flooding, leaving much of the southwestern state of Guerrero without power or cellphone service.

A day after Hurricane Otis roared ashore in Acapulco, unleashing massive floods and setting off looting, the resort city of nearly 1 million descended into chaos, leaving residents without electricity or internet service as the toll remained uncertain.

The early images and accounts were of extensive devastation, toppled trees, and power lines lying in brown floodwaters that in some areas extended for miles. The resulting destruction delayed a comprehensive response by the government, which was still assessing the damage along Mexico’s Pacific coast, and made residents desperate.

Many of the once sleek beachfront hotels in Acapulco looked like toothless, shattered hulks a day after the Category 5 storm blew out hundreds – and possibly thousands – of windows.

There seemed to be a widespread frustration with authorities. While some 10,000 military troops were deployed to the area, they lacked the tools to clean tons of mud and fallen trees from the streets. Hundreds of trucks from the government electricity company arrived in Acapulco early Wednesday, but seemed at a loss as to how to restore power, with downed electricity lines lying in feet of mud and water.

Jakob Sauczuk was staying with a group of friends at a beachfront hotel when Otis hit. “We laid down on the floor, and some between beds,” Mr. Sauczuk said. “We prayed a lot.”

One of his friends showed reporters photos of the windowless, shattered rooms in the hotel. It looked as if someone had put clothes, beds, and furniture in a blender, leaving a shredded mass.

Mr. Sauczuk complained that his group was given no warning, nor were offered safer shelter, by the hotel.

Pablo Navarro, an auto parts worker who was lodged in temporary accommodations at a beach front hotel, thought he might die in his 13th story hotel room.

“I took shelter in the bathroom, and thankfully the door held,” said Mr. Navarro. “But there were some room where the wind blew out the windows and the doors.”

Mr. Navarro stood Wednesday outside a discount grocery and household goods store near the hotel zone, as hundreds of people wrestled everything from packs of hot dogs and toilet paper to flat screen TVs out of the muddy store, struggling to push loaded metal shopping carts onto the mud-choked streets outside.

“This is out of control,” he said.

Isabel de la Cruz, a resident of Acapulco, tried to move a shopping cart loaded with diapers, instant noodles, and toilet paper through the mud.

She viewed what she took as a chance to help her family after she lost the tin roof of her home and her family’s important documents in the hurricane.

“When is the government ever going to look after the common people?” she said.

Inside one store, National Guard officers allowed looters to take perishable items like food, but made futile efforts to prevent people from taking appliances, even as people outside loaded refrigerators on top of taxis.

It took nearly all day on Oct. 25 for authorities to partially reopen the main highway connecting Acapulco to the state capital Chilpancingo and Mexico City. The vital ground link allowed dozens of emergency vehicles, personnel and trucks carrying supplies to reach the battered port.

Acapulco’s commercial and military airports were still too badly damaged to resume flights.

Acapulco’s Diamond Zone, an oceanfront area replete with hotels, restaurants, and other tourist attractions, looked to be mostly underwater in drone footage that Foro TV posted online Oct. 25, with boulevards and bridges completely hidden by an enormous lake of brown water.

Large buildings had their walls and roofs partially or completely ripped off. Dislodged solar panels, cars, and debris littered the lobby of one severely damaged hotel. People wandered up to their waists in water in some areas, while on other less-flooded streets soldiers shoveled rubble and fallen palm fronds from the pavement.

Wednesday night the city plunged into darkness. There was no phone service, but some people were able to use satellite phones loaned by the Red Cross to let family members know they were OK.

Alicia Galindo, a stylist in the central Mexican city of San Luis Potosi, was one of the lucky ones to get such a call. Her parents and brother were staying in Acapulco’s Hotel Princess for an international mining conference when Otis hit early Oct. 25 with 165 mph winds.

They told her the worst part of the storm was between 1 a.m. and 3 a.m. when “windows began to fall, floors broke up, mattresses flew, hallways collapsed, doors fell down ... until everything was gone,” she said in a telephone interview with The Associated Press. Fortunately, they escaped unhurt, she said.

However, Ms. Galindo had yet to hear from her boyfriend, who was attending the same conference but staying in a different hotel.

On Oct. 24, Otis took many by surprise when it rapidly strengthened from a tropical storm to a powerful Category 5 as it tore along the coast.

“It’s one thing to have a Category 5 hurricane make landfall somewhere when you’re expecting it or expecting a strong hurricane, but to have it happen when you’re not expecting anything to happen is truly a nightmare,” said Brian McNoldy, a hurricane researcher at the University of Miami.

Acapulco, Tecpan, and other towns along the Costa Grande in Guerrero were hit hard, Mexican President Andrés Manuel López Obrador said Wednesday morning. He said conditions were so bad that communication with the area had been “completely lost.”

Later on Oct. 25, Milenio TV circulated photos of Mr. López Obrador trying to make it to Acapulco by ground, in some places getting out to walk. It was not immediately clear if he made it.

Acapulco is at the foot of steep mountains. Luxury homes and slums alike cover the hillsides with views of the glistening Pacific Ocean. Once drawing Hollywood stars for its nightlife, sport fishing, and cliff diving shows, the port has in recent years fallen victim to competing organized crime groups that have sunk the city into violence, driving many international tourists to the Caribbean waters of Cancun and the Riviera Maya or beaches farther down the Pacific coast in the state of Oaxaca.

Mr. López Obrador noted that Otis was a stronger hurricane than Pauline, which hit Acapulco in 1997, destroying swaths of the city and killing more than 300 people.

This story was reported by The Associated Press. María Verza reported from Mexico City. AP science writer Seth Borenstein in Washington contributed to this report.

You've read  of  free articles. Subscribe to continue.
Real news can be honest, hopeful, credible, constructive.
What is the Monitor difference? Tackling the tough headlines – with humanity. Listening to sources – with respect. Seeing the story that others are missing by reporting what so often gets overlooked: the values that connect us. That’s Monitor reporting – news that changes how you see the world.

Dear Reader,

About a year ago, I happened upon this statement about the Monitor in the Harvard Business Review – under the charming heading of “do things that don’t interest you”:

“Many things that end up” being meaningful, writes social scientist Joseph Grenny, “have come from conference workshops, articles, or online videos that began as a chore and ended with an insight. My work in Kenya, for example, was heavily influenced by a Christian Science Monitor article I had forced myself to read 10 years earlier. Sometimes, we call things ‘boring’ simply because they lie outside the box we are currently in.”

If you were to come up with a punchline to a joke about the Monitor, that would probably be it. We’re seen as being global, fair, insightful, and perhaps a bit too earnest. We’re the bran muffin of journalism.

But you know what? We change lives. And I’m going to argue that we change lives precisely because we force open that too-small box that most human beings think they live in.

The Monitor is a peculiar little publication that’s hard for the world to figure out. We’re run by a church, but we’re not only for church members and we’re not about converting people. We’re known as being fair even as the world becomes as polarized as at any time since the newspaper’s founding in 1908.

We have a mission beyond circulation, we want to bridge divides. We’re about kicking down the door of thought everywhere and saying, “You are bigger and more capable than you realize. And we can prove it.”

If you’re looking for bran muffin journalism, you can subscribe to the Monitor for $15. You’ll get the Monitor Weekly magazine, the Monitor Daily email, and unlimited access to CSMonitor.com.

QR Code to Hurricane Otis lands in Acapulco. How will the tourist city recover?
Read this article in
https://www.csmonitor.com/Environment/2023/1026/Hurricane-Otis-lands-in-Acapulco.-How-will-the-tourist-city-recover
QR Code to Subscription page
Start your subscription today
https://www.csmonitor.com/subscribe