The morning boat cuts a clean line across Zihuatanejo Bay, the hull whispering against water that holds heat and light. You step aboard, towel slung over a shoulder, and the town’s color — painted houses, laundry, fishermen hauling nets — slips astern. In twenty minutes the shoreline of Playa Las Gatas draws near: a rocky break that shelters calm, crystalline water where fish move like punctuation. Guides tie up, hand out masks and snorkels, and a shallow world opens beneath the surface — corals fanning, schools of sergeant majors flicking like punctuation, and an unmistakable bronze figure standing watch below: a roughly 15–18‑foot statue of Jesus seated on the seafloor, algae softening its edges.