We headed to the Puerto Escondido mercado yesterday midday—because
for some reason we persist in leaving the house when the sun is highest in the
sky—to see what was what. We were reminded of a travel foible we’ve experienced
before: in Spanish the difference between right and straight is a single
letter. Despite turning derecha and then realizing we were supposed to go
derecho, we found it, and it was similar to other markets we’ve visited,
although Chris and I have been struck repeatedly by how gracious the vendors
here are. Chris was looking at guayeberas and went so far as to try one on, but
there was no real pressure to buy. When Chris said it was a beautiful color,
the young man simply agreed and thanked him. We were there primarily for a
sombrero but unfortunately Chris’s head is enormously too large to fit in any
of the hats that were available in the market. The woman we met with didn’t
even try to pretend she had something or that she had a sister two stalls over
and three down with something to accommodate that big old brain. We had lunch
in the Mexican version of the food court and there Chris grappled with sopa de
camarones from which antennae arced out of his bowl and rested on the table
between us. There were eyes looking at
me out of that bowl and in every direction. I mentioned that in the city of
Oaxaca vendors offered samples of their product and that remains true in this
part of the state. Chris and I feel compelled to buy anything that anyone
offers us a taste of and, because of this, on our way out of the market we
purchased a baked product about the size of a frozen waffle that was part
cornbread, part honey cake, all good, and we also got something that reminded
me of something my mom made when I was little (I want to say pizzelles, but I
think not quite pizzelles?). Whatever they were, they triggered an instant
memory of a box in the cabinet above the fridge in our old house on Oak Park
Avenue in which were stored the apparatus, and if memory serves there was a
butterfly shape that took my fancy.
When we returned home, we chatted with Nina for a bit and
she mentioned that if we’re leaving our shoes on the porch, which we’ve been
doing, we should check them for scorpions and tarantulas in the morning which
was good advice that we will happily offer to other people who will continue to
leave their shoes out on the porch. Our shoes will be coming inside with us from
now on. She said the hurricane affected natural habitats and displaced some of
the indigenous animals from the hills, and jaguars and leopards have been
sighted in nearby towns in the last month since the storm hit. I’m not sure how
I would behave if I was walking through a small town here and saw a leopard, but
I’m quite sure I wouldn’t demonstrate the calm and poise of Atticus Finch. Other
than lizards and crabs and some tremendous birds, we’ve only seen dead animals:
a tiny dead bat, a long dead snake and a desiccated dead frog.
We’re using the Moon Handbook for Oaxaca and on some
subjects it is full of valuable information and on others, not so much. For
instance, it often says things like, “for a longer walk, keep walking…” and I’m
not sure that someone who is savvy enough to get themselves to Mexico in the
first place isn’t also clever enough to figure that if they wanted to walk
longer than they already had, they simply could. We read that Playa Barra de
Colotepec was worth a visit for its pristine beach which ends in a jungle-fringed
lagoon at the mouth of the Rio Colotepec. What the book failed to mention was
that this beach would be utterly deserted, though perhaps that’s what pristine
meant to the author. We were waiting for a camionetta, when a taxi pulled up so
we took that instead. This may have been the mistake that lead to me to wonder
if all that GPS phone tracking they talk about on cop shows is real or if our
dead bodies would never be found or identified. We asked to be taken to the
beach at Barra. I was confident about our plans all the way down the
panamerican highway to the turn off for La Barra, through the town and when it seemed
like we left the town behind my confidence waned. The drive became greener and
shadier and we seemed to be on a road running parallel to the Rio Colotepec,
but then we turned and from then on only saw people with machetes. Eventually,
the driver pulled up in front of a pile of sand, next to a completely isolated private
home, and told us the beach was “through there.” He charged us more than any
driver here has yet and, one quick three point turn later, he was gone before
we realized it wasn’t an inhabited beach and there was no chance a taxi would
ever happen down this road again. There was nothing to do but climb the sand
pile and head out towards the ocean.
Each of the beaches we’ve visited star gorgeous, clear
water. The water crashing to shore on this beach was brown out almost as far as
the eye could see—presumably because we were close to the mouth of the river.
There was only the slightest ribbon of blue darker than the sky on the horizon
before us. If you’re not sure where you are and you’re not sure how you’re
going to get home and you’re not sure you’re totally safe, you may as well
commit to enjoying where you are. There
was no one in sight as far as we could see down the beach in either direction
and there was something about being totally alone in the setting that was
stunning and beautiful. We decided to walk towards the mouth of the river,
which we couldn’t see from where we were. Beach walking is harder than walking
and the sun is blazing hot and we never seem to have any water with us so we
stopped occasionally to recommit to the plan. We’ll just walk up to that bend
and see what we can see from there and then make a new decision to continue or
go back. We’ll just walk up to that collapsed structure ahead on the left and
then make a new decision to continue or go back. We kept deciding to continue and eventually
found ourselves at the lagoon at the mouth of the river which was a joyful
place for egrets and pelicans and little birds, too, and us. We haven’t brought
our best camera on any of these beach walks with us because it is cumbersome and
it would be a shame if it was drenched, but Chris got some nice panoramas on
our smaller camera at the river.
We had a new decision to make, try to walk up the river or
head back. And heading back dealt more than one option: heading back to
Zicatela along the beach which was four or five miles (again, without water) or
heading back to where the cab dropped us off and trying to traipse our way through
the maze of dirt roads. Crocodiles. A quick discussion resulted in the elimination
of option one, though I think in different circumstances (circumstances without
me!) Chris would have attempted that river walk. We decided to try to retrace
the taxi route because it was shady in places and it’s easier to walk on the
road than the sand. On our way back down the beach, we realized that the sand
was in constant motion and before long our eyes adjusted and were able to pick
out the hundreds of crabs that burrowed into the sand to avoid our footfalls. Once
we left the beach, we passed a few field workers and a mother and child sitting
in the road under the shade of a tree. A little farther on, we passed a small
huddle of children who seemed to be on a work break of some sort; their
machetes tossed aside, they were enjoying a coconut they’d cut open and
giggling. We turned and turned again and—since I have to walk a route 22 times
to remember it—it all seemed new to me on foot even though I’d just driven it
earlier in the day. Eventually, the road pushed us into the tiny town of La
Barra, where we saw the most beautiful woman in the world walking barefoot carrying
a child, and the scene left Chris breathless. We stopped in this town for
water, which turned into lunch at a riverside restaurant. The restaurant was
open air, only large enough to accommodate eight or nine tables—though it didn’t
seem there were enough people in the entire town to sit one person to a table—and
we sat facing the river which was only a couple of hundred feet in front of us.
There were cows drinking from the river on the far side and two or three women fishing
in it with sieves on our side and we had to wonder how many people actually
find this restaurant and get to enjoy the scene? I’m thinking we’re members of
a select group. We had only stopped for a drink really, but decided to snack
and ordered a medium shrimp cocktail to split which ended up being like an
all-you-can-eat event. It was substantial, cheap and delicious. After walking
through a group of ducks that had wandered up to the restaurant, we were able
to jump on a camionetta right outside that brought us back closer to home.
We spent the rest of the day in the pool and reading our books
before heading to Zicatela for dinner. Home now and tired. We’re thinking about
heading outside of town tomorrow, maybe to Puerto Angel. Our taxi driver told
us something, something, something, something about getting there. Chris is
confident he can figure ot out, and I’ve no doubt he will. To tomorrow!
