Playas y Playas

On the evening of Friday the 13^th, the resident black cat of Casa Naranja at the esquina of Infragrante y Electrista crossed our path and, in the night, a tiny dead bat showed up outside of our door.  And still—despite these horrible omens—our trip is wonderful. Yesterday, we were desperate for cleaner clothes than we currently had available so we walked to the Panamerican highway and, in the hopes of finding a lavenderia,  hopped on a camionetta (this is a pickup truck that is outfitted like a covered wagon on the Oregon trail by removing the back gate, installing two narrow planks of wood as benches along the sides and stretching canvas like a tent over the top). Chris always makes a habit of trying to use whatever means of transportation the local people use, and I’ve noticed time and again that this might not be what all tourists do. It cost about 40 cents for us to get to the center of town and we walked a bit in one direction and then a bit back and then a bit in a different direction before finding Rosy, who agreed to do our laundry the same day. We were close to the supermarket so we returned there to restock. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a great day to purchase vegetables—the bins were literally empty, but we did pick up some other things we needed.  It doesn’t seem like running to the laundromat and the grocery store would be hard work, but it’s running errands without a car and without knowing for sure how to get the camionetta to stop where you need it to and it’s carrying 10 pounds of dirty laundry in a bag on your shoulder (and by “your” I mean Chris’s because he’s always does the heavy lifting) and it’s hot, which is why we had to siesta after all of that. 

The afternoon took us back to Playa Zicatela, but this time instead of walking west along the beach we walked east. This meant leaving behind the gentle surf of the swimming beach we’ve been visiting and heading towards rougher waters and—by all accounts—the best surfing in Puerto Escondido. We walked along the shore for several miles before arriving at Punto Zicatela (although graffiti would have you think it was Playa Bruja) where we sat and watched the serious surfers for longer than I would have thought I could be interested. It’s like a movie—any movie you can think of about surfing: from those starring Sally Field and Elvis Presley to Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze. Everywhere you look there are people trotting through the sand with surfboards and paddling out into the ocean and waiting for the next perfect wave.  And when they find the one they think is it, it’s captivating to watch them surf the pipeline.   And you think, it’s amazing they aren’t injured, and then someone will come in out of the water with ashen face, it’s clear they’ve had the wind knocked out of them and they’re compromised but they only wait a few beats before heading back out and you realize they think whatever injury is at stake is worth the chance at the next great wave. As I said, it’s captivating, simply beautiful to watch and we stayed till dinner. 

We returned home and made chicken soup with avocado for dinner, while thunder and wind threatened a storm that never materialized. Having heard so much about the recent hurricane, I’m glad.

Today, our adventures took us in the opposite direction. We took a camionetta towards the center of town to go to Playa Principal, which is a beach that boats motor right onto, and from which there is a “concrete pathway” to Playa Manzanillo.  I hear “concrete pathway” and I picture the Malecon in Puerta Vallarta which is, in fact, a concrete pathway that runs the length of the beach and is a lovely stroll. It is essentially an American sidewalk. This “concrete pathway” is not that. It is a path carved out of the rocks along the coast, sometimes with man-made stairs allowing you to go above the crashing waves and in other places, the orchestrators have allowed natural rock formations to serve. It was exhilarating—at times, you’re not sure where to place your next step and then a wave crashes in and you’re totally drenched, and it was frightening—Mexico doesn’t subscribe to guardrails or even not so much guard but just simply handrails. There are places where you have to scoot through sideways because the passage is narrow and there are crabs scuttling through right along with you. And then there’s the fact that you’re not really ever sure that the concrete pathway will come to an end because there are no markers letting you know how much further you’ve to go, but it doesn’t matter and the heat doesn’t matter because it is just so breathtakingly beautiful you forget the rest. 

Eventually, the path spits you out rather unceremoniously at the bottom of a staircase and you think—aha! the celebration for completing this journey is just above—but you get to the top and you’re on a dusty quiet street and all you can do is pray that on the next corner there will be somewhere to buy water. And there is, so you can keep walking. 

The only sign we could find was one pointing us in the direction of Manzanillo so we followed it and it lead us to a long flight of stairs down, again, to sea level. This beach was terrific fun. It was full of people—the way the mall is full of people before Christmas—and they were playing in the surf, climbing out of boats, putting on life vests for snorkeling tours, having their hair braided in corn rows. It was a great beach to visit because all of these people were Mexican. We had lunch there, ceviche and fish tacos, before heading home.

We spent the later part of the afternoon in the pool—which to my delight, Chris has taken to—and reading our books. Everyone who has read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn should read My Jim by Nancy Rawles. I’ve already asked one of my American Literature colleagues to read it, and I hope she’ll agree that we need to teach it.  We headed to Zicatela for happy hour and returned to Trattoria Vasco Escondido, where we had delicious mojitos the other day and tried to recreate the scene today. It worked. If you are ever in this town: Vasco has a skilled bartender, a skilled chef and a kind wait staff. 

I heard thunder earlier but I also heard it yesterday to no result so instead of worrying about what a storm here looks like, I think I’ll think about what tomorrow might hold.