THE SHAPE OF WATER

Once again there is no wifi connection in our rental. This is being posted ---- really slowly ---- from the bus station...

The heat has been brutal (mid 30’s C, or mid 90’s F) and unrelenting. No relief or a/c inside, so the best strategy is to go into the ocean. The surfers are at La Punta daily, taking on the Mexican Pipe. From grey haired gringos reliving their Surf City memories to local boys and girls, the crowd is mixed and mingling. Paddling among them like teetotalers at a frat party are local guys casting their handnets. The surfers catch a wave, the locals catch dinner.

The ocean has many sizes and shapes. You gotta get into the curls and breaks along the way on the 3-mile walk back on hot sand. One of us got slammed under a big wave and had a shoulder hurt. The other got sand in places you didn’t think sand could go!

BONUS! Sitting on a log between sand and scrub, I noticed a blur of blue. We always look for birds but without much luck. But scare vaca! There was the most exquisite rainbow-on-wings, almost posing for the camera. Pat verified it was an Orange-Breasted Bunting. So pretty, so unexpected in this arid bush. Thankyou, bird angels!

One block away from our place is the “Adoquin”, a street blocked off nightly for strolling. Mostly food carts and junky souvenir tables, but a true Mexican family sight to see.

Other random sights? Many tour buses that bring people to the beach for just the day, loading and unloading like piles of laundry. And a corn stalk growing in the gutter of the main highway.

Back to the Adoquin, but early yesterday morning. The shape of water this time is gushing out of a tanker truck onto the street. Hundreds of people with detergent, bleach, and brooms join into a giant street wash! Is this the Olympic trials for the Mexican curling team??

The air cools off a bit when the sun goes down. The waves are calmer in the cove. But see you at The Pipe manana, amigo!

ESCONCED IN ESCONDIDO

It’s a relief and a recharge to settle in one place for a couple of weeks. Puerto Escondido is familiar from a two years ago. Long sweeping bay, a range of waves from mild to maniac, and somehow stubbornly very Mexican. No Walmart, no Starbucks, no KFC/PH/PJ’s, no gringo hotels, very little English. Congrats, Escondido, keep up the good work. The locals juggle work and play.

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We’re in a part of a family compound building. No TV or hot water but otherwise upgraded to spiffy. Job 1?----go to grocery store and load up on home-cookin’ comfort-foodin’, fruit-juicin’ supplies. Pat is back in her domain, even with only 1 knife and 1 pot.

Only 2 blocks downhill to the dawn ritual of fishing boats roaring onto the beach with literally the Catch-of-the-Day. You want that gutted and scaled? More colour than a carnival, more frenzy than a funhouse.

Lots of walking options but do it before the heat builds up by noon. You can go up 150 steps to check out next year’s bungalow, or teeter along olde rock trails by the seaside.

Fireball sunsets light up the Pacific, leaving us like dear in the headlights. 

IT WAS WORSE THAN IT LOOKS

Sadly, Lake Atitlan was beautiful but not good for a longstay as we were hoping. Our room  looked over the volcanoes and lake. And the best meal in town was C$4 1/4 chicken plate at this ex-Italians' 3-rickety-table hole-in-the-wall. But we had to pack up and catch a 6am boat back to Pana in the eerie calm under the cones (one was still smoking...). The grind was about to begin.

A lurching and packed minivan took us up and over the ancient lava fields to Xela --- but not quite! We had to wait in the heat and transfer to a smaller van for the last km's. Which dropped us off at an interesting square that featured  Greek columns and Roman arches, but no onward connection. This is not a regular backpacker route, so no English, no direct shuttles, no taxis, and oddly no street dogs. We walked a few blocks, asked around, and jumped a sardine-packed local bus to the market area. Then the maze of Mayan everything-for-sale-dead-or-alive. But we found an onward bus with 5 minutes to spare. First food of the day?---corn tortilla wrapped around a piece of chicken the size of a USB stick! But thanks, angels, at least we're moving on.

Heat, thirst, and more bus-to-van-to-pedaltricycle transfers and Hola! here's the border into Mexico. Lots of back-and-forth paperwork and $ because gringos don't usually arrive by land. More walking, bad advice, find a slow van to Tapachula. A pleasant square but we're too exhausted to hang out. After handy but heavy Chinese combos, we crash at this Hospedaje. Cold shower doesn't even register...

We had to wait 11 hours in the bus station because the only bus is overnight, leaving at 22:45. Past our bedtime! A very groggy and butt-aching 14 hours later, arrived at the Pacific ocean shores of good old Puerto Escondido, surfing capital of Mexico. We think we have found a place with a kitchen for a couple of weeks --- we'll see.

But we're recovering from a grueling grind to get here, complete with sleeplessness/dry skin/bad food along the way. Pat counted 9 vehicles and 14 Good Samaritans to get us here. A land of beach and bouganvillea...

SAN PEDRO OF ETERNAL SPRING

The original plan was to spend a month on Lake Atitlan. But it's almost impossible to find a place with a kitchen, and then difficult to set up cooking other than fruit and veggies. Each of the many isolated village options around the lake have their own claim to fame: prettiest, best sunrise, most Mayan, volcano trails, etc. We chose San Pedro, known for hiking the "Devil's Nose", best daily market and so-called "New Age" vibe.

There are still remnants of small garden plots and banana groves right to the waterline. The volcano ridges glow pink at sunrise and golden at sunset. Coffee and other beans are laid out to dry in dusty parking lots. Rattling tuk-tuks blare through the narrow streets like out-of-tune trumpets at 120 decibels.

 We splurged the C$26 on a top-floor room with spectacular views day and night.

Trudging uphill to the highest point, you come to the standard church/town square/soccer field/market. But what a market! Side streets overflowing with clothing, flowers, shoes, toys, and mostly massive amounts of fruit and veggies. How can they sell all of it every day??

 

 

So we're eating OK except it's always at food stalls, not home cookin'. We walk it off on trails like the one round the shore. Dramatic murals, the local hand-made canoes, and always manual labourers. Pat is impressed so much can grow so big, like this 12-foot tall corn --- in such dry soil. (Hint: it's volcanic!) But the lake is rising and already water-edge buildings have been inundated.

Back to the market. Women make up almost all the shoppers. Picking the freshest mums, strongest fabrics, biggest carrots. Sitting at a street stew of shoes --- 3 generations of women sharing their soles.

The tuk-tuks roam all day. Women do the laundry on rocks at the shore. That New Age stuff? There's yoga, Spanish school, drumming, dreadlocks, healthfood shop, juggling. A guy wandering with a mini accordian. Another guy who looks like a tall bearded Jesus walking around barefoot in a yellow floral minidress. Young girls in grotesque tattoos, piercings, straggly hair, and a Lost look. One progressive thing is that the town has banned plastic bags and straws to protect the lake (what about all the detergent from the washing?).

The climate is indeed Eternal Spring, as promised. Breezy warm days and comfy coolish nights. Ideal for a longstay the next time. But we're moving on to lower altitudes for more sights and hopefully a full kitchen!