Lo Cosmico

Entrance to Lo Cosmico from the Beach, Zipolite

The moment I felt at home at Lo Cosmico was two days in, when I came down from my room to a gathering of Antonio and Regula (the owners), Eduardo (Antonio’s brother), Laura and Bob (the annual vacationers from new Hampshire), Kine (the yoga teacher from Norway) and her partner Mossimo, and the 23-year-old Swiss boy whose name I never learned all celebrating Kine’s birthday. An extra margarita was sitting on the table. Regula, held it up and offered it to me. I sat down and joined the family. Laura and Bob were in their last week of their 6-week stay. Laura, a yoga enthusiast, filled me in on the best teachers and classes. Though older than me, her vigor and yoga physique were objects of my admiration. Antonio and Regula are separated now, yet remain friends and business partners. I watched the ease with which they shared space in awe. Antonio spent more time hanging out around the communal area and was always available for a leisurely chat and meal. Nearly everyday, someone stopped by just to enjoy conversation and a drink with Antonio. Regula, a bit more reserved, possessed a strength and gentleness rarely found in a single person. She smiled less frequently, but when she did, you felt the warmth of the sun was shining directly on you. More came. Jen and Steve moved down for a few days. Daniel, the twenty-year-old wandering Mexican boy, seemed to take up permanent residence. George and Michael from Austria (yes, together, they make George Michael) came for a couple of days during their Mexican road trip, but got sucked in by Antonio’s stories and too many games of chess. They told me they came to surf, not play chess. They were still there when I left.

I spent the first couple of days in Zipolite battling my need to compare. I felt safer and cleaner at Lo Cosmico, but my view was better in Mazunte. You could see the sunset from the main beach in Zipolite, but the scenic beaches in Mazunte offered a more spiritual setting. The crowd was less pretentious in Zipolite, but there seemed to be more young people in Mazunte. Did I make a mistake by leaving? Did I react too quickly? Ah, the noise of our brains.

When I decided to leave Mazunte, I did not dwell on the decision. The switch went off and I had to go. So, with my large backpack on and my messenger bag slung around my neck, I set off to find a colectivo to Zipolite. Colectivos are the ingenious system throughout Oaxaca of cab-sharing. Based on the principle that masses of people are going to similar destinations or at least traveling similar routes, taxi drivers pick up and drop off multiple people along a single route, charging a dramatically cheaper rate than a single occupancy taxi. I have learned that we are quite limited in the states by our view of automobile capacity and use. In one trip I took between two towns, there were 4 adults and 1 kid in the back. I was sitting in the front. A girl on the side of the street hailed the taxi. I thought surely the driver would not stop. We pulled over, she opened my door, and we shared the passenger seat for the next 15 minutes. I paid 7 pesos, 50 cents.

On the particular day that I was trying to escape Mazunte, I was hoping to match that rate. One taxi driver approached me, “Pochutla?” He asked.

            “No, Zipolite.” I replied.

            “50 Pesos,” He offered.

            “No! Es Caro,” I replied, appalled at the egregious price ($4.00).

            “40 Pesos,” He bartered.

Holding my ground, I refused. I knew that colectivos would take me for 10 and if I found a camienta (a pick-up truck with benches in the back), I could get there for 5. So, I walked on. Three steps, when my right foot stepped off the curb, and as I lifted my back foot, the weight of my bags shifted. My right foot could not handle the pressure and it rolled onto its side. My body followed suit; I gracefully tumbled to the ground. So, there I was, a young white girl with too much stuff and a stubborn attitude trying not to cry. The cab driver, having seen it all, drove up next to me, “Estas bien?” He asked. Before I could answer, he followed up with, “40 pesos es un buen precio.” I could not argue. He got out of his taxi, picked up my bags and deflated spirit, and we were on our way to Lo Cosmico.

Two days later, when drinking that margarita with the eclectic crew that Lo Cosmico collects, all the worries and comparisons dissipated.  Throughout the next two weeks, moments of doubt were greeted with moments of supreme vitality giving the doubts very short life spans. There was the night I came back from dinner to write. Eduardo and his best friend David were hanging out. Instead of writing, I learned David’s life story…originally from Mexico City, once a high rolling computer programmer in Chicago, now building an eco-friendly house in Zipolite where he hopes to initiate a green energy movement.

Or the many yoga classes (six days per week) I attended with Kine’s Norwegian, Spanish, English mixture guiding my body and mind to a place of heightened awareness. Planting a new mantra in my head, “Poco a poco…slowly, slowly,” she would coax us as we lengthened our spines and melted into the twists. With her urging, I also tried a new therapy I had never heard of, Feldenkrias. A system built on the idea that by building awareness into our movements, we can heal our bodies and be pain free. Always on a mission to heal my ever-present knee pain turned back pain, I did two sessions with Katia, a German woman who lives in Zipolite and practices Feldenkrias. My two sessions definitely had an impact, though, I think I would need to do more to really assess its long-term effect.

Or the meals I ate. The couple who made the taco dinners came to know my face. When I showed up on the Monday night after Jen and Steve had left, the woman asked about them. She knew my order before I opened my mouth. The fish place, Las Piedras Fuegas, satisfied me on nights when I felt the need to splurge ($5.00 for a plate of fish, salad, French fries, and rice). The waiter was a caricature of himself. Short, plump, messy, with cheerful eyes, and the focus of a lion. He literally ran around the restaurant, delivering meals, tending the grill, ensuring perfection.

Or maybe it was the two nights of circus-going.  Travelers and Mexicans together, flipped on high swinging bars, juggled bowling pins and balls, and sang with accordions. All this magnificence for free, right in the middle of the street. Of course, I was compelled to donate into the clown shoe at the end. I also have decided that I need a circus skill. 

And finally, back to Antonio. Antonio is a magical man, not just because his hair wildly flies away from his head in all directions or because his smile literally causes sparks in the air. He just seems to get it. After hearing many chapters of his life story, beginning in Mexico City, to run-ins with the law, to receiving the land Lo Cosmico is on free from the community, to getting into a fight with the government to start a school, to love stories not even Hollywood could match, I have become convinced that I must return if for no other reason but to write it all down. It was not just the content of the stories; it was how he told them. He did not use the past tense. You were transported right into the thick of the action, each person’s dialogue accompanied with facial expressions and emotional weight. He literally had been in Zipolite since the beginning of its transformation into the beach haven it is today. He has seen it all. And like anyone who has lived through significant social change, he has the appropriate amount of sadness about the loss of community values and the clear corruption that has resulted in larger hotels being built. While, you could see the anger boiling in his eyes as he told the story of the corruption, once the story was over, he returned to effervescent happiness. Every time he told me a story, I told him he needed to write it down. He said he is not as good as a woman at multi-tasking, when he is doing one thing, he cannot do another. He decided to be a furniture maker while I was there. Within 5 days, he made two benches to complete the communal sitting area.  When I was leaving, he was taking up sewing. Hopefully one day he will choose to be a writer, if not, I guess I will have to go back and do it for him.

There is something about Zipolite, and even Lo Cosmico to be more exact. According to Antonio, people get stuck in Zipolite because it is where the two currents meet. This is also why it can be dangerous to swim there. But, he thinks this meeting of currents creates a unique positive energy that pulls people in. I have never been a beach person, and it happened to me. So maybe he is right. But, I think it is more than the currents. It is the rich cast of characters whom I have only begun to describe, the sheer beauty of it all, the willingness of those who come to surrender to it. On my last night in Zipolite, I was writing on the newly minted bench. Antonio came over to me with his magnetic smile and shook his head, “Yessica,” He said, “I have been thinking. I feel very sad.” He sighed, “I realized today that I am going to miss you.”

Maybe it was the currents or the cosmics, but no matter the reason, when it was time to leave Zipolite, I slowly packed and reluctantly bid farewell. I hugged Antonio and George and Michael. I maybe even had a lump in my throat. In two weeks of beach living, I had found a home at Lo Cosmico in Zipolite.

Antonio and Me, Lo Cosmico, Zipolite

Weeks 3 and 4 in Photos: Zipolite

My Room, Lo Cosmico, Zipolite

Homemade Benches by Antonio, Lo Cosmico, Zipolite

Antonio Sharing New Articles about his Fight with the Government to Build a School, Lo Cosmico, Zipolite

Dinner at Piedras Fuegos, Zipolite

Beach from the boat tour

Seabirds, Zipolite

Iguana, Lo Cosmico, Zipolite

Taco Stand, Zipolite

Yoga Studio, El Alquimista, Zipolite

Friendship, Zipolite

Sunset Viewing, Reggae Bar, Zipolite

Lunch spot, 30 pesos chicken, Zipolite

Beach Yoga, Zipolite

Circus Singers, Zipolite

Aerial Dancer, Zipolite

Shells on beach, Mazunte day trip

Red Caution Flag, Zipolite

Morning Pages Spot, Lo Cosmico, Zipolite

Sunsets

First sunset in Mazunte, Punta Cometa

I have to admit that I feel sad right now. I also have to admit that I am shocked that I feel sad. Yesterday, I left Zipolite. In my life, I have never mastered the art of being still nor being alone. When I was a kid, my mom hung a list on the fridge of things I could do by myself when I got bored because I could not figure it out on my own. Usually, if I have a “lazy” day, after about 5 hours, I start to feel guilty and make a plan. At the end of a day, I look back and assess what I have “accomplished.” Here I am now, after completing 3 weeks on the coast, rarely having a plan, only moving once, accomplishing very little in any material sense, and feeling blissfully relaxed and content. I lack the words to truly capture what I am feeling right now. But, something, something quite incredible in its simplicity, happened in me that I have never encountered before in my life, and I did not even have to complete a 10-day silent meditation retreat to get there.

Sunset, Mazunte

Nearly everyday for the past three weeks, I watched the sunset. In fact, many days, the sunset was the only planned event. I found myself amazed that even though the sun sets everyday, each day it puts on a unique show. Sometimes, after a particularly hard day, it rushes into the sea, appearing to be in a hurry to finish its job. Other times it takes its time, weaving its way through the clouds like a beautiful woman weaving through a crowd, but never disappearing in it. Then there were the few days that the clouds hid the sun completely, leaving only a pink hue emanating as the sun dipped secretly into the sea. I wondered to myself if maybe the sun did something embarrassing that day, choosing to tiptoe out the backdoor instead of its normal grand show. In contrast, on the most magnificent days the sun would set with a vigor, excited to share its happiness. Those days, it would cast a spotlight on all who took the time to watch, allowing us to feel like we were part of the show.

Sunset, Punta Cometa, Mazunte

Sunset obscured by clouds, Zipolite

Sunset between the rocks, Zipolite

Not only did the sun change it’s dance everyday, but I, too, found myself adjusting my approach to that time. I tried to watch it from as many locations as I could to see the majesty from every angle possible. When I could share it with a friend, I could not help but verbally declare how beautiful it was over…and over. On my own, I would take pictures. And then, I would make myself stop taking pictures so I could just enjoy it. Sometimes, I would make eye contact with a stranger, and we would silently share the deep admiration we were both experiencing. In Zipolite, I often found myself enjoying a beer with the sunset, feeling my body sigh as the ocean made room for the sun. Other days, I did yoga on the beach, trying a more spiritual approach. Sometimes there were Bob Marley songs floating behind me other times it was just the sound of the waves. It was probably good that I did not stay longer as I am not sure my eyes could take too many more days of staring at the sun, but now when I close my eyes, the image lingers in my soul.

Sunset with Michelada, Zipolite

Sunset with Coconuts, Zipolite

I am humbled by the consistency of the sunset. And how taking the time to honor that daily action impressed something so profound into me. Yesterday morning my yoga teacher told us to set our intention for our practice. My intention was to take this time at the ocean with me, to embody it. So, while I may not be able to watch the sunset everyday for the rest of my life, hopefully, it has found its way into some crevice of my being.

Sunset with birds, Zipolite

While there are many stories I still plan to share of my time on the beach, at this moment, I just want to share the sunsets. 

Final sunset, Zipolite

Here is some video I took of the setting suns in both Mazunte and Zipolite. I have Agnes Obel's music in the background.

Delfines, Tortugas, Pez, y Amigos

When you sit on a beach on the Oaxacan coast, you quickly acquire the skill of saying, “no, gracias” politely and persistently. There are the ladies selling the empanadas, the men with twenty hammocks slung over their shoulders, the boy with the painted animal mobiles, the young and old with boxes and armfuls of cheap jewelry, the hippy woman with the handmade wire earrings, the man with the fake tattoos, the fisherman selling “lancha” (boat) tours, the eco tourism boy touting opportunities to release turtles into the ocean, and on and on. It is not that you never want the things being sold on the beach, but it feels like once you say yes, you will have to always say yes. And, beach time is sacred time, not shopping time. So, you get used to averting eye contact or smiling and saying “no, gracias.” Or, if they persist, as per Nikki’s suggestion, tell them you will think about it and come back, “voy a pensar y regresar.”

Last Monday, perhaps having a weak moment after a week by myself, a younger boy approached me. He had necklaces around his arms and a charming smile. Like usual, I said, “no, gracias,” but he was unstirred. He crouched down by my side and started talking with me in Spanish about life in Zipolite and school and where I was from. In that moment, I realized that talking with the sales reps on the beach was a great way to practice my Spanish. So I indulged. We talked for 30 minutes or so. When he went for the sell, I told him I would think about it and find him later. Then, Alex approached me about a lancha tour. This time, I welcomed the conversation. And, truthfully, I had been wanting to do a lancha tour, so I knew at the end of the conversation, I would be caving.  We too spoke for a while, ending the conversation with a 90% commitment that I would go on the boat tour the next day at 9:30. 90% only because I always travel with at least 10% of mistrust that things will actually be what they say they will be and that plans made are plans kept. When he found me later on, I went the full 100%, and gave him my deposit.

At 9:30am, he was there. Phew. So, I joined him and a Hungarian couple as we trudged across the beach to meet the other boat-goers. As we approached the meeting point, I recognized a young woman sitting there. Rewind three weeks…

I arrived in Mexico City at 6am on January 26th after my overnight plane from Chicago.  My flight from Mexico City to Oaxaca was not until 1pm. So, I slept, I wandered, I tried to make sense of my surroundings, I read, and I watched people. There was another woman who seemed to be following the same pattern as me. I watched her move around, find new places to get comfortable. She and I were the only two white women who seemed to be traveling alone from the Western world, clad with big backpacks and dorky shoes. I know we saw each other, but we both kept a healthy distance. For me, I was functioning on 5 hours of sleep, and just did not feel like I had the emotional energy to try and connect with someone. Eventually, it became clear that we were both on the same plane to Oaxaca, and at that point she broke down and said hello. I learned she was traveling from Australia and her boyfriend would be meeting her in two weeks to travel in Mexico and Guatemala. She told me about her love of trees and degree in ecology. I shared a bit about my life. We built a traveler’s bond for the trip and said bye in Oaxaca City.

Three weeks later, I am walking up to go on my boat tour in Zipolite, and there she sits. Upon recognition, we greeted each other like old friends who had an expansive shared history. Then, of course, we had to ask for the other’s name again. “Jen,” she said. She introduced me to her photographer boyfriend, Steve, and we set out on our boat adventure.

I have noticed that 40+ men in Mexico seem to really love me. I am not sure if it is the blue eyes or the dimples or just the fact that I am clearly traveling alone, but it seems wherever I go, my name is learned and I have many people looking out for me. The boat tour was no different. Alex told the taxi driver something specific to me. I know this because he pointed at me and said my name several times. When we got to the port, the guy in charge of handing out the life jackets already knew my name. And then, on the boat, the driver would randomly say my name and smile. Then, there was the family from Mexico city who was sharing our boat who invited me to join them for lunch at our rest stop. The dad bought me a corona and asked if I smoked weed. He immediately told me afterwards that he was a police officer in Mexico City. I am still not sure if that was a trap. His wife was spunky and I think she wanted to set me up with her brother. “Jessy,” she said, “Este noche, tomas tequila con nosotros?” She asked if I would drink tequila with them later on. I said maybe, knowing that I would likely be in bed before they began.

The group on the boat consisted of two guides, the family from Mexico City, an older couple from Canada, Jen and Steve, the Hungarian couple, and me. The boat tour began with a search for the tortugas and delfines. We first encountered a pack of dolphins, one even put on a little show. I have to admit, I shrieked with joy at the sight of them. Then, we found some massive sea turtles. As the boat crept up next to one, the guide jumped into the sea and grabbed it for a photo op, pulling at the heartstrings of Jen and my liberal ecological perspectives. But, the Mexican family loved it, jumping in as well and hugging the turtle for their photo. I tried to let go of any judgment I was feeling as I knew that this was the alternative to the past practice of hunting the turtles for their meat and skin.  Plus, I just saw dolphins and a huge sea turtle with my own eyes!

Look in the left hand corner...

After cruising a bit more, we went snorkeling. It was my first time ever snorkeling, and while the Australians informed me that there is much better snorkeling to be seen, my Midwestern brain was blown. Access to the underwater world of the Pacific ocean. I felt thrilled every time I found myself in a school of fish or eye-to-eye with a fish. I knew none of their names, so I renamed them. There was Blue electric, Silver angel, Salamander, Reddie, Yellowie, and Baby fish. The clicking sound of the deep water provided a perfect soundtrack to the experience. In my head, I was occasionally graced with the narration of David Attenborough (of Planet Earth fame), “To the naked eye, the ocean is a place of calm serenity, but when you go beneath a majestic world of both danger and peace is confronted…”

And no boat tour is complete without a cliff jump.

Me, Cliff Jumping

The tour was so fun, that we negotiated another one for later on in the week for just Jen, Steve, me, and a German friend we had made. We paid half the price and said we just wanted to go snorkeling. The driver gave us the cliff jump again for free.

For the past week, Jen, Steve (he is a photographer, click on his name to see his beautiful work), and I, became a bit of a unit. After spending the day on the boat together, they decided to move down to my hotel. Together, we ate crepes most mornings and taco dinners nearly every night (5 tacos for $2.00). While I had been enjoying my solitude, it was nice to connect with some friends. Jen had previously traveled for 8 months by herself in Latin America. Conversations with her fueled my reflection and understanding of this time. I feel oh so grateful they included me in what could have been their own romantic beach time. They have moved on to Chiapas as of Monday, but next time we meet, I am sure we will once again greet each other as old friends, and not have to remind each other of our names. That is another one of the great things about traveling. All I did was say yes to a man on the beach to go on a boat tour. And, because of that, I not only got to experience the vast ocean world, but also built a little community in Zipolite.

Jen balancing a Pineapple on her head, Zipolite

Beach Walk

I went for a walk on the beach today.

I walked fast, putting the rest of the

World in slow motion.

On my way out, I forgot to look around,

Stuck in the world of unnecessary thoughts

And countless to-dos.

I was pulled back to the beach by a

Quiet whisper, “Attention.”

Who said that?

It got louder.

“Attention.”

Maybe it was the red warning flag

Waving in the wind,

Cautioning all to swim with care.

“Attention.”

Maybe it was the little boy

Kicking the bright blue ball into the sea,

Playing soccer with the waves.

“Attention.”

Maybe it was the fisherman

Competing with the sea birds

For the day’s best catch.

“Attention,” even louder.

Maybe it was the little girl with the shovel,

Digging just to dig,

Who spontaneously cart-wheeled into the sea.

“Attention.”

Maybe it was the elderly couple

In bright floral swim suits,

Holding hands as they carefully waded in the water.

“Attention.”

Maybe it was the pelican,

Gracefully floating just beyond the reach of the waves.

Mocking the surfers with his stability.

“Attention,” even louder yet.

Maybe it was the tall tan man

Clad only in a straw hat, seashell necklace,

And cheesy smile.

“Attention!” it screamed.

The waves, the rocks, the families, the birds,

The kids, the sand, the water, the sun,

The lovers, the fish, the surfers, the dogs,

The coconuts, the palm trees, the sky.

I went for a walk on the beach today.

Living Zipolite

I will begin with the movie theater in Zipolite. There is a little post in the middle of the main street, really the only street, with the movies being shown each night of the week. When I arrived on Saturday, I saw that they were showing The Descendents on Sunday night. I put it in my mental planner. I was looking forward to having a “normal” night. Taking myself to a movie, getting out of Mexico for a few hours. As it turns out, I did indeed go to the  movies, but I most definitely did not leave Mexico.

I showed up at 6:55 to the one-room Cinema Paradisio for the 7pm film. I was greeted by a 50+ white male with flip-flops, swim trunks, a Hawaiian shirt, long scraggly grey hair and a receding hairline. His shoulders hunched slightly and he walked with a hobble. He never cracked a smile, but he also did not seem mad. He seemed deeply focused on doing his job. His job was running Cinema Paradisio. Let’s call him Stan.

Stan seemed a bit overwhelmed as he slowly opened up shop for the night. His shift from first gear to top gear was barely visible. His bodily movements seemed to be telling the story of someone who never quite left the sixties. The first wave of visitors clumped at the doorway, patiently waiting his attention. Eventually, we made eye contact.

            “Cuanta cuesta?” I said.

            “Twenty Pesos,” he replied in American English. “What’s your name?”

He wrote it down in a notebook and put my pesos in a little pink plastic pencil box overflowing with crumpled bills. Turning to my right, I had my choice of hammock, cloth beach chairs, or white plastic chairs lined up in crooked rows facing a big screen playing Bugs Bunny cartoons.

I settled into a beach chair, and waited the obligatory 30 minutes for the film to begin. I watched as middle aged Euorpeans, young travelers, and Rasta men poured into the seats. It seemed the Descendants was attracting more of the gringo crowd, though it was going to be played with Spanish subtitles. One couple sitting in front of me was celebrating their 30^th wedding anniversary. This seemed to be the news of the town. As each movie-goer found their seat, they yelled their congratulations across the room.

As the cartoons rolled on, I decided to go order myself some movie snacks. Stan took my order of a small popcorn and ice water and told me to pay when I leave. The popcorn was delivered to my seat. More kernels than puffs, and definitely no butter; popped on the electric burner behind the bar by Stan himself.

Finally, with snacks in hands, and Bugs Bunny wearing thin, Stan started the film. Near the beginning of the film, which takes place in Hawaii, George Clooney’s character says don’t be fooled by appearances, "some of the most powerful people dress like beach bums." That line received a big laugh from the audience, seeming to strike a truth they all know too well. I wondered to myself how many of the beach bums sitting around me are actually doctors, professors, and lawyers. 

Just the other night, I sat talking with Eduardo, the brother of the owner of my place, and David. David was from Mexico city, but had been a software engineer in Chicago for many years. Eventually, he got sick of the fast-paced money life, bought some land, and is building a sustainable house with his own hands. Simultaneously, creating his home and hopefully sparking a movement and business in Zipolite around green technology. He seems happy with his decision, but lamented that it is much harder to get something going in this place then in Chicago. After 3 years, he is just starting to learn the rules of the game.

Back to the movies. For the next two hours, we all settled into the film, with Stan occasionally yelling someone’s name to deliver his/her snacks. At the close, I went up to Stan to pay. He had written my snacks by my name. I paid him the 15 pesos I still owed and marveled at his simple yet effective system for accounting. It was refreshing to be a name and not just a ticket number.

For dinner that night, I got a Magnum ice cream bar and walked back across the beach to my room. It is amazing when traveling that something as simple as going to the movies can create a story and cultural experience.

As the week has gone on, the stories have only grown. Zipolite is an eclectic place full of Mexican fisherman, European ex-pats, yoga fanatics, backpackers, and Mexican families on vacation. Oh, and have I mentioned, a good portion of them hang out here in the nude. Every evening, I watch two nudist couples walk down the beach together for their sunset stroll. Another elderly couple clearly winters here every year, as not a spot on their body is without the kiss of the sun. Mothers breastfeed in the open. Kids are playing all around totally unfazed. I am not quite free enough to disrobe, but I have found a peace in the freedom of others. Just yesterday, a naked Mexican couple offered to watch my things while I went for a swim. We had a rather normal conversation in Spanish. It was not until I was walking away that I realized I had been talking to two naked people. I have come a long way since my first beach walk, when I had a mantra running in my head, “look at their faces, look at their faces…”

It is nice to stay somewhere long enough to surrender to the culture, to feel the pulse, and to find your place within it. I do not see myself moving here as many hippies did and wandering travelers do. But, I do believe I can learn a thing or two in a place where calendars do not matter and success is not about the money or even the amount of social change you are fighting for. Where the lack of stress is tangible and you can get 5 tacos for 2 dollars every night. Where life stories are shared over lunch between morning yoga and an afternoon nap. Where time is measured not by deadlines, but sunsets. I just remarked to my Australian friend today, “It’s amazing how time here simultaneously goes by so fast and yet feels so slow.” I think I'll stay a few more days.

Rasta Sunset, Zipolite, Mexico

Week 2 in Photos, Mazunte

First I went to Mazunte...

My suburban companions from Oaxaca to the coast.

Then I went to the meditation retreat. Then I escaped and went to Balamjuyuc where I watched the sunrise. I vowed to watch it everyday, but only got up for two.

The sunrise from Balamjuyuc Cabanas

I had Nikki with me for 36 hours, and together we made the most of Mazunte...

Nikki enjoying breakfast on the beach

Mazunte, and much of the coast, used to have an economy largely based on the selling of turtle gear and meat. The government cracked down on that practice, so now the towns have taken on eco-tourism projects galore. In Mazunte there is a turtle center that helps educate the public on turtles and preserve endangered species. I happen to have a collection of over 100 turtle figurines from my childhood, so I felt right at home.

Below was my first beach beer after the retreat. There is beauty in not drinking and cleansing your body of all things toxic. There is also beauty in the moment when you drink a cold Mexican beer and watch the waves roll in.

Michelada (beer, chile and lime) on the beach

In Mazunte, there are beautiful beaches that may not be the safest for swimming, but are basically empty and offer great photo ops. I took to spending my sunsets on these beaches.

But I enjoyed my first sunset in Mazunte at Punta Cometa, the place where most of the town congregates to salute the sol.

While in Mazunte, I also took to saluting the moon, which hovered around full moon status for most of my stay.

I liked to salute the moon from the front yard of my first beach house.

Sometimes when I got sick of being on top of the hill, I would walk down and watch people on the beach. 

And at the end of everyday, I made sure to watch the sunset.

Spiritual Dust

A temazcal is a traditional Mexican sweat bath that stems from the Aztecs. It is a practice that has been used for centuries to cure physical and mental ailments as well as for cleanliness. Throughout Oaxaca I have seen signs for temazcals and was planning to do one when I got back to Oaxaca with my friend Nikki. However, sometimes when traveling, things find you before you find them.

The place I stayed in Mazunte doubled as both a place to sleep and a place to heal. The owner was trained in many massage techniques, though I never got a massage. He recently brought on an apprentice, Samira, who hailed from Austria, and was clearly of another realm. Together, they presented a powerful team of healing energy.

When I first arrived, I noticed an abundance of herbs on tables. They seemed to be amassing each day. On Tuesday, I was complaining of some stomach pain to Samira. She gently looked at me and told me that I should join them in the temazcal that evening. It would help me a lot she said. Of course, I agreed.

That night also happened to be a full moon adding to the majesty of the event. At 7pm a group of 10 of us gathered in a circle and built a fire together full of logs, sticks, herbs and stones. Once it was stoked, Emiliano blew his conch shell and said prayers to the four directions and mother earth. The night took on a life of its own as people sang, shared their intentions and feelings, danced, and beat drums. Even the sky decided to join the fun. For the first time in years, and maybe ever (according to Emiliano), it stormed in February. The rainy season is not supposed to happen til late summer.

Once the stones were thoroughly heated, the 10 of us squeezed tightly into the temazcal. 

Burning hot stones were placed in the center, and the heat and herbs filled the air. As the spirits stirred, the sweat dripped. Having been in many saunas, I was expecting a similar sensation. I was wrong. Yet, I lack the words to explain exactly why. What I do have is a poem I wrote after the 4 hour ceremony and sweat lodge experience. I think it speaks for itself.

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My body is full of spiritual dust.

Look closely and you will see.

Little fairies are flying out of my ears.

My skin glistens with stars that have filled my insides.

When I breathe deeply, shooting stars sneak out.

Roses grow in my armpits.

Spring showers have become my morning breath.

I create gardens with a kiss.

My feet drip with honey and lavender.

My fingernails are painted with the sun.

The moon has kissed my face, leaving craters in my cheeks.

The wind blows melodies through my voice.

The sunset shares its paintbrushes with me.

The sea fills my sentences.

I sweat love.

My hugs are made of wool.

Embers sparkle in my heart.

Do not worry.

This is not just in me.

Look closely within yourself.

It is all there too.

B.A.D.

It has been a little over two weeks since I left the states. The two weeks mark is significant. It is similar to Day 4 in any biking trip I have had. It is the point at which you get a little sad, loneliness sets in, the cultural differences get irritating, and being home starts to sound nice. Most people would refer to this as culture shock, but those words do not really resonate with me, at least on this trip. I am not feeling "shocked" by the culture.

Instead, I have renamed it Being Away Depression (B.A.D.).

Description of Ailment
B.A.D. usually comes in spurts and most often appears at night time. It can have physical symptoms such as exhaustion, head aches, diarrhea. It can result in a lack of motivation. At times, when experiencing B.A.D., you may question why you are even away at all. Doubt about the way you are spending your time can arise, often manifesting as fear that you are not doing enough.

With proper treatment, the ailment has a positive prognosis.

Treatment

• Let yourself feel BAD for a little bit. Be lazy, cry if you need to, talk to people from home.
• Take care of your basic needs. Eat, drink water, get sleep.
• Go watch a sunset.

When not experiencing B.A.D another common ailment that can set in is Fear Of It Being Over (F.O.I.B.O.). Both are normal and will pass with time.

Week One in Photos

I know it has been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. Photos take a long time to upload here in Mexico. So, I am not sharing my experience very visually. I am trying little by little to upload some of the best. These are photos from my first week in Mexico in Oaxaca.

I arrived on January 26 to the city of Oaxaca. On the 27th, I started to explore. 

The first thing I was struck by was the art everywhere.

No caption necessary.

Art installation by a Mexican artist showing the emmigration of people from his village

Mural in Nikki's backyard

Mural in front of Nikki's apartment

Next it was the architecture and history of the streets

Typical street in Oaxaca

Above windows on my walk to Spanish school

Museum de Santo Domingo

The music and dance poured out onto the streets.

San Jarocho

Traditional dance from a surrounding community

And of course the food, which will be getting its own post one of these days...

Tlayudas and guacamole

Homemade salsa

Homemade breakfast

I only started to scratch the surface of day trips possible from Oaxaca.

Arbol de Tule- possibly the world's oldest tree

Maybe I need to get this car, so I can take more day trips to explore the surrounding mountains.

My fantasy

Receding sun over Oaxaca

I am at the beach now. I just finished a week in Mazunte, and am settling into Zipolite. The coast is teaching me so much, but I do look forward to exploring the city more when my ears get too full of sand to receive more lessons from the waves.