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