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 30th 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.
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| Rasta Sunset, Zipolite, Mexico |
