Battle of the Beaches: Oaxaca v. Chiapas

Continuing our travels south, we waited on the side of the ‘highway’ (where the mountain road from San Mateo joins back up to the main carretera) with a cardboard sign that said A LA PLAYA!  It didn’t take long before a truck with a metal frame on the back (our favourite and most common pick-up) stopped and loaded us into the back.  Our ride was a group of Christian guys who were going to Huatulco to play at some Christin beach festival.  The air was fresh, the views were amazing, and we were giddy to get to lower elevations and seashores- perfection, almost.  Except for the boy that kept throwing up over the side of the truck, and no matter how loud I turned up my Marc Anthony playlist, I couldn’t cover up the retching sounds.

So, when they dropped us up in the middle of nowhere in the mountains, we didn’t complain.  The second truck that passed picked us up and took us all the way to Pochutla, from where we took a colectivo to Puerto Angel.  We filled up on tacos on the street:

, and then hopped in the back of a French couple’s van that took us the remainder of the way to Zipolite.  After so many months, finalmente!  The ocean!  Waves and sand and salty breezes and a full moon to usher us in.  We set up our tent in the dark, next to a psychedelic reggae party.  My first view of the beach when I woke up the next morning and peaked outside was that of a naked hippie taking down his tent- we picked a good spot, it seems.

Nope, not bad at all:

But, not perfect, we felt.  So, we rolled everything up again, put the backpacks on, and walked a few kilometers to the next seaside town- San Agustinillo.  And, as we collapsed, sweaty and exhausted, into a café for breakfast and found an available room upstairs (the only one in San Agustinillo, it seemed), we didn’t hesitate.  A delicious and cozy café downstairs and not-too-shabby of a view from the balcony?

Sold!  And I really loved this beach.

Unfortunately, the red flag was up, so there wasn’t too much swimming that happened, but it was still fun to wade in the waves and jump around:

And walk the cove and admire all of the palapas:

And go for morning jogs:

My favourite part of the stay was hiking out to punta cometa for sunset; a small rocky peninsula that juts out from the shoreline in Mazunte (the adjacent town, about a kilometer west of San Agustinillo):

It almoooooost felt like I was back in Scotland, with waves pounding onto cliffs:

Except that the temperature was about 30 degrees C warmer and that there were cacti:

And there were a lot more people to keep us company in the sun-going-down ceremony than on secluded rock-tips on the Isle of Skye:

But, a little bit of similarity, no?

And it was all very beautiful, but also very hot.  It had already been rather steamy in Oaxaca the past couple of weeks, but add the seaside humidity, and it was less-than-enjoyable.  So, after less than 48 hours, we rolled everything up again and returned to the side of the road.  The first van that passed us by was headed to  Matías Romero, a city about five hours east of Mazunte.  So, we told the kind sir to take us as far away as possible from the heat.

He dropped us off on the side of the highway, right outside of La Ventosa.

The name does not lie.  It was the windiest place that I have ever been in; I couldn’t stand up by myself and our heavy backpacking bags were rolling around and into the ditches on the side of the road.  We somehow inched along the highway until a run-down truck took pity on us and gave us a lift (windiest ride of my life, help!) to the next small town.  There was nothing there, other than more wind, an empty bar with bachata music, and a bus stop.

By this point, it was getting dark, so we took the last bus to Tapanatepec, which was not any more inviting.  So, another bus on to Arriaga.  Not much better.  One more bus, to Tonalá.  Not any better, but is was midnight and we were kind of discouraged by our entry into Chiapas, so we checked into an overpriced and less-than-quaint hotel and turned up the AC so that it could lull us to sleep.

The next day, we moved (very slowly, as people in Chiapas do not pick up anywhere near as enthusiastically as in Oaxaca) to the coastline, for one more night on the sand before heading inland again.  Our destination was Madre Sal, an isolated strand of beach about an hour (or, in our case, six hours) southeast of Tonalá.

It took a lot of walking on little dirt roads (Our last ride was holding on for dear life, hanging out of a watermelon truck.  As a reward for surviving, we go at a watermelon.  So, we got to carry one of those with us the last couple of kilometers):

And crossed a lagoon surrounded by mangrove trees on a lancha:

And then,  voilà, paradise:

Madre Sal is an ecotourism project, working to conserve the land and provide a safe, isolated refuge to the turtles that come ashore in the fall to lay eggs.  As now is not turtle season, we found the place utterly empty:

Except for our friend, the Red Flag:

And many flocks of seagulls flying parallel to the waves in the morning sun:

We set up camp in the sand, under a palapa (and a clear night sky that graced us with the Milky Way):

We wandered around the property and had fake mojitos with the sunset and felt like we were a hundred miles away (well, I guess that we were… so, maybe more like a lifetime and a thousand miles) from the beaches of Oaxaca we were lounging at slightly more then 24 hours ago.

I suppose that both the Oaxaca and Chiapas coastlines had their pro’s and con’s.  But, the heat was similar in both.  So, reluctantly (for I love the sound of the ocean waves so much) we put our backpacks on again and continued the journey inland, toward the highlands of Chiapas and away from the sandy horizon line:

The next chapter is colder, but just a beautiful!

 

 

 

 

Summertime…

… and the living’s easy.

Before I get too comfortable in this routine of eating and drinking and making art, it’s time for another improv trip!

Tomorrow morning, off to Napoli for a weekend full of opera and FIFA games, thanks to the Teatro San Carlo, who is streaming the final two matches on a big screen after the shows (the idea of watching Deutschland squish Argentina into oblivion at one of the world’s oldest and most prestigious opera houses in Campania sounds like my sort of thing).

And then, probably a few days hopping around the southern coast, with a cardboard sign attached to my back and a desire to see some new waters in my heart.  So… it’s time to leave behind this view of the Adriatic coast:

And find something a bit more wild.  On the same note, today’s acrylic painting is probably the last one in this palette knife series– but I needed one more session with my knives and was in the mood for some blue hues.  Hopefully, more art inspiration to be found in the south of this country!

A dopo!

 

Summertime

Went to the beach yesterday to celebrate a friend’s birthday.  Took a stroll up to Senigallia through a herd of bronze-skinned people, stumbled upon a roller blading competition, returned barefooted through the warm water, finished the night with pizza and cake and a toast of champagne.  The norm for all Italians on free weekends for the next month and a half.

Bentornata, estate.

And thus, summer has sunk into Italy.  Forecast for the next few weeks: cloudless skies, breezeless nights, the stickiness of salt on your skin, heated pebbles under your feet, cocktail glasses with long straws after midnight, lazy dinners on the beach, outdoor festivals, and gelati melting in your hands.