Osama, Totopo and Vitamina
The road out of Taxco was stunning and we took the opportunity to pull over at a mirador to take photos of the incredible view:
A night's stopover in Cuernavaca and the following evening we were in Oaxaca. Our arrival coincided with their biggest festival of the year, the Guelaguetza, The week long event, whose origins date from prehispanic times and which honour the gods of maize and wind, were celebrated with sports competitions, concerts in public squares and lots of huge, colourful, jelly bean-like balloons which children squashed vertically into the ground and then released to see them rise magically above the street lights and into the evening's darkness.
We participated by buying tickets for the sunday night show at the 10,000 capacity outdoor amphitheatre on the outskirts of town. Only five minutes from our hostel, in typical mexican summer style, it suddenly started to rain. A perfectly sunny afternoon was replaced with thunder and heavy warm rain. But this time we were prepared - and boy, were we prepared. So we hailed a taxi to regroup our supplies in the dry. As the car pulled in at final waypoint we synchronised exits from the vehicle and emerged in full-body His and Hers waterproofs (with hoods) under a 2-man umbrella. Without breaking stride we handed a fistful of pesos in exchange for overpriced plastic sheets to sit on with a little girl with a charming smile, and errorless navigation through the gates, sections then rows had us positioned beautifully for the start of the show. The theatre was full, the show was colourful and the dancers almost invariably managed not to slip on the soaking stage. Every time they did, the audience applauded to reassure them, and when the stage was packed with dancers performing complex choreography, there were long periods of applause. The crescendo of the show manifested itself in an almighty fireworks display, with one of the large horizontal flying catherine wheels imbedding itself firmly into members of the audience just a row in front of us. Retreat!!
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BIKERIDE
The main purpose for our visit to Oaxaca, in addition to enjoying the festivities, was to embark on a two day mountain biking trip with the legendary Mexican Olympic mountain biking champion - Pedro Martinez. We booked in at 8pm the evening we arrived and set off the following day at 8am. After an hour long drive in a car which must have been at least 20 years old and done about 500,000 miles, Pedro pulled over. Kitting ourselves up with the necessary gear - helmets, dri-vests, gloves, suncream, we dutifully got on our bikes and proceeded to follow Pedro's 15 year old niece Omar, a budding pro mountain biker who was going to be our guide for the two days. (Pedro was never far behind with our gear, food and water in the rust mobile)
Having not done a huge amount of mountain biking in our adult lives, we were reasonably confident as to the ease to which we were going to find the two days. In fact, we nearly booked ourselves onto the 4 day trip down to Puerto Escondido some 200km away, only deciding not to because there was no way of getting our car down there if we were biking. This two day trip was going to be a breeze.
It took as long as 10 minutes on our first stretch of biking (uphill) for us to decide that we had probably 1) underestimated the kind of difficulty rating this mountain biking trip had and 2) our level of fitness at this point in our travels. Over the course of the first day we sweated buckets, felt the muscles burn in our legs and put our lungs to the test. If anything was going to stop mg from taking up smoking this holiday, this was it. Stopping only for some local fruit sampling - fresh mango and tuna (cactus fruit similar in appearance to a kiwi) we covered over 25 kilometres that day - half of which was uphill. We passed spectacular scenery, rode up and over mountains and through tiny rural villages. The day finished with an hour long hike through a canyon which bought us to Santiago Apoala, the tiny village where we were to spend the night.
After a quick wash, we were taken by our hosts to a little wooden shack in the centre of the 250 person village where we were treated to a homemade meal of Mexican food cooked in the traditional way that it has been for thousands of years. Using only primitive techniques (wood fire and hands!) two ladies of around 40 and 70 yrs old produced a delicious meal in the almost pitch black room filled with smoke. Following dinner we wandered up the road to the village library where we met a young girl who told us stories about the history of the village and the legendary double headed eagle which had bought luck to the village. We also discovered that the members of the village still held Mixtecan beliefs such as reincarnation, transition into and out of other animals as well as practised arranged marriages. The final hour of the evening was spent entertaining Osama, one of the village dogs, who was ecstatically happy that we were willing to play throw-the-ball with him. His unique way of walking backwards needs to be seen to be appreciated...
The following day we kicked off with another 25k journey which was equally as exhilirating. This time, to our relief, there was more downhill which gave our sore legs a bit of light relief. The day was almost perfect save for a small accident at the end. While mg was stationery on his bike and was reaching to put his walkie talkie in his pocket, the bike toppled and he sliced his hand open on a sharp rock. The day thus culminated to the local hospital for 6 stitches!
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Zipoliti
According to the guidebook, Zipoliti was an idyllic stretch of sand with clear waters populated by smiling locals and hippies. What we found was a bunch of strung out junkies and a dirty beach. Not to be put off so easily we asked a group of moody youths for hotel Brisa Marina where we had made a reservation, and were directed to the western end of the beach where we found a 4 storey concrete building overlooking the beach. Here we met Daniel, the chicago born owner / manager who was a cross between Hugh Heffner and Marlin Brando in Apocalypse Now. He rose from his plastic table of 18 year old female backpackers that had been avidly listening to his story of so and so from back in the day and kindly showed us our room. Other than the ventilator above the bed and possibly the edge of the built-in safe, both which could conceivably be used to commit suicide, there wasn't a great deal to distinguish our room from a prison cell. We looked at each other, said it was lovely thank you very much and went to the car to bring up our bags still somewhat apprehensive. Not believing this was the Zipoliti of legend, we'd gather our thoughts over dinner. As we were leaving the hostel, Daniel told us to sit and join them while he told us where was best for food. We obeyed. Despite getting food poisoned there last week, he recommended El Capitan for the best fish, but it wasn't open on sunday nights (damn). For pasta (safe, we thought), we should head to El Alquimista on Playa del Amor which was probably the best restaurant in the area. Some girls left and others arrived during his run down. Given our cheap hotel room, we'd splash out on a luxury italian.
So we walked past the rubbish down the beach, still a little uneasy, and as tide was high we had to climb over some rocks to reach the next bay, Playa del Amor. This was a nudist beach. But mg couldn't see any girls. Just a lot of men. Fair enough. We walked past old men with silky smooth sun wrinkled skin, deeply brown from head to toe with no tan lines, hands by their waists and looking out to sea watching invisible ships as they satisfactorily allowed themselves so swing in the breeze. A younger guy with frizzy hair lay star spangled on his back, unable to keep his hands from rubbing his chest and inner thighs (later, when he got up and slowly rotated through 360 degrees with his hands stretched up in the air, we saw what he was so proud of - elephant balls). Beyond caring whether we were caught looking, we sat down at our table on the beach, had a good giggle, ordered our pasta which arrived coincidently only moments after a microwave timer went ding behind the bar, and then - and then, came the flies. Lots of flies from nowhere, all over our food. All mg could see was flies and willies and the buzzing silhouette of 2 cannelloni on a plate and hunger was instantly annihilated. We went for a walk on the beach. "All I wanted was a bungalow, a hammock and a banana smoothie", said E-J, and then nearly stepped on a washed up syringe. The next morning we left at sunrise. Having read about another beach just up the road we were not sorry to leave, especially when we discovered San Agustinillo.
San Agustinillo, Mexico Lindo, y que Rico!
As recommended in the guide book, we checked into the $30/night restaurant / pizzeria / cabana called Mexico Lindo, y Que Rico. The beach was spotless, our cabana had a mosquito net. and there were hammocks everywhere! It was idyllic. We sat down for breakfast and two tall, delicious banana smoothies joined us. E-J turned to mg, eyes (almost) swelling with joy and said, "It's perfect!".
Until 1985, San Agustinillo's main industry was turtles. Killed for their meat, shells and leathery skin, the guidebook states 50,000 were slaughtered every year. Locals say more like 1,200 to 1,500 a day. The 200m beach was deep red with turtle blood and the waters teeming with sharks. 20 years later it's hard to believe it, but the guides at the turtle museum down the road in Mazunte tell you all.
Yesterday morning we joined a german family at sunrise on a boat for a tour around the bay. Half an hour passed and we saw a couple of dolphins playing. Then Vigilio, our outsize captain (and evening waiter at the cabana's pizzeria) spotted a large turtle and we set full speed towards it. WIthout warning he lept off the side of the boat, like a flying human starfish and landed on top of the unsuspecting creature. When the chaos of water cleared, we could see he had latched on to it's shell with his arms, and behind the turtle's upturned head he was grinning. The children took turns jumping in to hold the frantically (as frantic as a turtle can be) flapping animal and the dad took photos with his camera. Everyone got back on board and a black and yellow extremely venemous sea snake slowly and silently swam past. We then passed two more turtles mating, the male gripping on to the female's back, a position he holds for 15 days - impressive by any male's standard. No-one jumped in for photos, but two of the german girls were sick.
Apart from this trip and perhaps set new records in smoothie consumption, we've done nothing this week. E-J's read a few books, mg's read a few chapters. We've been in bed before 9pm most nights, and E-J has refrained from going in the sea too often until mg's hand is better so we can go in, together. We've made friends with other guests from italy, germany, france and belgium who've come and gone. Fausto and Leila are a young mexican couple who own and run the place and are both very cool. Fausto boogie boards, plays with their dogs Totope and Vitamina and occasionally saves lives on the beach. Leila swims alot and chooses music from their ipod. We'll be sorry to leave but there's a bi-annual international surfing competition an hour down the road at Puerto Escondido starting tomorrow so it's a tough call. Right now, life's a beach.
