its been brought to my attention that a few of my remarks have been portrayed in a light of slight inaccuracy. such as, Andrew didn't say ´greencardbait,´ he claims he said simply ´greencard.´ and a host of other slight impromptu flights of fancy, im sure.
debbie, the police in puerto escondido have uniforms that say {policia turistica} and they carry big guns and make sure there´s no funny business going on in a very funny environment. we keep imagining them as meaner than they are, but they really dont have manners and will aim their rifles at your foot while talking to you.
the fear and terror and paranoia in a foreign land may have lead {or might lead} me to overinflate, like all the best fiction writers {and all the worst}.
corrections-clarifications will eventually follow.
for now, it is my birthday today and i will spend it dillydallying in a hammock and then catching an overnight bus back to Oaxaca. the details of last night are writ out as drawings in my sketchbook. i will have to get to a scanner to correctly transcribe.
The light is bright; the sun hot.
Peace,
Chuck
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
success on the beach, part 2 (for real this time)
got the heck out of puerto escondido. with guns popping at our back, we took cashmoney from the bank machine and hitched aboard the 2nd class bus to Pochutla, the not very exciting but quite necessary layover point for all destinations along the coast. We found a camionetta to take us to Zipolite. No, a camionetta is not a horse drawn carriage, though that would be radiculous, but is a light truck with a canvas canopy. We rode pretty much exclusively, stopping here and there to pick up old ladies and bundles of fire wood. All for a buck.
We disembarked at Zipolite and walked the 1.5 km stretch of sand to the pink flamingo of a hotel, Lola's, at the eastern end of the beach. We scored a 3 bed room for $30-night and take two steps to the surf whenever we want. Apparently we were spotted and identified by a Quebeckian named David as potential dudes looking for hedonistic pursuits. He would not be far off the mark, but that is a later story I will tell when I'm grayhaired and tunneling my way to the tundra water source.
meanwhile, back at lola's, had us some soup and then Adan & I took a sunsetted dip in the ocean, bodysurfing beneath the boogeyboarding kids. those bastards! then, dripping water and reclining on the wooden slatted chairs, Lola's played ending credits music from some 1980s dirty cop meets his big surprise style flick. Think Rocky meets Shaft meets Queen. And this played with gusto as the sun set and the spare clouds in the sky turned fire crisp.
We've been eating dinners at a pizzeria\taqueria. we eat 50 cent tacos while we wait for our wood oven baked pizza. Cant seem to escape the Italian influences on this coast, at any cost. El Delfin is the name of the place, and their open air tables are set up in the street. I just love a place that doesn't seem to follow any rules or laws. The gun=toting tourist police are nonexistent, and dear lord i can just imagine the economic costs that would impact Zipolite, with its nudists doing the grapevine down the beach at 10pm, with its drug addled populace, with its inviting strip of beach, with its shambhala eco freaks performing rituals of nightly terror & horror. this is not disneyland, after all.
but mostly the air here is chill. this place is hella CHILL. and we're in a semi coma state of pure relaxation most of the time. this morning i got out of bed at the ungodly hour of 8 am and took a walk into town to use the internet cafe. (i had to wait 10 minute for it to open). andrew and adan are still sleeping, or maybe they've awoken and are wondering where the heck i've gone. either way, i should probably sign off here. there's more havoc to wreak and more 2 for 1 pina coladas to consume beachside. i turn a very hefty 25 tonight at midnight...who knows what fear and salty tastes will be in my mouth tomorrow, as a newly minted Quarter Century Boy.
We disembarked at Zipolite and walked the 1.5 km stretch of sand to the pink flamingo of a hotel, Lola's, at the eastern end of the beach. We scored a 3 bed room for $30-night and take two steps to the surf whenever we want. Apparently we were spotted and identified by a Quebeckian named David as potential dudes looking for hedonistic pursuits. He would not be far off the mark, but that is a later story I will tell when I'm grayhaired and tunneling my way to the tundra water source.
meanwhile, back at lola's, had us some soup and then Adan & I took a sunsetted dip in the ocean, bodysurfing beneath the boogeyboarding kids. those bastards! then, dripping water and reclining on the wooden slatted chairs, Lola's played ending credits music from some 1980s dirty cop meets his big surprise style flick. Think Rocky meets Shaft meets Queen. And this played with gusto as the sun set and the spare clouds in the sky turned fire crisp.
We've been eating dinners at a pizzeria\taqueria. we eat 50 cent tacos while we wait for our wood oven baked pizza. Cant seem to escape the Italian influences on this coast, at any cost. El Delfin is the name of the place, and their open air tables are set up in the street. I just love a place that doesn't seem to follow any rules or laws. The gun=toting tourist police are nonexistent, and dear lord i can just imagine the economic costs that would impact Zipolite, with its nudists doing the grapevine down the beach at 10pm, with its drug addled populace, with its inviting strip of beach, with its shambhala eco freaks performing rituals of nightly terror & horror. this is not disneyland, after all.
but mostly the air here is chill. this place is hella CHILL. and we're in a semi coma state of pure relaxation most of the time. this morning i got out of bed at the ungodly hour of 8 am and took a walk into town to use the internet cafe. (i had to wait 10 minute for it to open). andrew and adan are still sleeping, or maybe they've awoken and are wondering where the heck i've gone. either way, i should probably sign off here. there's more havoc to wreak and more 2 for 1 pina coladas to consume beachside. i turn a very hefty 25 tonight at midnight...who knows what fear and salty tastes will be in my mouth tomorrow, as a newly minted Quarter Century Boy.
success on the beach, part 1
puerto escondido deflated on us in a way. the two story inflatable tub of Coronas on the pier, that beacon of terrible music and early early morning propaganda broadcasts, had disappeared by Monday morning. In its place, high up on the hill, was the largest Mexican flag we've ever seen (in our short lil existences), giving us hope that Mexico had finally won the war over Corona monopolization of every friggin restaurant and bar in P.E. We were seriously growing mad and turning our aggressions outward every time we heard (once again) 'solomente Corona.' the shopkeepers said with a resigned look on their faces. So we took our newfound independence from crappy Mexican beer to our favorite restaurant, Alicia, and tested the waters. Damn! They were still swamped in excess corona, so we could not partake in our crappy Mexican beer of choice, Cerveza Sol.
But we found an amazing cove...it would make James Bond drip from his wetsuit...and spent another day in paradise, as it were.
The nightlife fluttered and floundered, unfortunately, due to the missing coronas towers that were, yes, a beacon of terror, but also, a beacon of FUN. So Adan and I grabbed some ice cream and stood out on the beach. We werent sure if this was allowed....apparently people have been beaten to a pulp for lesser crimes by the tourist police. But we took our chances. Eventually a platoon of police goons did slither onto the beach with their assault rifles aimed unusually high, but Adan and I were just talking, so we were in the clear (save the mezcal in our backpack). As the troop of police brutality slid past us, we took the cue and returned to the main street and dutifully bought Tshirts that would be insulting if we wore them in Mexico.
As the night slid away up at our vista hotel, polishing off the mezcal, swinging in our hammocks and sloshing in our brains, with cats making painful love in the bushes, we signed off from Puerto Escondido and slid into our deranged dreams of chicken heads casting ballots for vicente foxes.
But we found an amazing cove...it would make James Bond drip from his wetsuit...and spent another day in paradise, as it were.
The nightlife fluttered and floundered, unfortunately, due to the missing coronas towers that were, yes, a beacon of terror, but also, a beacon of FUN. So Adan and I grabbed some ice cream and stood out on the beach. We werent sure if this was allowed....apparently people have been beaten to a pulp for lesser crimes by the tourist police. But we took our chances. Eventually a platoon of police goons did slither onto the beach with their assault rifles aimed unusually high, but Adan and I were just talking, so we were in the clear (save the mezcal in our backpack). As the troop of police brutality slid past us, we took the cue and returned to the main street and dutifully bought Tshirts that would be insulting if we wore them in Mexico.
As the night slid away up at our vista hotel, polishing off the mezcal, swinging in our hammocks and sloshing in our brains, with cats making painful love in the bushes, we signed off from Puerto Escondido and slid into our deranged dreams of chicken heads casting ballots for vicente foxes.
Monday, November 26, 2007
the hidden port
fear and panic gripped us until we settled into our overnight, first class, 10 hour bus to the coast. then we relaxed. then we pulled out the cookies and milk. then we popped tylenol PMs, inserted our ear plugs, donned our face masks and tried, in agony, to get some semblance of sleep on a shaky, bumpy ride. our eyes peeled open at the cracklight of dawn to see a vibrant, lush plain of low trees and endless grasses and the occasional donkey obstacle. we pulled into Puetro Escondido (the hidden port) at around 730 am and checked out bags at Cabanas Pepe (andrew has stayed here twice before...once with amenee, once with phil) where we got a 3 bedroom with a million dollar balcony view for 25 us dollars per night. we walked up the beach in search of breakfast and witnessed the fishing boats pull onto shore D Day style as the crazy denizens swarmed in, pulling the fresh fish off the boat onto the sand, shouting offers for mackeral and these mini shark like fish. later that night we would eat these mackeral, either fried or in salsa, whole. with bone skull and all.
we found a cove where the swimming wasn´t deadly and the price of a cerveza was easy on the wallet. and kicked it. swimming in the pacific ocean. this is strange and unusual. and so very sweet. the tourists down here are mostly mexican, spanish or french. but mostly mexican. there are a handful of americans, but they stay in the tourist box and go surfing all day. in fact, we strolled the main part of town (the main street closes to vehicles after 6 pm...what a fucking good idea!) and soaked in some bad cover songs from an impromptu stage setup in the street (so far every night in mexico there has been a band or orchestra set up in the main square playing free music. also, every night we´ve been here there has been a fireworks show...however brief. I´m all for having a fireworks show at 7 pm every night to celebrate the end of the work day. Por que no?).
the nightlife here has suffered from being the low season. all the tourists are spread out thinly between the gazillion bars that no one bar has any synergy. our picture was taken from the bushes, followed by whistles, so the fear is settling in once again. the tourist police carry M16s...for use on tourists or to protect tourists we do not know. we are going to go be lazy on some beach all day today and then move on to Zipolite, a more casual, relaxed atmosphere, as if we need a place even MORE relaxed than this hidden port city.
so far, no illness has befallen us. but we did run into a 70 year old Polish guy with a big beer gut who tells us he escaped East Germany to live in Australia, where he was given a retirement pension and has been traveling for 35 years. his name is Piotr, and he is my very definition of a ´madman´. his story is inconsistent. he has nine 40 gallon jugs of water in his hotel room (just two rooms over from us). he tells us he doesn´t want to talk politics, but then proceeds to rip apart America and urges us to run for president.
but overall, we are in a good spot.
with love and fear and loathing,
Chuck
p.s. i am taking pictures with my film camera, so don´t expect any images until a few weeks after my return. maybe andrew will upload a few from his camera¿=?
we found a cove where the swimming wasn´t deadly and the price of a cerveza was easy on the wallet. and kicked it. swimming in the pacific ocean. this is strange and unusual. and so very sweet. the tourists down here are mostly mexican, spanish or french. but mostly mexican. there are a handful of americans, but they stay in the tourist box and go surfing all day. in fact, we strolled the main part of town (the main street closes to vehicles after 6 pm...what a fucking good idea!) and soaked in some bad cover songs from an impromptu stage setup in the street (so far every night in mexico there has been a band or orchestra set up in the main square playing free music. also, every night we´ve been here there has been a fireworks show...however brief. I´m all for having a fireworks show at 7 pm every night to celebrate the end of the work day. Por que no?).
the nightlife here has suffered from being the low season. all the tourists are spread out thinly between the gazillion bars that no one bar has any synergy. our picture was taken from the bushes, followed by whistles, so the fear is settling in once again. the tourist police carry M16s...for use on tourists or to protect tourists we do not know. we are going to go be lazy on some beach all day today and then move on to Zipolite, a more casual, relaxed atmosphere, as if we need a place even MORE relaxed than this hidden port city.
so far, no illness has befallen us. but we did run into a 70 year old Polish guy with a big beer gut who tells us he escaped East Germany to live in Australia, where he was given a retirement pension and has been traveling for 35 years. his name is Piotr, and he is my very definition of a ´madman´. his story is inconsistent. he has nine 40 gallon jugs of water in his hotel room (just two rooms over from us). he tells us he doesn´t want to talk politics, but then proceeds to rip apart America and urges us to run for president.
but overall, we are in a good spot.
with love and fear and loathing,
Chuck
p.s. i am taking pictures with my film camera, so don´t expect any images until a few weeks after my return. maybe andrew will upload a few from his camera¿=?
Saturday, November 24, 2007
the fear & horror
hola mi amigos.
andrew and i made it to oaxaca city, mexico without much trouble. adan, 3rd in our cadre of goons, arrived 5 hours after us, so drew and i secured a hotel, took a 3 hour nap, then met up with adan on the steps of the cathedral off the zocalo, the main plaza in oaxaca. it was timed perfectly. we designed ourselves better in the shower and then headed out to look for for a thanksgiving feast. we walked and walked, tantalized by the options, but never quite satisfied. we eventually settled on a cafe off the zocalo and paid a little more for the ambience. Adan and i had the chicken and rice with mole negro and coloradito (a thick chocolate-spice sauce). andrew had some tomato soup and a salty as all hell quesadilla. we toasted with Cerveza Sol, which would soon become a theme for this trip.
we retired to our room fairly early to rest up (we were dead tired after a full day of travel) for the next day. but somehow we got sucked into watching Muhammed Ali boxing matches, including the [rumble in the jungle} fight in africa. We were entranced and half¿zombied.
the 2nd day we woke up late, grabbed some breaded pastry items, and headed for a hotel where we caught a bus to Monte Alban, a Zapotec site of extraordinary breadth and ruination, just outside Oaxaca. It was a day to walk around and contemplate the history and stuff. But mostly we cant stop laughing, theres always something that catches our eyes and is need of a wise crack. I love traveling with amigos...we are like a cadre of fools let loose upon a sneaky'clean culture. we get the fear sometimes very much, but we have each other to overcome it.
like today we spent at least 3 hours walking around a huge outdoor market...a true labyrinth, really. The stalls are lined up and bunched together so that one second you are walking between rows and rows of dead chickens and then the next moment you are looking at baby clothing. Truly only a bout of sheer horror can fix us in our Sols...which we need on a regular basis just to manage. What i like best about Oaxaca is the flashes of utter strangeness I glimpse for just split=seconds as I turn my head in one direction, and then turn it in another direction. Theres something going on at every moment and its so small and everyday, but its so large and peculiar to the travelers eye.
Last night we ate at a restaurant called [el biche pobre}, which i think means the poor drink, but which i wish meant the poor bitch. shots of mezcal, the local liquor derived from the agave plant and aged in smokey barrels, were had in equal doses. our waiter had spent 4 years in L.A. painting houses before he was deported back to Oaxaca recently. He will return someday, he assured us. Also a retired German sat at the table across from us. He spoke fluent spanish, having been a trader of merchandise or something. It was hard to understand him..in fact, i didnt understand a word he said. But Andrew got bits and pieces, so he translated for me. The German was speaking English, by the way. He was retired and taking a trip through Mexico. By himself. Lonely, but he looked happy enough. And he didnt have the usual German tourist stance...i.e. where he ignores other foreigners, where he wears nothing but khakis and walks in herds. Good for him. We suggested he try the mezcal, and so he did.
Then later in the night we visited a nightclub with pounding disco music and projections of MTV2. Andrew and Adan kept getting me to chat up some chicas sitting across from us...they were reportedly smiling at me...but I am a coward in a situation where nobody can hear what the other is saying due to the blaring music. So we left, but it wasnt long before we walked back up the street. mind you, this was a carless street, and thus was full of throbs of people, Italian passegiata style, flooding the streets to see and be seen. Mostly young people. It was a Friday, after all. So we ended up at this Rock Club. The clientele were mostly high school and college students but the beer was cheap. The pit band soon struck up some good cover songs including Franz Ferdinand, the Crandberries (!!!), and Pink Floyd. And we were hooked. We chatted up some folks there, you might say, and danced ourselves silly, you might say. For some reason Spanish comes off my tongue so much easier when in the situation of a loud bar and many drinks in me. Que pasa? Anyhow, we retreated (literally fleeing) to our hotel room at about 1 in the morning. The night was still young, but we were not in the mood to push our luck.
Today many people have been either wanting our picture taken, or taking our picture indiscriminately from their cameraphones. We have got the fear and terror. Soon we must leave this place. Luckily we bought an overnight, first class bus ticket out of here, departing at 10 pm. We will sleep on the bus and arrive in Puerto Escondido at 7 am tomorrow. Thus we will begin the lazy beach bum days of our trip. I am looking forward to more wildlife, less street pandemonium.
Will report back soon.
Until then, rest assured of my safety and security.
and my warmth! it is in the 80s, 90s here, with warm nights. the coast is supposed to be even hotter. time to go swimming!
it feels like summer down here, despite the omnipresent sales of plastic christmas trees.
with fear, love and sheer horror,
Chuck
p.s. for those naysayers telling me Oaxaca is still a dangerous place to be. Well, all i can say is I feel real safe here. No troubles. No outbreaks of violence. No shady business. It may be dangerous on an underground level, but its safe here.
andrew and i made it to oaxaca city, mexico without much trouble. adan, 3rd in our cadre of goons, arrived 5 hours after us, so drew and i secured a hotel, took a 3 hour nap, then met up with adan on the steps of the cathedral off the zocalo, the main plaza in oaxaca. it was timed perfectly. we designed ourselves better in the shower and then headed out to look for for a thanksgiving feast. we walked and walked, tantalized by the options, but never quite satisfied. we eventually settled on a cafe off the zocalo and paid a little more for the ambience. Adan and i had the chicken and rice with mole negro and coloradito (a thick chocolate-spice sauce). andrew had some tomato soup and a salty as all hell quesadilla. we toasted with Cerveza Sol, which would soon become a theme for this trip.
we retired to our room fairly early to rest up (we were dead tired after a full day of travel) for the next day. but somehow we got sucked into watching Muhammed Ali boxing matches, including the [rumble in the jungle} fight in africa. We were entranced and half¿zombied.
the 2nd day we woke up late, grabbed some breaded pastry items, and headed for a hotel where we caught a bus to Monte Alban, a Zapotec site of extraordinary breadth and ruination, just outside Oaxaca. It was a day to walk around and contemplate the history and stuff. But mostly we cant stop laughing, theres always something that catches our eyes and is need of a wise crack. I love traveling with amigos...we are like a cadre of fools let loose upon a sneaky'clean culture. we get the fear sometimes very much, but we have each other to overcome it.
like today we spent at least 3 hours walking around a huge outdoor market...a true labyrinth, really. The stalls are lined up and bunched together so that one second you are walking between rows and rows of dead chickens and then the next moment you are looking at baby clothing. Truly only a bout of sheer horror can fix us in our Sols...which we need on a regular basis just to manage. What i like best about Oaxaca is the flashes of utter strangeness I glimpse for just split=seconds as I turn my head in one direction, and then turn it in another direction. Theres something going on at every moment and its so small and everyday, but its so large and peculiar to the travelers eye.
Last night we ate at a restaurant called [el biche pobre}, which i think means the poor drink, but which i wish meant the poor bitch. shots of mezcal, the local liquor derived from the agave plant and aged in smokey barrels, were had in equal doses. our waiter had spent 4 years in L.A. painting houses before he was deported back to Oaxaca recently. He will return someday, he assured us. Also a retired German sat at the table across from us. He spoke fluent spanish, having been a trader of merchandise or something. It was hard to understand him..in fact, i didnt understand a word he said. But Andrew got bits and pieces, so he translated for me. The German was speaking English, by the way. He was retired and taking a trip through Mexico. By himself. Lonely, but he looked happy enough. And he didnt have the usual German tourist stance...i.e. where he ignores other foreigners, where he wears nothing but khakis and walks in herds. Good for him. We suggested he try the mezcal, and so he did.
Then later in the night we visited a nightclub with pounding disco music and projections of MTV2. Andrew and Adan kept getting me to chat up some chicas sitting across from us...they were reportedly smiling at me...but I am a coward in a situation where nobody can hear what the other is saying due to the blaring music. So we left, but it wasnt long before we walked back up the street. mind you, this was a carless street, and thus was full of throbs of people, Italian passegiata style, flooding the streets to see and be seen. Mostly young people. It was a Friday, after all. So we ended up at this Rock Club. The clientele were mostly high school and college students but the beer was cheap. The pit band soon struck up some good cover songs including Franz Ferdinand, the Crandberries (!!!), and Pink Floyd. And we were hooked. We chatted up some folks there, you might say, and danced ourselves silly, you might say. For some reason Spanish comes off my tongue so much easier when in the situation of a loud bar and many drinks in me. Que pasa? Anyhow, we retreated (literally fleeing) to our hotel room at about 1 in the morning. The night was still young, but we were not in the mood to push our luck.
Today many people have been either wanting our picture taken, or taking our picture indiscriminately from their cameraphones. We have got the fear and terror. Soon we must leave this place. Luckily we bought an overnight, first class bus ticket out of here, departing at 10 pm. We will sleep on the bus and arrive in Puerto Escondido at 7 am tomorrow. Thus we will begin the lazy beach bum days of our trip. I am looking forward to more wildlife, less street pandemonium.
Will report back soon.
Until then, rest assured of my safety and security.
and my warmth! it is in the 80s, 90s here, with warm nights. the coast is supposed to be even hotter. time to go swimming!
it feels like summer down here, despite the omnipresent sales of plastic christmas trees.
with fear, love and sheer horror,
Chuck
p.s. for those naysayers telling me Oaxaca is still a dangerous place to be. Well, all i can say is I feel real safe here. No troubles. No outbreaks of violence. No shady business. It may be dangerous on an underground level, but its safe here.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Viajamos en Mehico - Nov. 22 thru Dec. 2
Vuelo | Operado por | Fecha | Salida | Llegada | Escalas | ||||
943 | MX | 21 nov |
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553 | MX | 22 nov |
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| 0 | ||||
217 | MX | 22 nov |
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| 0 | ||||
222 | MX | 02 dic |
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| 0 | ||||
944 | MX | 02 dic |
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