The Beach Life


I was on the bus for hours and hours from D.F. to la costa de Oaxaca, where the beach faces south and the sun dances a long dance of tag with the ocean and always ends up winning. On the last bus I met a very lost Australian who didn't speak hardly a lick of spanish... she was headed to Zipolite too and ended up following me, which was a good idea because I have no idea what would have happened to her otherwise. I stumbled onto the beach to find, right in front of me, the scraggly group of my American friends, on holiday in Zipo. Bisquito, Craigasaurus, su Rachel, Miguel y Daniel... they were good medicine for my first night alone out in the world.

So it's been la vida en la playita for the past five (?) days, I'm writing from a slow connection in Mazunte, a little beach up the way. The Scragglies left today towards Puerto Escondido, on their way to various airports and lives. That means the sweet prelude to the adventure is over, and me encuentro solito...

I just wrote this on the beach:

Se fueron mis amigos. I went back to the hostel and watched dolphins . The dolphins made me feel better. Craigcito querido amigo mio me presto su guitarra, that made me feel even better, la guitarra es buena amiga mia.

Los italianos nos permitieron salier sin tratar de chingarnos.

I bought my ticket to San Cristobal for tomorrow night at a quarter to eight. Me costo 309 pesos, a 12-hour all-night feat.

En Mazunte sueñan los hippies. No le conozco a nadie aqui.

I went to stay at the Posada Arquetecto but I didn't have a lock for the locker, so I went across the street and hung my hammock outside a wierd gringo's RV. I told him I'd pay him 30 pesos for the night. He told me he has candles. He also has an improbable girlfriend.

I went for a walk. They say all you need is love. I thought to myself what good is a beautiful place without love? Somehow places can't make up for people.

I should go play some beach volleyball. I should go record some birds.