The Drive
Here is the question: What makes Mexican driving the bane of my existence?
Is it the car-swallowing potholes?
Is it the signs (when there are any) that are mere suggestions?
Is it the Mexican drivers, who always manage to make 2 lanes out of one?
Is it the torturously winding roads that never seem to end and often lack modern conveniences like guard rails?
Here is the answer: None of the above.
No, without doubt the ultimate cause of my rage and despair is the dreaded “tope” (pronounced “toe-pay” and loosely translated as “I’m gonna jar your teeth from your mouth and tear the wheels off your car”). I’m not going to get into a lengthy description here - there’s plenty of that on the Interweb. Suffice it to say that they are everywhere, they are quite often unmarked and the front edge is usually a foot high & almost vertical.
The seldom seen warning sign. Note the angle of the car - preparing for take-off
A mini-tope. Note the height and front edge.
But enough of that. Our drive from Oaxaca to Mazunte was fairly uneventful, bone-jarring tope encounters notwithstanding, but it was L-O-N-G and it was mountainous (see question above). It didn’t top the drive Sarah & I took from Las Pozas to Mexico City on the advice of an expert (“You gonna love it. It’s soooo scenic”. Uh-huh) but it was a close second.
No need to explain those squiggles is there?
The Quaint Villages
This could easily turn into another of my Old Man Rants (“Ahh, you kids/tourists/greedy-ass developers/corrupt govts! Taking beautiful beaches...”), so let’s just say that the 1995 Lonely Planet Mexico book in my room says that if you want to stay in Mazunte you’ll have to go & knock on a local’s door and hope for the best, whereas we could have stayed at the Zoa Hotel, with rooms individually designed by renowned architects, for $500US a night and eaten a $200 meal at a number of local restaurants.
Having said that, we did have a lovely time there.
San Agustinillo beach
We’re the little white building on top of the hill
Things could be worse.
The best fish tacos I have EVER had.
The divine source of the tacos, where, because it was run by Argentineans, I also managed to cop some alfajores - the world’s best cookie.
So, for two days did I hypocritically and shamelessly take advantage of the very things I railed against? You bet your ass I did. Do as I say, not as I do.
The Big City
The drive from Mazunte to Puerto Escondido is surprisingly easy and you can do it in about an hour. Once again, toss all your preconceived notions of a laid-back, undiscovered paradise out the window. The official population is 45 000, but the tourist population is probably at least double that and it ain’t pretty. Fortunately, we’ve coughed up The Big Bucks and are comfortably ensconced in a house with a/c and a pool, in Carrizalillo, an upscale neighborhood only a block from both our go-to surfing beach and a shitload of great restaurants. Amazingly, we’re also a short hop from Bacacho, a beautiful and usually deserted beach which is perfect for walking or just laying around. It’s the best of both worlds.
“I wonder what the poor people are doing?”
“Oh really, who cares?”
Carrizalillo Beach, where we surf with the unwashed masses - and there are Oh-So-Many of them.
Puerto Angelico & Bacacho beaches where, like Green Day, I walk alone.
And that’s about it. We’re here for another week and plan on adopting a “When in Rome” philosophy, doing as little as humanly possible aside from staying alive. We MAY drive up or down the coast, or check out the scene at Zicatela, supposedly one of the world’s great surf spots, but I wouldn’t put money on it. This indolence thing is both appealing and easy and we wouldn’t want to “spoil the vibe, dude.” So we see.
After that, I drive back to Oaxaca - a 6 1/2 hour drive supposedly worse than the one here, although I don’t see how that’s possible - a COVID test, 2 days waiting for results, a 13 hour plane ride home and a $1000 hotel quarantine. I can hardly wait.
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