Mazunte

Mazunte is a tiny little town, described in one tour book as ¨so sleepy, you can hear it snoring.¨ I found a bed in a hostel near the beach and set out to explore my new town. The town itself seems to consist of one main paved road leading in from surrounding towns with three smaller dirt roads leading to the beach. The main road is lined with tiny wooden tiendas and local comedoras, while the smaller roads are lined with wooden houses and guesthouses offering basic accommodations. The beach on which my hacienda sits is a tiny little cove, separated from a larger stretch of beach to the east by a large rock formation that juts out almost to the surf, constantly pounded by the waves, forcing one to strategically time their run from one beach to the other to avoid getting soaked. I was not always successful. To the west lies Punta Cometa, a mass of rocks leading out into the sea, stopping at a point which is said to be some sort of spiritual site for the local Mayan population.

My first morning in Mazunte, I joined a group of 7 other travellers - 3 girls from Denmark, a couple from Mexico and a couple from Canada - on a boat trip. The waves at Mazunte are similar to those at Monterico in that they build up right at the shore and come crashing down almost as soon as they form. Because our boat was beached pretty far up on the shore, the men pushed it down towards the surf, at which point our guide told all of the women to get in the boat while the men stood around the boat, hands on the sides, ready to push us in as soon as their was a break in the waves. After watching about 20 huge waves crash onto the shore, I was beginning to rethink the trip, but just then, there was a lull and the men pushed and jumped in as we hurled out into the water just missing the next big wave.

Our boat took us out to the east, past Zipolite and other small beaches along the Oaxacan coast lined with similar local restaurants and haciendas. Once we were out on the water, one of the guys lit up a joint, which he pronounced, "Desayuna de championes," meaning to pronounce it a "breakfast of champions," but mistakenly calling it a "breakfast of mushrooms." I found that pretty amusing, until the smell, combined with the rolling of the boat made me wish I was back on solid ground.

Once we were quite far out from the beaches, I noticed a few fins peaking above the water, which soon became literally hundreds of dolphins on all sides of us, jumping individually and in groups of 20, some merely gliding out of the water to glide back in, while others hurled themselves out of the water in a spin and came crashing down not far from our boat. We spent the next 20 minutes or so riding along in awe of the multitude of the surrounding dolphins.

Leaving the dolphins behind, we headed west toward the turtle sanctuary, where five of the worlds 6 sea turtle species find sanctuary from people who would kill them for their skins, shells and eggs. Our guide donned his flippers and walked out onto the bow of the boat scanning the horizon for signs of a turtle. The next thing I knew, he was overboard and we were all watching the spot where he had disappeared. He came up a few minutes later, empty handed and joined us back in the boat. After about 10 minutes, he pointed further out to sea and the captain turned to boat in that direction. As I peered over the bow, I could see a bird on the water, but nothing that looked like a turtle. Wondering what kind of crack pot this guy was, I suddenly realized what had drawn his attention to the bird. The bird was not, as I had thought, sitting in the water, but was perched on what looked like an enormous floating coconut. Seconds later, there was a big splash, a flutter of wings and our guide grinning up at us from the water, a huge sea turtle struggling to get out of his grasp.

We all jumped in the water and took turns holding the turtle, which calmed down and seemed resigned to its fate after the first initial shock of capture. When I had a chance to hold her, I decided to see if she wanted to swim and sensing the release in pressure, she immediately dove straight down pulling me with her. Our guide helped me get her back and we held her for a few more moments before watching her swim off and disappear in the blue of the ocean depths.

That evening, I was invited to a barbeque on the beach by some of the others on the beach. I, in turn, invited Alex, a French guy staying in my dorm and we walked down the road, up a hill and down another long stretch of beach to the barbeque. Over a dinner of hummus, tortillas and grilled peppers, we talked about our lives, our travels and numerous other less significant things. The group consisted of two French guys, a French woman, a Dutch girl, two Mexican guys, two Canadians and me. As the night wore on and I learned of documentary film making, life in Mexico, the Mayan prediction of the end of the world, and the difficulties of getting gas delivered to houses on the beach in Mazunte, I wondered in how many other remote beaches in remote parts of the world, were other such international crowds gathered around a fire, listening to the music of the surf and an accompaniment of bongos and guitars, discussing whatever ever happened to cross their minds. I felt pretty lucky to be among one of them and made a mental note to never get to busy to share similar company.