White Sand & Whiter Skin.

After a wonderful few days of missed connections and layovers in surprisingly not-so-seedy border towns, I finally arrived to the coast of Oaxaca. The first stop was Zipolite, where I arrived in the back of a pickup truck early in the afternoon, and quickly found my way to the zen hostel of Shambhala. Sitting on a hill on the western edge of the bay, my guide stated that there was no alcohol allowed, which was a bit of a deterrent at first, but also had me figuring that it would be a very relaxed setting. Sure enough, I was greeted by a wonderful Italian woman at the reception, and was soon taking in the following view from my dorm room.


I wasn't too sure about Zipolite at first, because there really wasn't anything to do there. But I quickly realized that I was still on a three-day bus-filled rush, and that nothing to do was exactly what I needed to be doing. I spent the afternoon and next day walking the beautiful beach and reading in a hammock, overlooking the swell crashing over the rocks.

Quite chill, Zipolite is really a place to soak up the sun and kick back your heels. It's also quite well known as a nude beach, especially in the western cove where my hostel was situated. However, this memo seems to have missed the supermodel crowd and been caught by the old-wrinkly-white-men crowd. This was no Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition setting, let me tell you. Every so often you would be innocently be walking down the beach, and suddenly get hit by a flash of blinding white skin burning your retina. Like a solar eclipse, you know it's damaging, but there is a strange urge to catch a glimpse, even if you regret when you do.

K6A Crew gets up in Zipolite. 514 to ... whatever area code Zipolite is.

I spent my second day swimming, walking around, and exploring the rocky coves that are scattered around the outskirt of the western end of the beach. After a few Cuba Libres, a pizza, and an hour sitting on the beach gazing up at shooting stars while listening to reggae float through the air, I called it a night.

The next morning, I took off to Mazunte, where I ended up only staying one night before heading off to Puerto Escondido. There, I met up with a friend from San Cristobal who was on her way out. Although we only had a few minutes to catch up, I was unfortunately brought back to the realities of travelling when she told me how another friend we had met in San Cristobal ws held at knifepoint in a taxi while his bank account was drained of 4000 euros in Managua. After four months of travelling without any serious incidents, it was a stark reminder about how these things happen...

I made my way to Puerto Escondido, home of the 'Mexican Pipeline', the most famous surf beach in the country. When it gets big, this place can be firing at 20+ feet, which is intensified by the fact that the waves break really close to shore. Apparently people walk out of the water with broken boards on a daily basis, and, on rare occasion, unfortunately some don't get to walk out of the water at all, as reminded by the shrine that sits halfway up the beach.

Although it's currently low-season, it seemed like all of the decent places were full, and those that still had room were too expensive for my budget. After two hours of walking around, I finally made a deal with a guy about a hotel I thought I had seen, and that he told me he worked at. He gave me a card with the price we had agreed on, told me to give it to the girl at the reception, and assured me that it was the 'yellow one up on the hill', which I had been to and was beautiful. Of course, it turned out to be the white one around the corner from the yellow one, and it was a dump. Luckily enough, I finally found a place on my walk back to town, owned by a lovely couple from Mexico City, and spent the next four days lounging in the sun, watching the surfers getting barrelled (or thrown over the falls), and exploring the main drag.

I had seen posters for a surf contest run by a local shop, and was excitingly expecting grand-stands, lots of music, product tosses, and awesome surfing all day long. Apparently my expectations were a little high, as I couldn't even find the contest on the first day that it was apparently running, although there were a couple of kids running around town with contest t-shirts on. Apparently it wasn't quite at the same level as the tow-in contests held on Zicatela when it gets big.

Giving up on watching big wave surfing, I decided to go fishing to make up for the fact that I would be missing Thanksgiving turkey and stuffing back home. My reasoning was that I could do this by catching a huge mahi-mahi or sailfish, which I could then turn into a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner of my own.

After chartering a captain to bring me out, we loaded up the boat at were off before 7am, trolling the waters as we puttered towards the deep blue. Four hours later, we hadn't even gotten so much as a bite, and I returned to shore feeling rejected, although slightly amused as my Dad's old saying rang in my head, 'That's why they call it fishing, and not catching'.

The only upside to my failed fishing trip is that we saw a ton of turtles hanging out at the surface, some of which were HUGE. Even better, we had a pod of dolphins swim with the boat for about 5 minutes, of which I got a great video that I will eventually upload.

Rubbing salt in the wound - I saw this on the beach when we returned without catching anything.

Still a little dissapointed with the results of my fishing expedition, I decided that it was a sign to move on to my next travel destination of Oaxaca, so I booked a ticket that afternoon and got my stuff together. Still Thanksgiving, I decided to treat myself to a nice dinner and a few beers on my last night in town, so I headed to a restaurant and ordered a Corona to start with. Little did I know, because the local elections were taking place that weekend, the town had to be dry by law. Definitely time to move on...