I should describe the trip to Zipolite, meeting up with friends and share some getting around travelogue information.
It had been kinda cold in Tucson for a couple of months. I was getting quite tired of shivering and wearing clothing daily. The house move certainly kept me dressed, in sweat suits that would become caked with dirt each day. I’d had enough. The time to reset the ‘ol inner computer had arrived.
This trip to Zipolite on the Oaxacan coast has been brewing for a couple of years. DF has helped me immeasurably and it is time to repay her kindness.
I found that Mexican domestic travel cuts considerable transportation expense. The plan is to drop south to Hermosillo by bus and fly from there.
We found ourselves in a South Tucson shuttle depot talking to the driver of a van to Nogales. He apologized for his lack of English and I envisioned my turn to apologize down south, until it all began to return to me. There is some kind of magical way that my Spanish, or more accurately, my mutilated Castellano, begins to drop from my lips, after years of general disuse.
We left time for the possible travel transportation schedule difficulties. The shuttle took us to the border, we walked across, a cab driver solicited us not 100 feet into the next country. He took us to the bus terminal, where not ten minutes later, we were given a sandwich, snack and a bottle of water for our three and a half hour cruise. In Hermosillo, another cab immediately took us to the airport. We were on time and thus stuck with a six hour wait. Mexican bus systems have changed admirably over the years. I remember squawking chickens overhead in old American Bluebird school buses. This new system puts Greyhound to shame.
Well, the plane was listed “on time” while the flight was an hour and a half delayed. It reminded me of the surrender to synchronicity in the belief that everything is working out perfectly. I had to chuckle, does the Mexican Airline have a message to give, or a special relationship with divine grace?
We jostled our carry-ons and made our way out into the night air of the tarmac and climbed the stairs for Mexico City on Interjet.
Saving several hundred dollars still left us with an overnight in Mexico City. We arrived late, about two in the morning and made our way by zig-zig about the length of a football field to a curious hotel. About $30 bucks, and the cab, got us a secure bed, in a lifeless box of a room. The hotel was partially complete; the stairs were open without railings, inconsistent and nowhere close to American building codes, but hey, let us grasp the sense of adventure.
A few hours later we were having a fine Huevos Mexicana and a huge fresh squeezed narangha juice in the bustle of the big city, just before a short cab ride to the departure…”On Time” again, just two hours past the original schedule….
The humidity and heat immediately attach itself to us as we descend the airplane staircase in Puerto Escondido. I disregard my sweat jacket, but will just have to wait to get more properly attired.
We walk as per internet instructions down the sidewalk to the off property cab stand. We are told this would save considerable money. I don’t know if we are saving, but it is reasonable for an hour and a half trip in a private cab.
I am in Oaxaca, again! It has been more than 40 years. I loved this place back in the day. My youthful adventures had brought me to a sleepy little town in the hills outside of Oaxaca City. There, as if stepping into a Carlos Castaneda book, I had found a Yaqui Pablito and a small troop of Zapotecan campesinos with the herb that they had been breeding for religious reasons, for over 500 years.
After a lifetime, as I cruise through the countryside in the back of an open windowed cab, the memories flood into me. The smells, the flavor and the look of that unusual experience shake out memories stored decades before.
There are now, four lanes of highway wandering down this tropical coast. An hour and a half of it brings us down a dirty little alley-like road to the Hotel Teresa. There, we are to meet two new friends. One is a frequenter of the FreeRangeNaturism.com forum and with him, a lady that we have never met.
We figured that we would give ourselves a few days to search out the best place to stay. The Teresa is a few hundred feet from the beach and across from the Hotel Nude. We may want to change, sleeping with the breaking surf in the background. Time will tell.
Two Becomes Seven:
As we are checking in, a familiar face saunters through the door. It is Safebare with his girlfriend! The timing is terrific. He has been researching, networking and asking about everything to do here for a few days. He is full of information. We’re gonna have fun.
A few explorations are had. Friends from Tucson show up and we become a group of seven. We gather ourselves for dinner and drinks often, for the next few days.
Safebare, DF and I are determined to pull out all of the stops to have as free range nude of a vacation as can be. We are looking at all of the angles. The first trick is to establish boundaries and intentions. The beach is fully legally nude. Not all of the establishments are. We have to figure which ones will be nude tolerant. Some will invite that dress code, and some will go along because they want our business and/or will just say nothing to us about our free roaming nude lifestyles.
Safebare has already found liberation in the Teresa. He unwraps his street sarong as he walks through the lobby from the street. We’ll just wrap clothing around us at the door as we leave.
For dinner, the Third of December has been recognized as a nude friendly restaurant. We walk in off of the street and then strip to comfort as we order.
We spend the next three days trying out several places along the beach. No one gives an objection to nudity. The beach is nude, but it is sometimes difficult to establish where it ends and the hotel, bar or restaurant begins.
Just a few feet from the establishments, completely naked smiling people are walking and lounging up and down the beach all day. So what difference does it make if they walk ten feet onto a property and order a cocktail or lunch. If one is sitting at a table and the feet are in the sand, who is to complain? If they did, we may respect that, but again, no one complains.
Safebare is a good partner to stretch the boundaries, look for clues and possibilities and sit naked with as a fellow customer. Outgoing, he gathers information quickly from those that he meets. We have a great time.
I brought two pairs of shorts, four shirts and a pair of long pants. I soon discover that no matter where I go, I’m feeling overdressed. With no shirt, my kilt, or my sarong take me anywhere. After a couple of days, I disregard my flip flop shoes. It might be a tad sticky in clothing. But without, this place is wonderful.
Our Tucson friends are inhabiting the Roca Blanca Hotel. They serve anything that we need and the rooms are friendly and on the beach. That is the selling point. Although the Teresa is run by as sweet a couple as could be imagined, we decide on living on the beach.
We are soon leaning out of a second story room, looking at the ocean’s beach. The open windows with shutters are beyond exquisite in this climate. The surf pounds and the gentle breeze cools continuously.
The furnishings are quaint but tasteful, maybe a type of authentic. There is free Wi-Fi and good meals.
Facilities are outside of the room, but it is no inconvenience to stroll 20 feet down an open causeway in the ocean breeze, still wet and naked, air drying from a refreshing shower and be greeted by the other guests, as they lie about, swaying in hammocks.
We stop by the Hotel Nude, at the Buddha Mar, and a couple of other bar/restaurants, where the dress code is to wear only the air.
I had expected a sense of feeling strange, naked in public to get used to, or maybe some excitement around that, but it just didn’t happen at all. We immediately felt at home. Normality is nude and natural. Life makes innate sense to be clothed in nothing, in a perfect world with perfect weather.
We tried eating in over 21 different establishments during the trip. They are all good and reasonable. We haven’t found bad, so I won’t be a judge of the best places to go. There is Italian, oven pizza, some Greek, lots of fish and seafood, vegetarian and vegan, Gelato, bakery sweets, smoothies, kombucha, huevos of every kind, coffee shops, anything that you might care for. It apparently is all good. Depending, there can be a limited supply of varieties of vegetables, but they put what they have together well.
Perhaps that is the best restaurant advice that I can give, “Try ‘em all!”
There isn’t that much to do, but I always felt entertained. There is some live music to be had and also blasting speakers with recorded stuff. DF and I just went for it when the correct dance number was played. We danced in the bars, in the streets and in the beaches deep sand. Movies are shown in outdoor bars, eating, drinking and conversing are what happens. Street performers will show up and pass a hat.
Read a book, write a story, grab a camera, wander around freely.
Sunrise and sunset may be the greatest show on earth.
There is a great deal of fear about the tidal pull. It can be dangerous, but there is ample observation of watching for those that go out too far in the wrong places. There is a system of flags for warning, but as long as you don’t get out too far into the surf, it is safe. Where the surfers hang out is generally too far to swim.
We had a great time jumping waves, getting kicked around by the currents and foamy turbulence, several times a day. We just went along with what the good nature of the Earth dealt us. Most of the current pulls into shore, not away from it. If it pulls out, a wave will soon come in. It will push a body sideways, well, actually every direction. It will be gentle and the next moment knock a body down with force. One just needs to be aware and go with it.
The lifeguards will tell you if you are getting into danger with a whistle. People go out too far and try to swim without a board. They get rescued. Everyone seems to be conscious of the undertow’s dangers.
This is Mexico’s free beach. Most people are nude most of the time. There are clothed people, at times more than others. Most people are speaking Spanish. There are all sorts of languages spoken by people with one bond, our naked humanity.
You can stroll for a mile and a half completely naked and unencumbered. You can just stop along at nearly every place along the way, and will be welcomed as nude. The only problem is where to carry money. A relationship can be established and a tab at some places. Main street isn’t nude, just the beach, but if the genitals are covered, well, nobody really cares. Just look like you are making an attempt.
We checked some other places to stay. Some will save money, some are quaint dumps, but you can stay forever on a tight budget. Some will rent by the month for about a 30% discount. Some have kitchens. Some are pricey, but still much more pleasant than what you would get on a huge resort beach at the same price. Off of the beach the savings are larger. Camping is an option. Our biggest criterion was that we just didn’t want to have to get dressed, which is luxurious in itself.
I didn’t think about Trump for several days in a row. No thoughts of election results. A report on the corona virus and stock market drops managed to sneak through the filter. I wasn’t stressed out and nothing changed that I could do anything about. I could have had better connection with the world, but I wasn’t going there. We got up at sunrise and found romance. We were together and above all connected to this planet, here and now.
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