Zipolite, Oaxca, Mexico
Zipolite is one of those things that get away. Mindless bliss, the functions of the moment leave past and future out of the context of reality. In other words, I had a great time there, but I probably wouldn’t remember much of it, if I didn’t write it down. Where we ate yesterday, is lost with which day yesterday actually was. One moment leads to the next. Goal orientations and accomplishments are reduced to the insignificance that they actually are.
I managed to write down anecdotes and impressions along the way. I made a point of it, knowing of the coming amnesia. I think that they reflect the mindset of the place, the magic and the relaxation.
No, this is not drug induced. I couldn’t imagine that complication, if the quality of the drugs is still as they were when I was in Oaxaca in the 1970’s. I do hear stories from hippies that find themselves staying there spontaneously for months. Who knows?
I came to this place to reset my inner computer, shut ‘er down and reboot anew. I found it took only hours to notice the effects of irresponsibility, freedom and stripping of ego’s concepts.
Taking Bets on the Beach:
At a certain point there is the hotter point of the day, when the sand gets very hot. It sets the potential for true blistering. As people move from the wet sand down by the surf to the shelter of the hotels and restaurants on the beach, there is always a point where they break into a run to escape from something akin to hot coals. When that point happens is the bet. You can see it coming on in them, as they discover and decide when to make their break for it. What more to do?
We took the walk down the beach to the east with Safebare, on the first day. There is a restaurant/bar down there that has a couple of tables whose surfaces are old surfboards. It is there that I realized how quickly that I slid into the mode of this place.
Leaning back in my chair, I prop my feet up on the crossbar under the table in the sand. I notice that my cold drink begins to condensate moister at its base. The curve of the board slopes. These two factors create a thin stream of water from the bottle. I watch to see if the stream will make it to the edge of the board. Just curiosity. It is slow, very slow. I look away at the distant Roca Blanca Island down the coast for a little while, how long, I don’t know. Then I look back to see if there is any progress. This is sport. Apparently, I’ve said, “so long” to cares and worries.
A Dad is out in the foamy surf just off of the beach with his young son and a short surfboard. He is showing his beloved youngster the cord for his ankle, the ropes, so to speak. Mom sits on the beach, leaning forward with her arms folded over her knees. She looks on, smiling from deep in her heart at how adorable they are.
Depending on the time of day, most people are nude on this beach. I am happy to see that given the choice, so many are mostly nude. Many are just trying it out of course. I’m sure that many are encouraged by the others lack of concern. It is easy to recognize this abandon. They start out in swimwear, or tanlines and “then go for it.”
Some pieces of the beach will have more clothing. I had assumed that the Mexicans would be more prudish, then I began to hear the conversations spoken in Spanish. There are now lots of Mexican naturists and the tops are coming off of the women. The times, they are a changin’.
Nude is acceptable and legal anywhere on the beach. An establishment may or may not object to nudity on their immediate turf. Usually, the beachside businesses will accept the nudes, especially as they are walking in numbers causally down the shore in front of the businesses.
I’m told, that when nudity was discouraged many years ago on the east end, the crowds went west. That lesson has stuck.
Getting the Crabs:
Crab ground down, when placed in tacos, then melt in your mouth. It may have been the best dang taco ever.
The local crabs are creepy ugly in a cute way. They are mostly shadowy black, matching the rocks. Then there are the typical tiny folks that bury into the sand after the beach water pulls back to sea. I don’t know where the taco crabs came from.
Playa De Muerte:
It is a curious and confusing process to learn to play in the waves, to lose fear, or not get carried out to sea. It happens, but mostly when someone gets out past the big first breakers, and swims, in the wrong spot at the wrong time.
We spent our time within just over a hundred feet or so from the sand. We swam and got tossed around. It was great fun good exercise and worry free. An undertow carries you out and two surges of the same or a wave will carry you back in.
There was a rescue or two while we were there. There are lifeguard surfers on quads and a wave runner. There are flags signaling the intensity of the pull on the beach. With a storm off shore, the beach was cautiously closed for a few hours one afternoon.
Spotting the Foreigners:
Two naked bodies walking down the beach at such a pace! Where are they going. Why the hurry? Maybe they’re from NYC? They’re still pretty white. They’ll slow down, they’re at least holding hands. They’re absolutely naked and smiling. They’ll catch on. Nope, they aren’t just power walking for exercise, they’re holding hands as they rush.
A few days later, we see them again and they are slowing down, locomotion lento.
Roca Blanca in the Morning.
The storm is threatening.
I see the swarm, flocks of birds on the white rock island “Roca Blanca” today.
The huge place is colored by white bird shit.
The Big Decision:
We are moving to another hotel. The options have been weighed, bird songs in the ilk of the screeching of a jungle realm, or waves crashing thunder in rhythm. Both have their appeal and their drawbacks. They both have their respective sense of ambiance. Having the beach right out of the door brings a nice flow of air. We’ll just use sheets and a fan. Walking out the door naked right to the beach and wandering for a mile and more is freedom. Having dreams that the ocean has come right up and under the window sill is the drawback.
There can be a cloudless sunset, peach, peace and pastels. One orange globe sinks into the sea.
Late at Night:
Orion and a faint Milky Way. I haven’t been this far south in ages. As I wake in the wee hours of the night, I get up, lean out the window and look out to bright stars.
Once, we arose naked from the bed and took a walk on the beach, or was that a dream? At that time of night, there is a constellations of stars, which you just can’t see from Tucson.
Observation of the Streets:
Sitting eating breakfast at a table on the sidewalk of café, a fellow walks down the street. A toothy grin seems to be frozen into his face. Distinct crows’ feet accent around his eyes clear back to his ears. His beak like nose leads the way like an exotic bird.
The next person down the road is oh so serious. He’s like a cop. Please, lighten up.
The next is popping wheelies on a tiny tire scooter. The speed hump is an obvious delight. Balance is a meditation. Ask any kid.
Gliding down the street is a human version of a giraffe. Tall tall, thin thin, wearing just a t-shirt, not a worry. He is a tower of casual abandon.
There goes another leading grin. Floating. I don’t think it is drugs. This is real. There is something that has a grasp on me, too.
The next guy has a smirk. It is like he is living in a joke.
A sporty guy with blue reflective lenses on his shades and a broad brimmed hat, struts purposefully, in a hurry. He has a cigarette smoke trail left hanging behind him. The blue smoke just stops there in a moment as a cloud and then disappears. The air is thick here.
“What do you think the temperature is today?”
“Dunno, maybe perfect?”
We all go to dinner, seven of us:
Guido sits down in his plastic chair on the sandy beach at our table. The left chair leg drops into a sink hole and he tumbles off, away from me, rolling in a slow motion with grace. He arises, surprised by applause. With a toothy grin, he takes a bow. The performance is over.
It is time to read through the pastel sunset, which is reflecting on the plastic cover of his menu. I make myself comfortable, releasing the Velcro belt of my kilt and await the next breeze. This will be a good dinner.
What the Heck…the Rescue:
We sit the next day, watching, watching wave after wave, watching the length and agility of the surfers, the parade of people, all ages, costumed and none, all passing on the beach. There is a large man laying out catching sun on the beach on his blanket. He has gotten that tan perfect, but quickly he is getting past his perfection.
“He is going from peach to pink.”
“Think I should warn him?”
“You get the bill. I’ll wake him up.”
I walk across the soft sand down the beach. His hat is on sideways on his hairless head. It looks as though he has no face. “Excuse me.” “We just noticed that you had gone from perfect tan, but now are becoming a little pink. Just to let ya know.”
“Its okay. I’m leaving in the morning. Thanks.”
Scary Creatures in the Shallows:
Something washes up on shore. Two guys are trying to take its picture as they run away from it. DF is dispatched to investigate the mystery something. A tiny fish has tumbled in. They are running from the hapless little critter, also the waves and trying to take pictures at the same time!?!
Shoes are only used during the 40 feet of dry sand and only a couple of hours in the heat of the day. What does one do with them the rest of the time? A man in long red baggy shorts strolls with his pit-bull in tow on a leash. It is a fairly long leash. His flip flops hang on to it next to the dog’s ear. Some people have carabiners on bags.
Out in the distance, a yummy sailboat, a ketch, is under one sail, leaning, adrift in the wind on a whitecap.
I saw DF often like this, standing at Waters edge, looking out
On the beach, surfers and bare bodies come out about 4pm.The tide comes in not far behind that appointment.
The sun begins to make a strong glare on the water’s silvery foam and crashing waves. Silhouettes of jagged coastal cliffs are in different shades of haze and beyond, there is the horizon. In those waters naked bodies jump and bounce. Nude lovers walk, holding hands in their pair bond.
Parents with small children walk by with arms full, while others pass by traveling light…nada…libre….
Ya just know how that feels:
Two brown twins move along in an exuberant pace. One lets arms stretch as high as she can above her head. Limbs in this high position, her body thrusts right and then left. From this distance I can see white teeth contrasting with her sun darkened skin. Her body, her kinesics, express her liberty, her joy and her delight in nudity and no lack of encumbrance.
Well, the hotel waitress brought us a drink each. A small table has been placed between the two hammocks. DF slips some of the home crafted mezcal into her dark ruby red jamaica tea…
…I lean to slurp into the heavy deep vessel, but arching hammock balance pulls me away from it. I try swinging into it, to catch some on the next arc…no luck. More ingenuity is needed. With my elbow on the table I am anchored. DF documents my accomplishment.
Throughout the day, I see wholly unencumbered people pass by. As time passes, I don’t see them come back. Gotta wonder where completely naked people disappear to.
“I should turn around and look at the ocean for a while,” so goes the conversation.
I hear a resolved voice drift to me from a nearby hammock. “This shall be my life for the next ten days.”
I love looking at you both, you are wonderful
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I thoroughly enjoyed Zipolite and the time we shared. I found that I was less inclined to dress when I returned to Texas. Shoes that were normally worn whilst feeding the horses were to much of an encumbrance.
To wake up and live the day, with only an occasional thought to shod the feet for the hot sand, or wrap the loins for nourishment, was life in Zipolite. I drank it fully.
Oh, yeah, I did leave my hat on, but only to protect my reddened nose.
Be Safe, Be Bare,