2020 Zipolite: Anecdotes #2

Feb. 2020

 

I mentioned in the post, Anecdotes #1 that Zipolite is one of those things that get away. I had a great time there, but I probably wouldn’t remember much of it, if I didn’t write it down.

I managed to write down anecdotes and impressions along the way. I think that they reflect the mindset of the place, the magic and the relaxation. I managed to reboot myself while there.

Here’s some more of that:

Sunrise Notes:

Mornings, come easy here on the beach…at sunrise.

“Wow, the sky is the color of my orange juice this morning. Narranghada!”

A bank of clouds impersonates hills down the beach to the east. It seems only moments that that hillside grows tall and more cloud-like, a barrier, someplace else, a front.

The small open top fishing boats are out on their way, skimming the waves with all that the power motors have to give.

I turn southwest toward Roca Blanca Island; the rich blue waters contrast dramatically with the creamy white dome. Closer, before me, the first flight of pelicans glides through the air close to the water.

On cue, the birds begin to call out. They screech like the sound of a hollow tube. I have a cheap metal flute in my luggage to play with. I think that I can imitate them with it. Could I attract a fool in love? The birds hang around like pigeons. They appear to be a cross between a crow and a road runner. They are shiny black with yellow eyes. Their shape is slim, sleek. They carry themselves with that same shifting wobbling roadrunner strut and chicken tracks. I call them beach chickens.

What’s with all of the black animals?:

Curiously, every piece of fauna has been black. On the beach yesterday, stuck in a tidal pool, was the ugliest black fish as I have ever seen. Black whales off shore reflect the sunlight back with their black color, like shining platforms on a distant wave. Ants and sneaking beetles all are shadow ready.

More about Mornings:

I’ve grown to love bathing in the ocean and then walking into the morning air. The slipperiness of the salted waters coats my being, lubricating the pores with a healthy sheen reflecting the balance of life that my ancestors emerged from eons ago. What could be better for the skin, the sunburn, but a coating of crystalline salts. In my desert, for this luxury of sea salt to bathe in, there is a steep price.

A Walk:

The sun comes up. I’m grateful for that, We had slipped out into the dawn naked, no shoes, no water bottle, no camera, just heading for that morning light, lovely completely primal natural. The water is warm like perfect bathwater. It shifts around my feet then shifts away.

“Ready?”

I bolt off at a full tilt up on my toes. I count 1001, 1002, one thousand three….

When I get to one thousand twenty I’m relieved, revived, and rejuvenated. I stop to walk back to DF She prefers to jog. Something about “breast bounce,” she says.

“So, how far are we going?”

“Dunno.”

After a while, we are high on a hill looking down at “Love Beach.” It is inhabited with a pair of brown naked lovers facing each other, looking into each others eyes affectionately and then embracing. The surf looks calm. DF says that she wants to swim. We go for it. Swimming is easier at Love Beach.

I perch on a rock and watch her nude grace.

Sea shells are gathered for their color. They are rich purple and orange.

Making our way back over the walk over the hill that hides the beach, we count the steps up. More than 50 up and even more down. Can we make our journey 108 steps, auspicious, in tune?

Someone is out on the far point in silhouette stretching. Another is casting out and looking for oysters.

By 9am I can feel the heat on my back we make our way a mile or more to our hotel room.

Any Morning:

In 1975, I picked up a book in Bolivia which informed me that I could live on nothing but papaya. These rich organic southern monsters with a rich deep orange meat mix well with leche and a scoop of azucar. Have a jugo, take a hike, have some huevos, frijoles negras, arroz…

…watch someone else bathe naked in the sea, as I sit and eat.

In the Groove:

 

“How many nights are left?”

Well, let’s see. It’s Saturday.”

Nope, still Friday night.”

“Nah.”

“What day did we get here?”

“Here, see the phone says Saturday.”

Really!”

It’s Washington’s birthday!”

“Wow!”

 

So, a nude couple walk into a bar one evening and order a drink…

…They get served a mojito and sit down on a white lounger that swings. No problem, except how to tip with the money conversions.

The Worlds Injustice:

There’s a naked man standing at the edge of the water with a pair of shorts in hand. He is ready to return into his hotel, just off of the beach where he stands. He struggles on one leg, balancing and steps his sandy feet into the crotch of the outfit. It is sandpaper in the making.

Then, another try and another different attempt. With the suspense of a circus performer, finally, an attempt brings a leg through and then the other. He makes his way two hundred feet to home, across the warming dry sand.

Moments later, a couple staying at that same hotel passes by me. I’m eating breakfast at my hotel, nude. I hear her say,“Can we take this stuff off now?”

Relief flourishes off of her face, after she briskly slides off her garments and stands straight, strolling toward the surf. I can’t see her face, but sometimes you can recognize a smile from behind. There are hints in posture, someone embracing life.

Everyone in that hotel has to dress, but it seems that nobody wants to. Sad dictates.

Proper Attire:

The beach is the earth in the nude. Nothing growing here, no covering up…and me, just as natural…

…Then there is town, man-made and the demand for clothing.

Vigilance in the morning:

People look out for others safety. DF got the “Get outta there!’ whistle this morning, climbing on the wrong rocks.

A seemingly hysterical older man comes running out of the restaurant waving his hands in fear for her life. To him, it doesn’t matter if the tide is in or out.

Wave jumping in Zipolite:

Waves dart in endless change, as if God is here just to play with me. From the right, from the left. Ahead, I see that one has more velocity and it pushes me over. Then, a peaceful interlude, a swim, before two in a row are crashing over me. Here it is always something new. Something fun.

The roll of the waves excavates. They have scooped holes deep enough to swallow me, right next to a smooth silky sandbar. I have been floated up and suddenly I’m standing ankle deep.

I feel the undertow taking me out, until the next wave carries me in.

My arms thrash out and then grab air. I anchor my feet and sink into a quagmire of sand. Two waves head different directions, clash and launch me. Nothing is consistent here. Just one surprise and then the next.

More of those Anecdotes:

Soft mango ice-cream on the beach!

Turning back time:

So we are walking down the beach toward the sun setting. Tonight, it is as a huge orange globe in blue.

Thinking that that was pretty darn good, we turn our backs and walk away. When we feel the heat all over and see our shadows lengthen. We turn and go for it, again.

Sea Legs:

I’ve been spending a lot of time under a ramada on the beach in a hammock. This morning, as I laid in my room, the concrete bed began to sway. It’s like having sea legs.

I’m coming back next year for a month, no, six weeks!

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