Reflections: November 2017
After a week full of Day of the Dead festivities, we decided to head to the coast of Oaxaca for some much needed rest. Laying in a hammock on the beach with a cocktail in hand felt like the best way to recover and prepare for the cold mountains that awaited us in Chiapas. People had told us about the surf and party town of Puerto Escondido and the beach-side yoga retreats in Mazunte, but when we heard about the nude beach of Zipolite, Rebecca knew where she wanted to be. Jared, skeptical, went along. So we threw some sunscreen and toothbrushes in the camera bag and hopped in a colectivo heading to Pochutla, the town that would be our gateway to Zipolite.
The state of Oaxaca is stunningly diverse. The first half of the six hour drive to Pochutla begins by winding through pine forests that sit high in the clouds. The air is crisp and thin. Passing only small comedores along the side of the road, we were happy to jump out and stretch our legs in the tiny village of San José del Pacífico. To our surprise, just across the street were a few friends we'd made in Oaxaca City. What a coincidence that we all happened to be in this isolated town of no more than a few hundred people, if that, at the same time! They wanted us to stay the night and told us about the magical sunsets they had from the hammocks on the porch of their wood cabin. But feeling the temperature quickly dropping and knowing that we only had the beach clothes on our backs, we hopped back in the colectivo to continue towards the coast.
Descending from the mountains, the air became hot, heavy, and sweet. Pine trees became palms, and little stands selling cold coconuts appeared every several hundred meters along the road. We knew we were close to the coast.
The moment we stepped out of the colectivo in Zipolite, we knew we'd found paradise. The two streets that make up the town are lined with colorful posadas and casual eateries that offer happy hour all day. Just down a dirt path, we found a hostel on the beach for $2.50 a night. We dropped off our bag, grabbed some cold caguamas, and posted up in two hammocks. This was just what we'd had in mind.
The coast of Oaxaca lies parallel to the equator. The sun rises at one end of the beach and sets at the other end. The mountains that drop into the sea trap the ocean mist. When the sunlight filters through the vapor, it bathes everything and everyone in gold. The water is cool and clean, the perfect refuge from the 90+ degree heat. With no bathing suits on, we pressed our skin into the hot sand and let the ocean caress us. It was the way the ocean is meant to be experienced. It was divine.
Day after day, we extended our stay in Zipolite. We fell in love with the non-commercialized, free-spirited town. We loved our routine of waking up, eating juicy tropical fruits, laying out on the beach sipping cold coconuts, digging into a fresh seafood lunch, napping in hammocks, drinking frozen cocktails, and falling asleep to the sound of crashing waves. But we needed to get back to Oaxaca City. Friends were leaving to new cities and countries and we needed to have one last hurrah. Plus, we were due in San Cristóbal soon.
It was hard parting ways with our friends. Some had originally planned to be in Oaxaca for only a few days, which then turned into weeks. For the first time since leaving the US, we had a regular crew of friends to hang out with, and we missed that. We'd buy a case of beer and hang out in the park, or grab lunch together and follow it up with piercings and tattoos, or play cards on the rooftop. In between all the trips to museums and markets and monuments, it felt comforting to do the types of things we normally do back home with people who made us laugh and cry. We have many memories from our time in Oaxaca, but the most special ones involved our rowdy gang. And now we were all continuing our journeys in separate ways. We all hoped we'd cross paths again. But no matter what happened, we shared a gratitude for those seven weeks we'd spent together in that magical place.
The last week in November, we took a night bus to San Cristóbal. Sleep escaped us as we whipped around hairpin turns in the mountains, fingers crossed we didn't topple over the cliff and end up in a ravine. Exhausted, we arrived at the bus terminal at 7 am, only to be snapped wide awake from the frigid air. Driving through the mountains of Chiapas took us up over 7,000 feet, and the cold morning mist chilled us straight to our bones.
Since we planned to be in San Cristóbal for a month, we rented a place to ourselves. It turned out to be one of the cutest cabins we'd ever seen, and if it had been up for sale, we would have moved right in for good. Just two blocks off one of the main pedestrian streets and tucked into a private garden, the wood and stone cabin was the perfect little home. Mexican tiles decorated the kitchen and bathroom, and the bedroom loft above the living room had the most comfortable bed. While we normally don't care too much about the details of our living arrangements, we were so thrilled to have such a cozy place to call home given the cold weather and the upcoming holidays.
The day after we arrived was Thanksgiving, and we missed home. Most holidays back home are rather uneventful for us, but Thanksgiving and Christmas are the exceptions. We spend every Thanksgiving at Rebecca's dad's house with all of her brothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins. It's a multi-day affair that brings in family from across the country. We have big slumber parties, lots of delicious food and wine, and pool tournaments. All we wanted was to snuggle up around the fire, snack on fine cheeses, and catch up with family we hadn't seen since the year before.
We FaceTimed and got to see the whole family, and the table of yummy comfort food they were about to eat. All we wanted was to be home, just for those few days. As exciting as traveling had been, we craved being surrounded by people we loved, and for the first time we missed familiarity. But we were 3,000 miles away from home and there was no use indulging in our sadness. So we treated ourselves to a nice dinner and snuggled up in bed with a bottle of red wine. We'd have to create our own Thanksgiving tradition, at least for the next two years.
Once the holiday was over, we snapped back into travel mode. We were ready to taste, smell, hear, and see all that San Cristóbal had to offer, which was a lot. We scouted out the best vegetarian food, found a wonderful local cheese store, and spent many a day wandering through what quickly became our favorite food market in Latin America. Local squash, chard, corn, zucchini, and wild berries were just a few of the staples we regularly bought. No longer did we have to by dried beans to soak — here, the beans were so fresh, the women peeled the pods right in front of you.
We spent many nights bundled under the heat lamps on Real de Guadalupe, one of the main pedestrian streets, drinking wine and eating tapas as musicians performed. Our nightly treat became a visit to a tiny café that served up piping hot churros drizzled with chocolate and cajeta (similar to dulce de leche) accompanied by cups of hot chocolate. It was the perfect place to escape the evening cold.
The last day of November, we took a boat ride through Sumidero Canyon. Along the way we encountered iguanas, crocodiles, and lots of friendly monkeys. Cruising through the misty canyon, listening to the sounds of water trickling down the rocks, was such a peaceful way to end our third month on the road.
