A Sunset and Sunrise in Mazunte

Mazunte. Land of hippies and fractal tattoos and white people with dreadlocks. I spent two long, hot nights on the top bunk of the Alma Turquesa hostel there, off a dirt road in the beach-adjacent jungle. I stayed in a dorm as I was trying to be a man of the people, to sleep just like everyone else.

Lesson learned. Those were some of the roughest nights I have ever had. The first night, I felt like I was living in a barracks in Vietnam, the wet heat sticking to my body and the citronella failing to deter the plague of mosquitos that bare down upon me. I stole few hours of sleep before waking up with a stiff pain in my back. It felt like I had deadlifted a cement mixer.

The next morning needing some respite and unsure what you do in Mazunte other than go sit on the beach, I decided to do just that. I secured myself a daybed and treated myself to a beer at 11am. I was thoroughly unable to formulate any ideas until well into the afternoon. I watched these hulking birds with big beaks fly low and still, inches above the water’s surface, then suddenly dive into the ocean when they saw their pray. It was zen, tranquil. Especially after the tanning oil and party hostels of Puerto Escondido, I get why the hippies like it here.

However, there comes a time when you yearn for activity. So, sitting in my daybed with my piña colada melting in my hand, I looked up at the rocky outcrop of Punta Cometa and decided this would be my work, my challenge for the day.

Sunset on Punta Cometa

Because Punta Cometa sticks out so far into the ocean, it offers vistas facing eastward and westward, well suited for sunsets and sunrises. On this very rock 500 years ago, the Aztecs built a stone fort (which still stands to this day) to look out for approaching boats and protect their position on the Oaxacan coast. Nowadays it’s also famous for “magnetic energy fields.” As you hike through the wooded trail and emerge onto the rocks, you see hippies peppering the crags, sitting cross-legged and silent. You have walk slowly, careful not to disturb them.

At the end of the rocks is a sort of sunset amphitheater, a clearing with long white logs on the ground for you to plop down and enjoy nature’s fireworks. I sat alone at the end of a log and tried to not scroll on my phone, surrounded by families and couples canoodling. Truth be told, I was feeling kind of lonely. Here I am at this majestic sunset spot, by myself.

Eventually, a girl sits down next to me and starts chatting with me. She goes “are you English?” and it was truly an honor not to be pegged as a visible Yankee. She said she worked for the BBC and was also solo traveling for the past few weeks. We had a nice chat.

When you’re solo traveling the road can get lonely. There’s various solutions for this problem: meetups, hostels, tours, etc. However, I’m finding that the best solution is to simply just sit down and say hello to the person next to you. You might meet another traveler going the same place as you, you might get invited to dinner with a local, you might learn new tips. The British girl inspired me, so I am trying a new game where I say hello to three new people each day.

The Aztecs believed that human sacrifice was the best way to keep the universe in motion. The world needed human intervention or else it might stop. The sun sets tonight. But will it rise again tomorrow? We’re not sure, so it’s probably best to sacrifice a few people just in case.

I don’t know how the Aztec gods are doing on fuel these days, but if they need any extra gas in the tank I would happily sacrifice one of the employees from of my hostel. Let me share why.

The Incident of the Toad in the Night

As night fell on Punta Cometa I hiked back to the hostel and arrived thoroughly soiled by the day’s activities. I was covered in a thick mixture of citronella, sunscreen, sweat, and seawater. I desperately needed a shower.

I went to my bunk, disrobed and grabbed my wet, sandy towel to use in the shower.

Side note: As soon as I arrived at the Jungle Hostel I tried to do laundry. I hand-washed a tub of socks and boxers and hung them on the clothesline, but the heat and humidity made it impossible for clothes to dry, so for those few days I was wearing mostly dirty or very wet clothes. Mind you that.

As I approached the showers, I stopped dead in my tracks. There, blocking the pathway was a sturdy, confident toad. He was easily the size of Mike Tyson’s fist.

I froze, imagining him leaping at me as I lurched for the shower. I could almost feel his wet, thick, slime on my leg as I tried to dash past him into the curtain. Telepathically, he repositioned himself to meet my gaze.

“You’re not getting in here tonight, big boy.”

I looked around, hoping to find someone to sympathize with. To my right is Pascal–an employee sitting alone at a picnic table, on his phone. Pascal is a big, bohemian Frenchman with a prominent, beaded handlebar mustache on his face. He is also my bunkmate. He would air drum and mouth trumpet each time he walked into our room. He was a thoroughly unfriendly and fucking weird guy.

Anyways, towel in hand, shower roadblocked, I stepped away from the Toad and approached Pascal, thinking maybe we could break the ice and share a moment over my predicament.

I walked up to the picnic table and stood before him, leaning my face over his phone. I was preparing to say something that would make me seem chill and nonplussed. Like, “Dude, you gotta come see this toad haha, it’s huge!”

I stood there for a long while. Politely waited for him to acknowledge me, my smile slowly leaving my face. He sat with full resolve and fortitude, his phone held in landscape mode as he submerged himself in video content.

Finally, he arched one eyebrow and peaked up at me as if to say,
“What the fuck do you want?”

I gave him a wan smile that communicated, “Haha, sorry!”

Then, without a word, he looked back at his phone.

It was decided. I was alone. There would be no help, no sympathy, no shared laugh. I would have to rely on my own resources to survive.

I walked back to the shower to check if the toad was still there. Not only was he, but a toad of equal size and stature had appeared behind him, reinforcing the blockade. There would be no shower.

I slept one of the worst sleeps in my personal history that night–covered in dirt, soot, and sand, kamikazed by an army of mosquitos as Pascal mouth trumpeted himself to sleep below me.

I opened my eyes at 5am. Immediately, I wanted to be as far from the hostel as possible. I decided I would hike up to Punta Cometa to catch the sunrise.

As I walked out onto the dirt road the hostel dog Flaco started followed me. He was a great travel companion with impeccable manners. He stopped himself to take care of his business and politely caught up with me afterwards. When we reached the trailhead there was a sign which said “Generally no dogs.” Flaco must have understood it, because he sat down and refused to walk any further. I continued on in darkness, guided by my iPhone lamp, concerned I had just lost Flaco.

I arrived at the rocks out by the sea with just enough dawn to light my path. Hearing the waves crash onto the rocks below, I sat myself on a log in front of the Aztec fort and braced for the sunrise. Sure enough, a bright orange ball peaked out over the horizon and filled the sky with bright, warm light. A few fishing boats darted under the horizon and the big scoop-billed birds flew out in long lines, ready for the day’s work. Order and energy filled the day.

With the sun fully blazing, I hiked back to the hostel at my personal zenith of dirt and sand. Many hours later, after a pickup-truck taxi, a bus, two colectivos, a flight, and an uber, I arrived back in Mexico City. I have never known a shower so warm and so kind.

• Listening To: Shinyhunt - Sea Salt Ice Cream

• Reading: Los Funerales de La Mamá Grande - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

• Watching: N/A

• Things I’ve lost:

  • Airpods (recovered)

  • Phone (brief, recovered)

  • Kindle (lost, Mazunte)