Oaxacan Magic

Oaxacan Magic

February 11, 2006

We have been in Oaxaca for six weeks and are still delighted and fascinated with the place. I always ask fellow tourists why they come here and most say it is for economic reasons. They can afford Oaxaca. Many say they actually save money while wintering in this city over staying at home. It is a nice concept and I think it is true but I am not sure that would qualify as a great marketing slogan. Perhaps the best, but most abstract, answer was by a Parisienne who was visiting Oaxaca for her eighth straight year. “I find this place so magical” she said and I had to agree with her. But first, I had to climb down this “ladder of abstraction” and spell out the reasons.

Perhaps the most magical setting in Oaxaca is the town centre or Zocalo. The Zocalo is a car free, pedestrian oasis covering an extensive part of the downtown. It is heavily shaded by giant trees that provide a canopy of peacefulness.  It is far and away the place to be. I certainly don’t mean that in the sense of being seen and seeing others. There is that element but it is such a small part of the Zocalo. If you feel like doing nothing at all and yet being engaged by the senses, just head to the Zocalo. Early any morning, when there is still a chill in the air, grab a copy of the Miami Herald, sit at a table in an open-air café and read while the morning sun slowly heats your body. Take an hour or as many as you want reading cover to cover while sipping coffee and eating bowls of fresh fruit with your fingers. It is so utterly decadent and purposeless that it feels just right.

Look around and marvel at the Mexican families. The degree of family affection is simply astounding relative to Canada and the United States. The whole family is here, from great grandparents to babes in arms. Teenage children hold their parents’ hands in public. Even sisters and brothers hold hands. I think it would be perfectly justifiable to kidnap a few of these Mexican matriarchs and give them a special chair in family values at our greatest universities.

If you feel like sprucing up a bit, settle into a chair at one of the dozens of shoe shine stands. It takes twenty minutes to have your shoes thoroughly buffed in Oaxaca. Shoelaces are removed and your shoes are vigorously brushed to remove dust. The shoes are washed with soapy water and dried, liquid polish is applied and buffed, hard wax polish is applied with a brush and then again with fingertips. The shoes are then buffed with a brush and again with a polishing cloth. Next, the shoelaces are cleaned, re-installed and expertly tied. All of this costs one dollar and is probably worth twenty just in the peaceful relaxation it affords plus the benefit of watching people go by in an endless parade. They range from brown-eyed toddlers to beautiful young ladies to the wizened but still delightful and proud elderly.  Tourists also drift by but they are vastly out-numbered by Mexicans.

Unlike San Miguel de Allende of Ajjijic and Lake Chapala, which are dominated by Americans and Canadians, Oaxaca is still a Mexican city. The Mexicans fill most of the restaurant tables, most of the park benches, certainly most of the pews in the cathedral. You are made to feel right at home in their city, at their festivals and in their restaurants. Simply put, Oaxaca is a comfortable home for a guest

February is the busiest tourist month in Oaxaca but the foreign presence is, as yet, a mere bubble in a lake. I feel reluctant to sing the praises of this city too much lest that bubble starts erupting and changes the Mexican character of the city. The activities and music in the Zocalo are not geared to tourists. Symphony orchestras, mariachi bands, brass bands and individual musicians play the tunes most enjoyed by Mexicans. And while the music plays, people often dance in the streets. Sometimes, young people who are experts in traditional dance will perform for the crowds of onlookers. They do this of their own volition hoping to make a few pesos. Bands vying for the same pesos will quit their quest to provide accompaniment for the dancers. The Mexican audience is more thrilled than the tourists since there is great pride in their Mexican traditions. You can enjoy this all for free or throw a coin or two into the hat when it passes.

Going to the Zocalo never gets tiresome. With the upcoming presidential elections, there are often political rallies, sometimes fundraisers are held, oftentimes there are protests. In the next week, Comandante Marcos, the leader of the Chiapas rebels will appear in full facemask. You never leave the Zocalo feeling the visit was anything but eventful.

Into this mix of people and place, one sometimes encounters a hint of anti-American sentiment. It usually erupts from a mouth fed too many cervezas and it usually relates to a man named Bush. As far as I can tell, most Mexicans are fond of Americans if not their government’s attitudes to Mexico. Interestingly enough, these isolated outbursts never lead to confrontation since the American tourists in Oaxaca are more vociferous in voicing such opinions than the Mexicans. As a Canadian, who also knows the sting of US foreign policy in our country, I like to rub a little salt in the wounds of the Americans just to feel superior.

I try not to be too nasty with our American friends since I like them. They, and other tourists we have met in Oaxaca from France, Germany, Switzerland, Britain and Canada, are a breed apart from the tourists you meet in places like Cancun or Acapulco. They are more engaged in worldly affairs, they have travelled extensively, they are bright and interesting, they have focus and they have a lot of time to holiday. Generally speaking, Oaxacan tourists are very young or retired. The young people are surprisingly interesting and well spoken. Talking with them is fascinating and they have absolutely no fear of the open road. It amazes me the number of young women travelling alone and just going where the wind blows.

The retirees are here for extended holidays, typically three to six months. It gives them not only the time but also the desire to make friends and this is another of the magical things about Oaxaca. All you need do is get involved in something or other and you will meet a group of interesting folks much in the same stage of life as yourself. It is a short distance from there to friendship. On occasion, it isn’t even that difficult. On our second day here, a vivacious American lady approached us on the street and said, “You look like nice people. We are having a little get-together tonight. Would you like to come?” You bet.

Simply put, the tourists and expats have a community of interest in one another. There are not millions of us roaming around and it is difficult to make friends with the Mexicans since there is a language barrier. The small, permanent expatriate community in Oaxaca has made the process of meeting new friends a lot easier through their support of the growth of an English library. This library, which boasts 30,000 books and virtually every book on the current best sellers lists, has become the clearinghouse for all things social in Oaxaca. You are actively encouraged to join the family. The library hosts bridge contests, Spanish lessons, has guest speakers and helps tourists find housing. Here, everyone, tourist or expat, gets to come to the party. And, a surprising number of young Mexicans, wanting to learn English, have also joined.

Oaxaca offers so many things to see and do. There is a little bit of magic around every corner or just over the next mountain. Within the city, there are museums, historical buildings and churches, mercados, art galleries, musical events and guided tours. The restaurants are abundant and excellent as are the Internet cafes. There are many opportunities to study Spanish, art or painting, ceramics, yoga and writing.

Outside of Oaxaca city limits are scores of small communities with big attractions. Zapotec and Mixtec ruins abound. Monte Alban and Mitla are the best known but there are many others. Santa Maria del Tule has its monstrous tree while Teotitlan de Valle offers the finest in hand woven woollens and cottons. Puerto Angel has its turtle hatchery. Many villages produce gorgeous pottery. You can travel in any direction from Oaxaca and find fascination. If you weary of sightseeing and just need to chill out in the heat, the beaches of Oaxaca are only six hours away by car or thirty minutes by air.

The weather in Oaxaca is very much to my liking. It is cool overnight and yet hot, but not oppressive, in the daytime. You don’t experience the January frosts common in the inland, expatriate villages north of Mexico City. You will be perfectly comfortable if you walk on the sunny side of the street in the morning and the shady side in the afternoon.

Eating is always an enjoyable pastime in Oaxaca. Mexico has its own food culture and Oaxaca has its own sub-culture. I haven’t yet become a big fan of Mexican cooking but I am sure that will change after our cooking class. What I do delight in are the fruits and vegetables in this area. Oaxaca is a major agricultural centre and produce, ripe from the vine, arrives everyday in this city. The cucumbers are so crisp and crunchy; you think you are eating potato chips. The strawberries, peaches and pears are so flavourful and inexpensive that they round out every meal.

It is not all magical however. From my experience, there is a severe shortage of furnished, rental apartments for those planning a long-term stay. The product that is available in the central part of the city is a cut below what Americans and Canadians expect. Rental rates for one bedroom apartments range from $300 to $800 but most fall in the middle. If you have a car, you will find greater and higher quality choices in the suburbs but don’t expect much tourist activity unless you drive into town.
Interestingly enough, many tourists take great delight in bragging about the cheapness of their accommodation although I can’t imagine wanting to be the grand champion in this category. Owing to rental costs, Oaxaca can be a very inexpensive place to spend a winter if you are can accept a reduction in the creature comfort index.

My pet peeves concerning Oaxaca are holes in the sidewalks, aggressive drivers and noise. I am thinking of running for mayor of Oaxaca on a simple three-point platform. I will put cement in all sidewalk holes, I will pull the horns and alarm systems out of every car and I will sentence any motorist who runs down a pedestrian to ten winters in Canada. I should win by a landslide. I know that Oaxaca has more pressing problems like a serious water shortage and a lousy sewage system but, as mayor, I will blame those on my officials.

I think my Parisienne friend was right in her description of Oaxaca. This is a magical place. It is still a Mexican city with typical Mexican problems but just being here is a delight. It is no longer a wonder to me why so many tourists keep coming back again and again.

A Trip to Puerto Angel

A Trip to Puerto Angel

© John McClelland 2006

A massive mountain range known as the Sierra Madre del Sur (mother range of the south) isolates Oaxaca City from the Pacific coastline of Oaxaca State. To get from one to the other is an adventure on a road of indifferent condition and engineering. The distance is only 150 miles but the trip takes the better part of 7 hours. Sierra Madre del Sur is a tall mountain range with peaks over 12000 feet and the trip takes us to elevations approaching 10000 feet. The road follows the line of least resistance around and up the mountains and contains so many twists and turns that travellers are advised to take seasickness medicine. It hugs the edge of the mountains and one side or the other is an open vista of sky. Sudden abrupt turns prevent an Evil Kneivel launch into space. Absolute attention to driving is mandatory since portions of the road often succumb to gravity and completely vanish.  Avalanches are known to engulf the road as boulders and gravel seek the valley bottom below. The sheer drama of this road implies lunacy on the part of anyone driving at night or with speed.

The dangers of the road combine incongruously with the beauty of the terrain to keep you in a constant state of surprise. Valleys lie thousands of feet below on one side of the pavement and mountains ascend higher on the other side. From dry and sparse vegetation when first leaving Oaxaca City, the landscape grows greener as we ascend. Before long, pine forests begin to appear. At the peak of the climb, the temperature drops dramatically from the high eighties to the mid fifties. At the very crest, we stop at a cliff side restaurant. Here, in sheer wilderness where waiters wear parkas, we are able to check email on high-speed wireless Internet.

Once the pinnacle of the climb is breached, there is a dramatic drop to the Pacific Ocean and you witness an amazing transformation from pine forest to tropical jungle. At some points, these two forest zones absurdly intertwine.

Along the route are a number of small villages and many hamlets of just a few homes. In the valleys far below, larger communities and farms appear as tiny toy buildings. Wood is abundant and there is a rudimentary logging industry. On the Pacific side of the mountains, agriculture is more visible with an abundance of bananas, melons, coffee beans and tropical fruits.

After about six and a half hours on the road, we catch a glimpse of the mighty Pacific and shortly thereafter, entered the city of Pochutla, the largest community in these parts. Nine kilometres further on, we arrive at the coastal town of Puerto Angel, a place that could never be accused of giving a good first or last impression.

The town was founded in the 1850’s when the government installed a wharf in the horseshoe shaped harbour as a means of creating trade between this isolated region and the rest of the country. By 1870, Puerto Angel was purported to be the busiest port in Mexico. Government interest lagged thereafter and the town was nothing but an afterthought until the 1960’s when tourists began to take interest in this most southerly point in Mexico. At that time, access was by the same highway we drove but its condition was far less hospitable than the serpentine track we travelled. The opening of the Pacific coast highway through the 70’s and 80’s added to tourist interest. Gradually, small-scale hotels were built to serve the tourists’ needs.

Geographically Puerto Angel consists of a small horseshoe bay protected at its entrance by craggy outcrops of rock. From the point where the ocean hits the land, there are roughly a couple of hundred yards of flat ground before the terrain rises precipitously up the Sierra Madre. Much of the flat land is dedicated to the main road running parallel to the beach and it is likely the only paved road in town. The east side of the bay contains the town wharf and is dedicated mainly to fishing and a small naval base. It has a nice sand beach onto which the fishing boats are run aground. Rotting fish entrails provide a distinct aroma.  Children cast lines off the wharf and have little difficulty catching fish the size of speckled trout but the shape of tuna. The other side of the bay is known as Playa Pantheon. This is where most of the tourists convene. The beach is grittier but the waves and undertow are not as rough or dangerous as the east side. Most of the tourists are Mexican with only the occasional gringo for colour.

We looked at a couple of hotels in Puerto Angel but were not impressed enough to rent. Our experienced colleague suggested that we travel a further two miles to Zipolite Beach where he had arranged accommodation that would take him and his rottweiler. Zipolite is one of the few nude beaches in Mexico and is renowned for its Bohemian atmosphere.

The beach at Zipolite is fabulous. It runs for over a mile from east to west and has beautiful, soft sand that packs hard at the waterline for easy walking. Facing the beach is the most ragtag collection of hotels I have ever seen. It is apparently vastly improved as a result of a recent hurricane. I can’t imagine! We took a room in the best hotel we could find which was a four-storey masonry structure overlooking the beach. A single room, quite small, with two double beds, a private bathroom and large balcony was $30 per night. The hotel, like all others, did not offer hot water. Other hotel rooms along the beach could be had for $6-$20 per night or you could just rent a hammock on a roof or in a courtyard. Some hotels were nothing but rickety wooden structures built on stilts and wouldn’t qualify as fit for human habitation in most countries of the world. These cheaper hotels had common baths and showers. However, if you want to enjoy an almost perfect beach and have little or no money, then $6 per night might be the perfect price.

The tourists at Zipolite were decidedly young although there was a generous smattering of old hippies who seemed to be the more ardent practitioners of nudism. The crowd was almost entirely foreign with many Europeans and a lot of Canadians. Most surprising was the quiet on the beach. For a February and considering the large supply of “hotel rooms”, this place was massively under-populated. Of the scant crowd, most were either sunbathing or strolling. Virtually no one was swimming since the ocean is treacherous. Dangerous waves roll in day and night with a roar that is deafening. Six or so men were exercising their right to return to Mother Nature and these were strictly exhibitionists. They positioned themselves spread-eagled beside the main walking paths or strode or jogged in various stages of arousal. The true nudists were at the farthest end of the beach in an area secluded by rock outcroppings. I never saw one naked female and was told that I wasn’t looking closely enough. I must admit that the sun and the heat contribute immensely to the desire to be liberated from your inhibitions.

By early afternoon, the beach is almost deserted due to the intensity of the sun and heat. Patrons reappear again around 4PM to soak up the last rays and view the glorious Zipolite sunset at 6:30. The sun sets in the notch of a massive rock outcrop at the edge of the ocean. The effect is quite remarkable and creates a starburst quality to the final rays of the day.

With darkness, we settle into plastic chairs set in soft sand at a seaside restaurant. The food is surprisingly good with a wide selection of seafood ranging from tuna to shrimp and octopus. Adding to what little ambience this restaurant possessed was a man seated next to us. After his dinner, he rose from his chair, stripped butt naked and casually walked out of the restaurant to the beach for a swim. Bon appetite!

In the evening, various bands entertain in the hotel courtyards playing jazz and reggae music. The scent of marijuana wafts overtly through the crowd. The entertainment doesn’t last much beyond eleven by which time most people are exhausted by sun, sights and swilling.

Evening is a good time to meet and talk to others and we heard of a resort only two blocks inland. For $3 per day you could swim in their large pool. You could also rent luxury accommodation. After our first night at the beachfront hotel, my princess was up at the crack of dawn tracking down “the resort”. Finding it was simple enough and it was undoubtedly the Zipolite equivalent of dying and going to heaven. The contrast of this artistically developed, 100-acre palm grove with the tawdriness of the rest of Zipolite was otherworldly. For $100US per night, we rented a three-storey, detached house with kitchen, dining room, livingroom, one and a half baths, two bedrooms and a very private, rooftop deck. It was air-conditioned, had toilet seats and offered cold-water showers.

The attention to detail in this house exceeded anything seen at five star resorts. The windows were custom built in oval shapes; the doors were of inlaid panels with rounded corners that meant all the doorjambs and casings had to be hand carved. The patio doors leading to the decks were reminiscent of a Darth Vader mask with triangular venting on the sides. Surrounding the house was a shallow moat built of stone. Fish swam in its clear waters amidst lush tropical vegetation. Only fifty feet from the front door was an Olympic sized pool that we shared with daily visitors. Guinea hens, ducks, roosters and chickens resided on the grounds and walked about the pool apron picking up crumbs and other stray bits of food. Overhead, eagles searched for prey, palm trees rustled and tropical birds played their screeching melodies.

We spent most of our time poolside or on the rooftop deck in a hammock and would go to the beach twice daily for strolls and for dinners. We left the compound by a rear exit that took us past the homes of some of Mexico’s poorest. The living conditions are absolutely appalling. Rough wood-plank homes with thatched roofs and dirt floors were the norm. Cooking was done outside on wood fires. Laundry was washed by hand in old tubs of unknown origin and there was little evidence of sanitation judging from the smells. I am not convinced that the Mexicans at Zipolite are a happy lot. It is hard to get rich from tourists spending $6 per day for a hotel room. They’re not the type to be big tippers. I have also heard that the Mexicans take great offence at the nudity on their beach and this may explain some of the indifferent behaviour of store clerks, particularly women old enough to have families.

We spent four days at Puerto Angel and Zipolite Beach and genuinely enjoyed ourselves. The beach is truly marvellous as is the food. Blatant nudity is offensive at times but being naked in the heat is a cathartic experience if done discreetly. The town is very poor and run down and there is little to see and do beyond the beach. One old hippie, who comes here yearly for extended vacations, escapes to civilization every three weeks lest he “goes brain dead.” However, Zipolite may be just perfect if you want a bizarre and cheap vacation or if you just want to let it all hang out.