After a month of no updates I'm sorry to say we will disappoint the fans by reporting that we are not dead, just lazy! So if we can cast our weary brains back we'll try and recover some of our experiences over the last month...
Where better to start than Oaxaca. After arriving at 1am and getting dropped off at a hostel that no longer existed, we took another hour to track down a place that would take us in. So after a little shut eye we ventured out for our first look at Oaxaca, but we were also desperate for food to silence the anger from our stomach's. This must have been fairly clear to the street vendor that sat us down and plied us with tacos. I chose not to look too closely at mine, but I got a little nervous as I saw Jarrod picking small pinkish coloured bits out of his. Meal finished, we filed the name of the meat away in our grey matter to find out what it actually was later.
LATER: We had eaten the Mexican equivalent of a hotdog, only the meat wasn't so minced that it was unidentifiable. The smell (rather distinctive) came from the intestinal juices that came free with the meat. LESSON: If you don't know what it is, don't bloody eat it!
It should come as no surprise that next on the agenda was a drink. And so began our two days in Oaxaca at a bar named Tabbalah. This is a very interesting place run by a guy that has the most impressive arm tattoo ever seen. Unfortunately, our alcoholic stupor resulted in us having a distinct lack of photos from these days. But, the bar tender (named David, quite easy to remember) made a mean mohito with freshly picked mint, that was great as an exfoliant for Jarrod's face (and as a cladding for his teeth). While the boys at the bar spoke very limited English, it matched quite nicely with our very limited Spanish in such a way that we managed to communicate efficiently through alcohol. Perhaps the most interesting part was going to the non-flushing toilets. While we liked to think that it added character, it also added a unique flavour to the back of the throat.
Three days later it was time to leave... but we slid in a little sight-seeing on our way out. The town square was a particular highlight, with much dancing and a festival atmosphere. Diego should, however, have avoided the street vendor's hotdog, which kept him company for the next couple of days.
The ride to Mazunte (via Huatulco) seemed straight forward enough. At about 200 kilometres it shouldn't take longer than a few hours, even on Mexican time. WRONG. While waiting for the bus we start chatting to a couple of girls from Mexico City that are heading in the same direction. They tell us that the trip is a little harrowing. Sure enough, eight hours later we are still in the friggin bus winding around corners and bouncing over speed bumps. Next time, I think we'll fly that section!
Finally, we made it to Mazunte, and the heat sent us straight to San Augustinillo to cool off. What an amazing place, with restaurants lined up along the shoreline. Waves crashing into the beach completed the picture, and a few days later we would find out just how powerful they were!
Mazunte is famous for its sunsets over Punta Comita, and it is here that the girls from Mexico City were found a little out of their element. For a couple of girls that could spin around the dancefloor like a frog in a blender they could not walk up or down a hill. It simply defied logic. With some expert guidance they did make it to the lookout, but the only sight was the naked backpacker skinny dipping on the lower beach as the sun was obscured by thick cloud. Oh well, there's always next time...
The benefit of making it to Punta Comita was that we found Rinconcito on the way back. Think Nimbin, but on a much smaller scale. Frequented by a community of John Butler lookalikes and their children, the place had such a laid back feel it was laying down. After a couple of nights we thought we might just come back here...
Huatulco beckoned with its promise of beautiful beaches and opportunities to get out into the forest as well as into the water. We satisfied all the options by taking tour into the hills to see some waterfalls and get some organic coffee from a local plantation, and by taking a boat tour to some snorkelling spots. Apart from the testicle hiding crispness of the water at the falls, the highlight may have been the tropical storm that hit as we were trying to eat lunch on the boat tour. Our seafood platter rapidly became a seafood soup as the plate filled with water, but it certainly made the experience a memorable one.
Puerto Escondito was next on the agenda, a place reknowned for its surfing and prevalence of Australian travellers, but we thought we might just drop back into Rinconcito for a bit. Ten days later, we could be found on the same beach in Rinconcito and thoughts of Puerto Escondito (and the Yucatan Peninsula) faded from our memory as we celebrated Dave's 31st birthday. Our days here were occupied with internet sessions, eating, swimming and a few lazy cervasas. Each day was essentially the same, only the order in which we attacked things changed... We met some fantastic people... among them the proprietor of Siddhartha, named Eric. His work uniform usually consisted of a pair of shorts, and a beer or smoke in one hand. Ric, our local celebrity and movie producer. And Encarni, our juggling school teacher/children's television host/writer and atom bomb drill intructor. Hanging out with these guys was a real dogfight.
After a failed attempt at leaving due to a safe and passport mishap, we finally escaped the clutches of this beautiful place. We waved goodbye to the cama-loca´s and made our way towards Chiapas with tears in our eyes... though we were little prepared for what awaited us in San Cristobel.
