Mexico: Puerto Escondido

"Life is like playing a violin solo in public and learning the instrument as life goes on..." As someone who has a mind for strategy (just challenge me to a game of risk or settlers of catan) and who also likes to appear competent to those around me, making a fool of myself in public is something I am slowly getting used to over time. The image that the quote by Samuel Butler above invokes is that life isn't always beautiful and harmonious it involves stumbling, tripping, falling, and often times suffering embarrassment. All of us are new at some point, all of us are novices in something, all of us get confused, all of us are embarrassed at times, all of us are forever learning, all of us are living. I like to think in these last 3.5 months I've been doing a lot of living, been doing a lot of solos in public on instruments I've never really played. From teaching English, to dancing salsa, to simply speaking Spanish, I've been throwing myself into a lot of new roles, trying out a lot of new solos. Life in Puerto Escondido is no different.    
       

After driving 40 minutes east from Puertecito Arturo dropped me off at the end of a dirt street in front of a hostel called Frutas y Verduras. There's a sign posted out front saying that volunteer workers are welcome, and this is the same location that my French Canadian friend Juliette has been working at for the last two months since our TEFL course ended, so I walked in with confidence looking for work. I was told the boss was out but would be back that evening and would talk with me then about volunteering in exchange for a room. Normally waiting around for two hours would drive me nuts but I wasn't just in any old town. I was in La Punta, the surf bum traveling kid neighborhood of Puerto Escondido. Little hostels, surf shops, and cafe bars dot the main dirt road that runs parallel to the shore and makes up the heart of La Punta. I walk down the road and I can't help but feel like I stumbled into the Mos Eisley of Mexico - for those who aren't familiar with that Star Wars analogy, La Punta tends to give off an old wild western vibe and it attracts some very interesting characters from around the world (or if you're still following me on the Star Wars train, the galaxy). The distinct difference between the fictional city of Mos Eisley or the classic Western one horse town and the neighborhood of La Punta is that while the former are places that are entirely devoid of water this is a place that owes its very existence to water. Surfers and traveling beach goers fund the local economy. So rather than stop at any of the shops I continued down the dirt road that led me to the beach and joined about a dozen or so other people who were strewn about on the sand, soaking up the sun and watching the surfers. 
       

La Punta is appropriately named "the Point" because the neighborhood is located at the end of Playa Zicatela (Zicatela beach) where a rocky peninsula juts out into the ocean. The nature of this peninsula and the giant rocks surrounding it create a point break that makes it a great spot for surfing. The waves of La Punta consistently break and peel off 20 meters from shore when they make contact with the point while the rest of the waves on the beach break only a few meters from shore making them more or less unsurfable and extremely dangerous. I watched in amazement as about a dozen surfers sat nearly on the rocks of the point in order to catch waves and then rode them in eerily close to these boulders - one wrong move, one bad wipe out, and you could find yourself being smashed into a rock with the power of a tidal wave - with a broken neck or if you're lucky just a broken board as an outcome. 
        After watching these surfers and getting sufficiently sweaty in the afternoon sun I returned to the hostel only to find that the boss was in but that he was too busy watching tennis to meet with me today and that I'd have to return tomorrow. "Too busy watching tennis," words I know I will never utter in my life, especially when it concerns someone wanting to volunteer for me; watching tennis... the only thing worse is watching golf. I was laughing out loud when I heard that excuse and wasn't quite sure what I was going to do for the night and then I ran into Juliette. When I explained my situation she told me that's just the way the boss was, sometimes it took him days to meet with prospective volunteers. She was sympathetic and told me she was going to go crash at a friends place if I wanted to stay in her room for the night. Happy to have a place to finally put my backpack and guitar I was free to wander the neighborhood unencumbered. It's then that I see another familiar face, as the one and only Preston comes trotting down the street

Preston and I re-enacting the Titanic during sunset

with a huge smile on his face. He's been in Puerto for the last two weeks taking Spanish classes at one of the local language schools and is staying at another hostel in La Punta. He asks me if I want to climb up to the light house on the point and watch the sunset. It's strange, I think I've watched more sunsets in my last three weeks in Puerto than I have in any other three week period of my life. It's just part of the culture here. Everyone drops what they're doing and heads to the beach, like moths drawn to a flame, to sit in silence and watch the beautiful spectacle that takes place over the ocean every evening.
      The next day I showed up at 10am as planned to meet with the boss but he was once again occupied (more Tennis?). Instead I was redirected to a young woman named Hazel who told me she needed help in the kitchen preparing meals for the staff. She asks me how much experience I've had as a cook in the restaurant industry. I laugh and tell her none. She asks me how much experience I have had in general in the restaurant industry waiting tables or as a line cook. I continue to smile and tell her I worked for Five Guys for three months but that's the extent of my restaurant experience. She nods slowly, and asks, almost as if she already knows the answer, "what kind of specialty dishes can I offer?" There's a five second pause as I search for a response, and I tell her French toast... we both immediately burst out laughing. She tells me we're going to make it work and welcomes me to the team at Ziggi's Kitchen. 
       

Frutas y Verduras isn't your typical Mexican hostel catering to poor international travelers looking for nothing more than a mattress and possibly a roof. With a swimming pool, rooftop bar with a big screen tv, and private accommodations it feels closer to a resort than a hostel and the people who stay there represent this; folks with kids, those who are older, tourists, travelers with money, and generally speaking people who are more straight laced. The "boss" and founder of Frutas is a Slovenian named Tomo (the elusive fan of tennis). He and his Slovenian friend Allio created Frutas some 8 years ago, and have worked on creating a little oasis in La Punta ever since. Given that these men actually live on the property and it is their home as well as their business they have poured their heart and soul into making it as clean, organized, and beautiful as possible. Frutas is also a hub of activity, and Tomo and Allio have some twenty employees and volunteers that work at Frutas and its three subsidiary companies. Connected to Frutas is Cafe Ole; a bar/restaurant that specializes in serving crepes, smoothies, and mezcal - Moringa; a market that sells local organic fruits and vegetables along with fresh baked bread and other eco-friendly consumer items and Ziggi's Kitchen; a place where teams of chefs prepare mainly vegetarian meals for the staff of Frutas, Cafe Ole, Moringa, Tomo and Allio, as well as offer dinner to the general public. This was my new work place. 
     

 It's quite ironic that my last post included a whole paragraph dedicated to how jealous I was of the cooking skills of the people around me and how I wanted to learn more about healthy cooking and now here I was, a cook at a mostly vegetarian restaurant. I wish I had paid more attention when I was at La Joya. I spent my first two weeks working with Hazel, the founder of Ziggi's Kitchen who also works as a seasonal chef in Norway, Lucas, a chef from Argentina, and Lynette, a raw vegan chef from the States. There was rarely a plan when we walked into the kitchen. We'd look at the fridges, see what kind of produce was lying around, find out how many people we were expecting to serve, throw ideas back and forth for a few minutes, decide on a menu, pick out some music, and get to work preparing for our lunch or dinner deadline. Even though this was an area I had relatively no experience in and I found myself constantly asking questions, "uh how do you want me to cut this zucchini, what's linseed, why are we rubbing eggs on this dough, where's the olive oil again, when do we take this out of the oven," I was glad that this was the place I was introduced into the business. After seeing shows like Top Chef and Hells Kitchen I was waiting to be judged for my lack of skills but everyone I worked with from the three trained chefs above to my fellow volunteers all attempted to teach me what they knew and share their knowledge with me. Ziggi's was more a place of learning and experimentation than the stressful kitchen of the tv shows or what I presume occurs in most popular restaurants on Friday nights. It also helped that the folks I was cooking for were all people I knew since my friend circle outside of work mostly included folks from Moringa and Cafe Ole so it really did feel like I was just making food for friends. It's easier to play that solo in public when most of the public are your friends. My one regret from my experience in the kitchen was that I wish I took more pictures of what we created. Just for one time in my life I wish I was one of those people who is always taking pictures of their food before they eat it because we had some masterpieces, food that looked as good as it tasted; vegan pizza, fresh baked bread, key lime cheesecake, numerous colorful salads, veggie burgers, and dozens of other delicious dishes that I helped create over the course of three weeks. 
         

Lucas and I enjoying a lunch we cooked

My experience in the kitchen confirmed that I am still very young in the world of cooking but that for the most part making good healthy food is as simple as looking up a recipe and having the confidence to experiment and make mistakes. It also solidified how we can come together over meals - not just eating meals together at the table but making them together in the kitchen as well. I found myself working most often with Lucas, the Argentinian chef who spoke about as much English as I did Spanish, as well as with Arte, one of the other volunteers who was also from Argentina and spoke little English, and we still managed to communicate and create dishes I never even knew were possible to make. So I have no excuse when I return home... if I can cook and collaborate with folks with whom I don't share the same language with then I can make food with anyone. I don't think I'll be joining the restaurant industry anytime soon but I want to make a point to set aside one day a week to try cooking something new and maybe invite different friends to join me on each occasion and possibly even teach me a recipe they already know. Like I said before, food ain't just about energy or nutrients for our physical well being, it's a chance to socialize and deepen our connections with one another as well.
     In exchange for cooking one meal a day six days a week I got a free room at Punta Paraiso a hostel just down the street that belongs to Tomo and Allio and is more or less reserved for volunteers or other travelers who are looking for a cheaper option than Frutas y Verduras. When I arrived at Paraiso there were people who had been living there for months, folks like Juliette, who were more or less on a permanent vacation in Puerto - surfing, drinking, laying around on the beach, and working part time to earn a free place to stay. It seems to be a common story, folks who drop by La Punta thinking they're going to stay for a few days and next thing they know a few months have gone by. They come from around the world but it seems like Argentinians, Australians, and Western Europeans make up the majority of these travelers. Believe it or not I've yet to meet another American here, other than Preston of course. They come for the beaches or the surfing and they stay for the laid back atmosphere and culture. I pretty much only wear a shirt when I'm working in the kitchen and I haven't worn shoes in days - swimsuits and bare feet are the accepted apparel, anything more and you look like a tourist. Many of these travelers are also here as kind of a pit stop to make money to fund the rest of their journey; ironically, many of them seem to spend more money on booze and cigarettes than they save or even spend on food but hey it's their vacation, and most of them don't seem too worried about being stuck in paradise. I do enjoy the communal living at Paraiso though, it's like having an international family, we work together, play together, and live together. Because of this experience I have new friends from three different continents. 

Argentinians, Mexicans, Germans, Italians, and the lone Gringo

     

Lewis, Lena, Arte, and Myself (The Clean Crew)

One downside to this communal living is cleanliness. I feel like whenever you get a half dozen young people together any sense of responsibility for their belongings or surroundings goes out the window - dirty kitchens, spoiled food, and dirty dishes become the norm. I might not be a chef but I know how to keep a clean living and cooking space. I spent my first morning at Paraiso throwing out rotten food from the fridge and rewashing all the dishes in the kitchen because even the "clean" dishes were dirty. The problem with communal places is that the bystander effect often comes into play and nobody seems to take ownership over their personal messes or the debris that gathers over time when you have 5 or 6 people living in one spot. I've become good friends with Leo the cleaning lady here, ever since she saw me that first morning cleaning at 8am while everyone else was sleeping in from a night of partying I've been her favorite. Things have changed from that first day though, there's fewer of us now, and everyone that was here when I arrived has moved on, making me the new elder of the hostel. I like to think I set a precedent of cleanliness and organization - one that I hope continues after I depart, for Leo's sake! For as clean as I was I couldn't escape one of natures worst creations that often occurs in a dirty environment. 
      I felt like I didn't sleep much my first few nights in Paraiso. No it wasn't the partying, it was a combination of the heat and finding myself awake every few hours furiously scratching my body. Sure mosquitoes were part of the issue but I started finding other strange bites on my upper arms, chest, and neck. On my third night I awoke in the dark to feel crawling sensations all over my upper body, I immediately grabbed my headlamp and was horrified to find nearly a dozen six legged oval shaped insects slowly crawling on my body and the sheets. I jumped out of bed and saw them crawl away from the light and into the dark corners around my bed and pillow... annoying biting six legged bugs that leave strange bite marks and that hide in my sheets; I had bed bugs. Bed bugs were something I had obviously heard of before but as a species and as a pest they were something I really didn't know much about. As a kid I remember my parents telling me, good night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite. In high school I remember going on a service trip to the Dominican and bringing special sheets that were bed bug proof because we were concerned about the red marks they might leave on our skin from their bites. In college we were told not to take furniture from off the street because it might be infested with bed bugs; we still took every free futon and chair we could find. Now here I was in a foreign country dealing with an insect I knew nothing about other than that I didn't want them. That next day I began investigating. For starters the bites weren't just about leaving red marks, these things were parasitic insects that lived off of a human host and awoke in the night to feed on my sleeping body. They were little vampires that left itchy bites (and the whole red rash reaction is something that doesn't occur in most people, myself included). Even worse is that once you had them, they were nearly impossible to get rid of. Extreme heat, cold, or fumigation is the only way to get rid of the bastards and if you miss even a single one they will continue laying up to seven eggs a day with each of the offspring being able to live up to a year before having to feed. I read horror stories online about people who spent thousands of dollars to rid them from their house. I read about how other travelers had to burn all their belongings to keep from spreading bed bugs to their next hostel or from bringing them back home. The more I learned the more despondent I grew. The nights got worse. I awoke to find even more of them crawling over me and now it seemed some of the bed bugs had made their way into my hair as I could feel them crawling on my scalp. 

         I alerted Tomo and he immediately had Leo do a full inspection of my room searching for the bed bugs. She saw the corpses of the bugs I had killed but said she couldn't find a source in the sheets or the mattress itself. Just to be safe they moved me to another room in Paraiso. Five sleepless nights and the bugs were still there when I turned on my headlamp in my new room. As I scratched my head and pulled the bugs out of my hair I had a horrifying epiphany, the bed bugs were living in my hair, I wasn't just their food, I was their home. The next morning I went into the ocean and laid with my hair submerged in the salt water for a good hour hoping I could drown these spawn of satan but when I was showering I began scratching my head I found some of them still crawling. Ahhh, was I going to have to cut my hair? As I thought about the past nights tossing and turning and the thought of these blood sucking pests living on me I told myself if that was my only option, to cut my hair, that I would do it, I'd get rid of my mane if it meant being bed bug free. That night I told Tomo about my situation - that the bugs had followed me into my new room, that I feared they were spreading, that my hair was the host, and that I was willing to do whatever was necessary to get rid of them. Tomo listened to my story, and after a dramatic pause in which I could see his mind calculating a response; he told me I didn't have bed bugs...  I had lice. Hallelujah! I was ecstatic. The thought of having to burn my belongings, cut my hair, and of having possibly spread an infestation of bed bugs into the hostel had taken it's toll on my state of mind. The revelation that it was lice meant that my enemy was mortal, I was back in the fight. Lice can only survive 24 hours without a host so if I got rid of the one's living in my hair and waited a day the war would be won. That same night I doused my hair in olive oil, wrapped a plastic bag around my head, secured it with a bandanna, and waited the recommended 12 hours. The next morning my hair was disgusting - oily and full of the dead bodies of my enemies but it was over. As insurance I went to the pharmacy that afternoon and purchased some of the special lice shampoo and gave my hair a good cleaning to eliminate any possibility of survival for eggs or adults. I still don't know where the lice came from. No one else in the hostel had any problems with them. My original room had been vacant for a few days so that wasn't the source. I hadn't shared any hats or put my head on any strange pillows or places. Seemingly spontaneous. It doesn't matter where they came from though they were gone now and should they ever come back I know how to swiftly destroy them. 
         Aside from fighting lice and cooking in the kitchen I also pursued something I've been itching to do for the last three and a half years; go surfing again. When I was in California I signed up for a three hour surf class/excursion in Crescent City. Our instructors simulated paddling and popping up on the board while we were on the beach and then sent us out to the waves to try our new skills. They told us to not be disappointed if we didn't get up that day since like any activity it took perseverance and time to improve. Well I caught my first wave and also successfully popped up on that wave as well. The sensation was addictive. When after an hour and a half my classmates and even my instructors called it a day because they were too cold and tired I remained in the water and continued to get waves with the whole bay to myself (Lake Michigan and Superior continue to make any other lake/sea feel like bath water, gotta love those Wisconsin roots). A few weeks later I went surfing with my brother and my friend Aaron and had a similar experience. We found an empty beach and spent the entire afternoon riding waves with seals and presumably a few great whites to keep us company. When I arrived in Puerto that first day and watched the surfers out on the point I told myself I was going to join them and relive those memories from Cali. 
     

  Well boys and girls, sometimes some things are best left to nostalgia. Zicatela beach in Puerto, aka the Mexican Pipeline, and La Punta are not the same as the beaches of Northern California. For one, the waves here are for experts, there's a reason why the X Games for surfing are hosted here along with numerous other international surfing competitions. The waves in California were small, would break far out from shore, posed no danger, and could gently be ridden in. Here the waves could swallow you up, send you headfirst into a sandbar or a submerged rock, split your board in two, or send you into one of the many other surfers on the crowded water. Compared to the serenity and bliss of California, Puerto was stressful while at the same time very boring. If I were alone maybe my experience would have been different. But add in some fifteen to twenty surfers all clumped together in a space the size of a basketball court and suddenly surfing becomes a whole different experience. There's rules on who gets to take a wave and between locals, experts, and teachers with their students you basically have no chance of getting a piece of a good wave as a beginner. If you're new you often sit closer to shore and try to pick up on the waves that the others sitting farther out miss; however, legally, you have an obligation to avoid surfers riding waves which means you spend more time playing frogger and avoiding the path of other surfers than even attempting to catch waves. Eliminate all the other surfers and Puerto still wouldn't be ideal. The waves come and go in... well in waves. California had a continual stream of small/medium waves that were fun for beginners and arguably for intermediate riders while Puerto was more of a go big or go home type of surf spot. Small waves didn't exist. You would sit on your board for maybe 30 minutes before a set of 4 to 6 giant waves came in. Many times the majority of the surfers would just turtle (purposely fall over) or paddle over the wave as they were too dangerous to ride while a few daredevils would go for them and expertly ride them to shore. I guess that's the thing, if you're new to surfing don't go to Puerto, even if you're okay at surfing, probably don't go to Puerto, if you have a death wish or have years of experience then yeah this is the place for you. 

        I spent a week with a surfboard and went for a few hours each of those days often waking up at sunrise to try and beat the crowds. I may have been a complete novice but I like to think I at least looked the part and was able to mingle among the other surfers and strike up a few conversations. I met a German guy who came to Puerto to surf and had been here for a month but in his first week he caught a wave too close to the rocks and crashed. He ended up bruising his knee badly and also destroying his board. If I ended my week without having to pay for wrecking a board or incurring an injury I was going to be happy (gosh what low goals, ha). I got tumbled by a few giant waves (basically felt like being in a giant washing machine) but all in all I avoided making any serious mistakes, no injuries, no damage to the board, didn't piss off the locals, it was the vanilla experience I hadn't signed up for but hey I'd take it. It's strange to think that here I was, basically a brand new surfer, merely wanting to survive sharing the same waves with expert surfers from around the world. One local guy that was surfing with us was a former long board world champion, or so I was told. Regardless of what possible titles the man had won he was a hell of a surfer, literally dancing and jumping on his long board as he rode monster waves in from around the point. There's no other sport quite like it in this regards, where in the same space you can have world champions mingling with those who are beginners. Imagine casually going to go shoot hoops and Lebron James just happens to be on the same court as you. I guess my surf experience has been a lesson in humility, don't jump ahead and try soloing with the expert musicians at a sold out concert - instead do your own solo, preferably on the empty beaches of Northern California, where only the seals and sharks will notice if you hit a wrong note. 
    I'm looking forward to getting back to the familiar, getting back to environments that are more conducive for me to strike out and learn some new instruments. These last four months have more or less been one big solo, one big learning and living experience. Really, when I look back on everything I've done since graduating college this has been my life, throwing myself into ridiculous situations and stretching that comfort zone to places I never thought possible. Tell that shy college sophomore four years ago that he'd go on to lead boundary waters trips for folks with disabilities, make speeches in front of hundreds of urban youth, wander the desert and battle demons with a tribe of kids, or be at this hostel in Mexico having all of the above experiences right now, and he would never have believed you... it's amazing how much we continue to learn and grow. I'm proud of what I've accomplished so far, and I can only begin to imagine the possibilities going forward. Who knows what I'll be writing about in four years time.