Day 4

I finally managed to get some extra rest today. I woke up at 9am to find that the Germans had returned to the hostel at some point in the middle of the night. They were still asleep and looked tattered from the night before. I honestly don’t think they ever should have left Germany; I’m sure many ecstasy-filled techno parties awaited them there. On my right, I noticed that Francisco was not in his bed, so I assumed he was at his sunrise. 

I got ready as quickly as I could because Sandrina had the scooter until 2pm today. She had wanted us to be ready to leave by 9:30 or 10. After brushing my teeth, I made my way downstairs to find Sandrina having breakfast while chatting up some other people. She offered me some roaches to eat and told me they were a great source of protein. This woman is such a character – I never know what awaits me when I see her. 

In terms of more normal food, she also informed me about a woman who sells freshly squeezed orange juice to the hostel every morning. It’s 50 pesos for a small half-litre jug. She had bought some yesterday and offered it to me. It was so delicious! She encouraged me to drink more because she knew I hadn’t really had breakfast yet. I didn’t want to eat because I felt like I would waste precious time that we could use to get to the beaches, so we packed up.

On the stairs, I ran into a frazzled Francisco. He had all of his stuff with him because it was his last day. He was headed on a boat cruise around the Bahias. He had just had a job interview from 9-10 that went well, but was now running late to his cruise. He told me he’d talk to me when he gets back.

We both headed out to the scooter to find Sandrina in a panic. She had opened up her seat bin and there was no helmet. She insisted that someone had stolen the helmet and that she was upset that she’d have to pay for it. I told her that it was too bad, but that, in the meantime, she could use an abandoned helmet I had seen on top of the lockers in our room. Her face lit up. That was her helmet! She had left it there and forgotten. Francisco left on his way to the boat. 

We grabbed her helmet and debated who would have to wear it. Neither of us wanted to since it was so hot inside of it. Eventually, though, she succumbed because she was going to be driving. I tied my sunhat on and put on a breezy long-sleeve white shirt. I couldn’t risk more sun exposure since I was already crispy in spots.

We shoved all of our things into the seat bin and began our journey to Maguey Beach. Sandrina had scootered there yesterday and loved it. At first, I was a little weary to be getting on the back of a scooter with a 77 year old, but she drove it with ease. 

We took the same route that Francisco and I walked yesterday. I knew it was a beautiful road but yesterday’s trekking made it a lot harder to appreciate the beauty. With the wind blowing in my hair, life was nice, and beauty was easier to spot. The parts of the road that were made of cobblestones also made it a bit harder to appreciate the beauty because it felt like you were getting a concussion going over them. Making things worse was the fact that Mexico didn’t upkeep their roads: when some stones fell out, they weren’t replaced. That meant that every so often, Sandrina would pull a sharp turn to avoid a crater in the Earth. 

Maguey was the beach just one over from Cacaluta, but it was significantly more developed. It had restaurants and lots of tourists. It also had many more tour boats going in and out. Sandrina liked it, though, because she could get a Cocktel de Camaron, her favorite food, on the beach. 

So to get some lounge chairs and a sun umbrella, Sandrina ordered a shrimp cocktail and a beer. We put our stuff down and headed for the water. 

We swam in there for an hour before I got tired. The water was nice and there were adorable little, round, translucent, white fish jumping all around us. You could hear little bubbles behind you, look over, and see fishies! As nice as it was, I had to swim out soon. I could feel my skin burning again exactly where my scalp meets my forehead, and the water smelled of petrol every time a boat zipped by. Sandrina yelled at all of the boats in Spanish for getting too close to her while she swam. She also taught me all about the different types of boats and their parts. When I got tired, I told her I was going to shore. She said she was going to stay in and keep training her knee – a testament to her strength at 77. 

Eventually she got out to join me and we finished our food. I insisted I pay since she had covered the cost of the scooter. She told me that was nonsense because she was going to be using the scooter with or without me. 

The very rotund Mexican waitress asked us how we had brought the scooter down the steep and windy road to the beach. Sandrina told her she simply drove it. The waitress gasped and said she must be much braver than her because she would never dare drive down the serpentines. She then asked Sandrina what kind of model she had bought and Sandrina explained that it was a rental. The waitress laughed even more and told her she must be crazy to be taking a rental down here. 

We ran into the old French couple from Toulouse that was staying at our hostel here. They had arrived by cab. We spoke briefly before realizing we needed to make our way back to the scooter rental shop, so as to not be charged a late fee. 

Our way back was also incredibly nice. Sandrina told me she had filled up on gas yesterday and that the tank was still full. When she rented the scooter, the gas was on ¾ of a tank, so she told me she would see if she could get us more time on the scooter by playing that card. 

When we got to the city, Sandrina had no idea where she had rented the scooter from. To be fair, there are a number of scooter rental shops, so it’s really easy to get confused. As a result, we circled around the same roundabouts many times trying to find the right shop. With minutes to spare, we did find the place.

Another thing that impeded the efficiency of the journey was the fact that Huatulco lacked traffic signs. There was no rhyme or reason to how and when people drove. You simply had to be aggressive and follow the crowd. If the light was red, but everyone seemed to be driving through, then we did the same. Sometimes people moved on red and sometimes they moved on green, so we really couldn't comprehend rules of the road.

When we finally found the rental place, a pleasant lady greeted us and chatted with Sandrina about the gas situation. In exchange for the extra gas, we could have the scooter for an extra hour. When Sandrina asked her if a red light maybe means go in Mexico, the lady explained that there are only 3 traffic lights in all of Huatulco. Out of the 3, two are broken. The locals just know which one is functional and they abide accordingly. Essentially, the one traffic light that does work dictates the entirety of the traffic rules. If you notice that people are stopped at that one, then you automatically assume that you need to go at your dysfunctional traffic light, regardless of if it's red, yellow or green.  

With this in mind, Sandrina took me to the yacht club, the fishing pier and finally through every single street in town, so that I could really get a sense of La Crucecita. It was really lovely. I saw a really pretty flower shop where locals bought bouquets for each other. It was next to a small bakery. There was a great sense of community between the little shops. 

I had mentioned to Sandrina earlier in the day that Francisco had really wanted a coconut on the beach yesterday but we couldn’t find any. She didn’t forget this because, as soon as she saw a roadside coconut sales stand, she pulled over and told me to get one to make Francisco jealous, so I did! I got on the back of the scooter, coconut in tow. The traffic was hectic, and we couldn’t figure out the traffic signals. Mexicans would sometimes go on a red light and sometimes stop on a green light, but it was never consistent. We had to just follow the crowd and do our best. This meant that, occasionally, Sandrina would scream at me to stick out either my left or right arm. She told me that, no matter what though, I had to make sure I didn’t lose the coconut.

We made it back to town again, but we had forgotten which shop we had to return the scooter to again. Another tour around the city later, we had it. 

We walked back to our hostel to find Chris sitting there and having a meal. We chatted a bit about our day and Sandrina somehow got to telling me and Chris that she attended the Oscars as the date of the Costume Designer of the movie Evita. The designer didn’t win the Oscar that year, but told her that he had won anyways because he had her on her arm. 

Chris asked her if she knew any other famous people. What a stupid question to ask Sandrina; as if there was any possibility she would say no. 

She said of course and proceeded to tell us about the time she got invited by a friend to Diana Ross, the lead singer of the Supremes, Thanksgiving Party. Sandrina struggled to remember the Diana’s name, but Chris jogged her memory when she mentioned the Supremes. She said her friend told her to whip up some tortillas as soon as she landed from her plane and bring them to a dinner. She was exhausted but did so, and nearly fainted when Diana opened the door with her massive afro. Diana was an amazing host because she noticed Sandrina’s exhaustion and sent her up to a room in her Beverly Hills mansion to let her sleep off her jetlag.

I’m going to be honest. I don’t know if these stories are true. They sound farfetched, and Sandrina does have a knack for bragging, but I don’t want to completely discredit them. For all I know, they could be real. 

As for Chris, he has a strange demeanour, which I think stems from his depression. He doesn’t really react to anything, but I couldn’t figure out if that was because this story sounded so out-there, or because he just was constantly that way. He told stories of his own from his travels to over 90 countries, which he afforded by teaching at international English schools throughout the world. 

Sandrina got caught up in another panic when she told Chris and I that she planned on making her way to Guatemala along the coast of Mexico. Christ informed her that that was a bad idea since the land border guards on the coast had a bad reputation for making trouble for foreigners and asking for bribes. He told her it would be better to go inland, into Chiapas, towards San Cristobal, and cross the border from there. She panicked and began looking into her options. Not many places were available because it was the start of Easter Week for the Mexicans. The prices of available places were exorbitant. 

I’m not exaggerating when I say that Sandrina dragged me and Chris into spending the next 5 hours devising a plan for her to get across safely and cheaply. She had so many criteria that this was practically impossible. She wanted to go along the coast for as far as possible. She refused to take a bus longer than 5 hours. And she wanted it to be cheap. 

There was a bus to San Cristobal directly but it took 9 hours. The accommodations there had also gone up a bit in price. Eventually, I discovered that she could go to Arriaga, which was still on the coast in Chiapas in 7 hours, then take a 3 hour bus to San Cristobal, and finally cross into Guatemala from that inland border. She was very grateful. 

When I went upstairs to shower, I got a break from Sandrina. When I got out of the shower, she had left me a care package for my skin on my bed. She had picked some aloe vera leaves from the road and cut them in half for me, and she had even bought me an after-sun gel, sunscreen, and a pair of flowy orange linen pants. She had noticed that, though I was trying to cover up my skin during our journey today, I hadn’t had anything to cover my legs with since I had only brought shorts, so she fixed that for me. 

I thanked her when I saw her, but she brushed it off as though it was nothing. She said I deserved it because I was champagne bottle of a girl – bubbly and happiness-bringing. I really appreciated the kind words, and my skin desperately needed the things as it was burnt to a crisp. As my sister described it, it looked like I had done brown contouring with makeup. 

I encountered the chronically dissatisfied Germans in our shared room and they greeted me briefly. We all knew we weren’t getting along. 

Then came Jim. Jim was brought in by Maribel, our hostel receptionist. He had wild hair, a long beard and a completely unbuttoned shirt. He looked about 55 with his leathery, sun-burnt skin. He was a chatterbox. He was blabbing to Maribel about his journey from Zipolite, who brushed him off with a quick “no English”. As soon as she was gone, Jim started asking me questions about the town. He was full of the same vigour and excitement an 8-year-old boy has. He smiled so big.

When I told him I was from Vancouver, he told me he was also from BC, near Nelson. I had been to Nelson and Castlegar two years ago and liked it. He clarified that he was from a place called New Denver, a super small town where he would often go days without seeing anyone. I understood how difficult that must have been for a guy like Jim who has boundless energy, and the obvious need for socializing. 

I asked what brought him to Mexico and a lengthy story ensued. Jim has been an electrician for his whole life. He started working for Tec, a mining company, a while ago because they pay really well. The job is tough work, though. He works on some industrial electric projects at a metal smelter. 

One of the metals at the smelter at his facility was lead. Tec had improperly stored the lead and it had piled up. When they went to smelter it again, there was a spill in November of 2022. (Just to clarify how sneaky these corporations are, I had never heard of this spill). Lead had leaked into the water supply in Trail, which would not be the first time something toxic had happened to Trail. 

Anyways, Jim and his buddies were monitored for heavy metal levels periodically. The allowable lead level was 25. Jim’s climbed from 38 to 55 in a matter of days, so they transferred him to a different project. No use. A week or so later, his levels remained at 55 and he was laid off. Being the positive guy he is, he said it was the universe making a decision for him. Now that he had no job, he was off to Mexico.

He had had a really rough year. At the start of it, he had sold his own house at the same time as buying another. His own house sale went fine, but the house he had bought had fallen through – the owner had opted to go with a bigger offer that came in at the last minute. Jim was effectively rendered homeless. He bought a trailer and moved it to a friend’s lake property, where he has lived since. His trailer’s heating system was starting to fail him around the same time the heavy metal issue was coming about, so he opted to leave everything and head out to warmer places. He had been travelling Mexico since December of 2022. 

With all this crap he had endured, he was constantly elated. He was the epitome of how looks can be deceiving. He looked homeless, but he had travelled the entire world – including a Monk meditation retreat in Thailand and a solo 7000 kilometer journey through India on a motorcycle. He came off as incredibly happy-go-lucky, but he had endured so much pain. 

He excitedly showed off his two jerry-rigged travel essentials to me. One was a portable little fan; the other, a small reading light. He bumbled with joy. 

Francisco came in and asked me if I wanted to have dinner again, so I wished Jim all the best and went off into town for some tacos. Francisco has the appetite of an anorexic-ant, so he decided that he wasn’t hungry enough for tacos. I persuaded him to get churros with me instead. 

Churros are genuinely what I come to Mexico for. They are so good. I’m convinced there’s some psychological component to them because I used to eat them as a small kid on trips to San Diego. 

We wandered until we found a churros stand in the town square and it didn’t disappoint. They were so good, in fact, that I ordered an extra portion.

On our walk, I asked Francisco how sunrise had been. He rolled his eyes with a coy chuckle and said he didn’t go. He said his alarm rang at 4, he woke up, thought about things for a while, and realized he didn’t want to go for his own sake. He said he realized he wanted to go only because that’s what all of his friends were saying he should do. He, himself, had no desire to trek to see a sunrise at 4am. He praised me for being self-aware enough to opt out of the sunrise trek well in advance. 

When we got back to the hostel, I finished helping a panicked Sandrina confirm her bookings and things. With that, it was time for bed.