Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Dark Tales from Sexyport

I wake late to the sound of the Pacific Ocean, if I listen more intently I can hear the bird song and maybe a lazy cockeral. From my hut I can see over the palm trees to the breakers only yards away. The sun is already climbing in the east, it looks like a perfect day, it´s always a perfect day. You might think it to be some kind of earthly paradise.... But this paradise hides a dark secret.

I get ahead of myself though, there is so much else to say. Well not really as we´ve been remarkabley lazy on this trip. For those who read the last report I did survive the toxic shaving foam incident although my ability to speak Spanish seems to have been severely affected. Oaxaca seemed fairly relaxing without the terrors on the streets. It´s colonial centre is busy but always worth a wander especially for the pleasure of the sumptuously decorated Santa Domingo church. We landed on our feet with our second hotel there, it was so close to the action that you could be watching VH1´s obscure hits of the 80´s in the room and two minutes later be drinking mezcal (similar to tequilla) in the main plaza. Unfortunately my sickly companion was unable to enjoy the culinary delights of Oaxaca, particularly the mole (not a blind, furry mammal but type of sauce) until the final night where we dined on delicious steak in the market and I amazed a whole family of Mexicans by crying tears of joy at the hotness of the salsa.

Our three days in Puerto Escondido saw even less attempts to actually do anything (just eating and frisbee on the beach). Our hotel was run by a couple who´d clearly done one too many drugs and therefore spoke very slowly. They weren´t however slow to leave a note in our room complaining when we accidently left the fan on. The only event of note that took place during our stay was that sometime on the late afternoon of the second day James spotted a cloud.

And so to Zipoliti, or as the Rough Guide memorably calls it, ¨Sexyport¨. It sounded like the ideal place for a bit of sun, sea and surf. If only we´d read the write up a little more carefully. Descriptions of yoga retreats and worse may have been enough to make us reconsider. But so it was yesterday that we surprised our Escondido hosts by ordering a taxi all the way to Zipoliti (a one and a half hour journey). This was not what backpackers do (a couple of local bus journeys followed by an ancient converted pickup truck being the prefered form of transport) and I´m sure they lost what little respect they had left for us. It all went incredibly smoothly and soon we were ensconced in our delightful beach hut at Lo Cosmico (maybe the name should have been a warning). Self congratulation was in the air, we´d done amazingly well to pick up such a fine place right on the beach at a good price. All that was left was to explore our new kingdom. We had barely emerged on the beach when I saw one. I wasn´t sure but a second glance confirmed it. Then another squatting behind a rock and a third lying spreadeagled on the sand. All my worst nightmares had come true, we were living next to an enclave of naked hippies. In theory they were confined to an area behind some rocks at the western end of the beach (by cruel misfortune this was our end of the beach). But often one would escape. A leatherly middle aged individual would wander slowly along the shore like a lost pyschiatric patient but tragically there were no white coated doctors to drag him back to where he belonged. One particular bearded speciman took to standing in grand actorly pose, legs three feet apart, wearing nothing but a straw hat. When we saw him approaching we knew it was best to lie low for a couple of hours. Frisbee in this situation was a true test of nerve. I had previously thought that having to apologise in Spanish to the large number of innocents that James managed to hit on head with the plastic disc was trying. However the huge stress involved in playing fisbee amongst the nudists made this a whole new ball game (so to speak). One misplaced throw (James was erratic at best) and sights never meant for mortal eyes could be unleashed. It was like a particularly disturbing game of Russian roullette.

The final, terrible chapter came today. I awoke late, as is my habit, to find James had gone. But no sooner had I realised this when I heard a scrabbling at the door. It sounded like a paniced hamster but was infact my travel companion. I have read alot of nineteenth century horror fiction and there is usually a moment when one of the protaginists witnesses some event of unspeakable horror. If you want a description of James at this moment then I suggest you visit your local library (if you still have one) and borrow one of these minor classics. Suffice to say his appearance was enough to make my blood run cold. I struggled to understand what he was saying (mainly because of a large amount of wax and seawater in my ears) but I was eventually able to make sense of the simple but terrible words he was uttering. ¨Naked yoga¨, he kept repeating, ¨Naked yoga¨....


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