Budget,
Backpackers,
Surfers,
Beach Lovers,
Naturalist,
Hippie,
Sun and Sand worshipers,
Off the Beaten Path Paradise! Everyone is welcome at Zipolite!
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A little about Playa Zipolite, The Beach of the Dead . . .
Playa Zipolite, Oaxaca, Southern Mexico, on the Pacific Ocean. A little bit about my favorite little get-away on this small world of ours.
Zipolite, a sweaty 30-minute walk west from Puerto Angel, brings you to Playa Zipolite and another world. The feeling here is 1970's - Led Zep, Marley, and scruffy gringos.
A long, long time ago, Zipolite beach was usually visited by the Zapotecans...who made it a magical place. They came to visit Zipolite to meditate, or just to rest.
Recently, this beach has begun to receive day-trippers from Puerto Angel and Puerto Escondido, giving it a more TOURISTY feel than before.
Most people come here for the novelty of the nude beach, yoga, turtles, seafood, surf, meditation, vegetarians, discos, party, to get burnt by the sun, or to see how long they can stretch their skinny budget.
I post WWW Oaxaca, Mexico, Zipolite and areas nearby information. Also general budget, backpacker, surfer, off the beaten path, Mexico and beyond, information.
You all know why today's economy-class air travel is so lousy: Most travelers will put up with the worst comfort levels and service to knock a few bucks off the price. "You want cheap, we'll give you cheap" is the airlines' response. And the majority of travelers buy into it. Traditionally, if you wanted something better, you moved up to first class (domestic) or business class (intercontinental). But that next step up in comfort and service is a very big step: Domestic first class usually costs at least double the least expensive economy ticket, and intercontinental business class, with its flat-bed seats and elaborate cabin service, can easily top 10 times the economy price.
Clearly, however, some of you—a minority—are willing to pay a bit more for a bit more comfort and service. Many of the world's airlines recognize that potential market and have introduced in-between "premium economy" offerings. Actually airlines have taken two different approaches:
Big European, Asian, and South Pacific lines have opted for what I call "true" premium economy, with eight to 10 (even more on a few lines) extra inches of legroom, seats that are substantially wider, and (usually) improved cabin service, a no-charge checked bag, and other enhancements. Air Canada is the only North American airline to take this path, but the other giant lines have either gone for true premium economy or, as in the case of Emirates and a few others, opted not to offer any premium option at all.
The general standard for true premium economy is 38-inch seat row spacing, compared with typical 31–32 inches in regular economy. A few airlines do substantially better, at 46–48 inches on Norwegian, OpenSkies, and Turkish, and 41 inches on Air New Zealand's B777-300s and 787s. Seats are several inches wider than usual economy, too, at six-across in 767s; seven-across in 787s, A330/340s, and top-deck A380s; and eight-across in 747s and 777s.
My recent London round-trip on Norwegian was in premium economy. And it was a lot more comfortable than any line's ordinary economy. I actually slept reasonably well, and I didn't have to rub shoulders with anyone else.
Premium-economy pricing is inconsistent: For mid-March, for example, I found round-trip fares from New York to Paris for about $1,050 in regular economy and $1,400 in premium economy, not a huge difference. But from Los Angeles to London, premium fares of about $1,760 are close to double regular economy, at around $950. Premium fares from Los Angeles to Taipei or Tokyo were also about double economy.
So the question arises: Just who is apt to spend $800 to $1,000 for a better seat? Business travelers whose budget or company policy won't let them buy business-class tickets? Probably. Leisure travelers looking to avoid the miseries of long-haul economy flying? Maybe, but mainly when the price difference is small; I suspect not many are willing to pay double airfare for a better seat on a seven-hour flight.
Big U.S. airlines have opted for what I call "semi-premium" economy, with three to four additional inches of front-to-rear space, but with the same extremely narrow seats as regular economy. American, Delta, JetBlue, and United have installed several rows of extra-space seats, and Alaska and Hawaiian designate exit and bulkhead rows as extra space. Some lines offer a few extra perks and enhanced cabin service; others just give you more legroom. Among large overseas airlines, only KLM has adopted this approach. The extra cost is typically less than $100 for a domestic trip and a bit more on intercontinental trips. You get a little improvement for a little extra—a proposition more likely to attract leisure travelers.
My take is this: True premium economy is really a substantially better product than ordinary economy. If you have lots of money, go for it. Otherwise, look for routes and times when the price premium is low enough to make it worthwhile. And consider semi-premium economy just about any time.
Ed Perkins Seniors on the Go is copyright (c) 2014 Tribune Media Services, Inc.
“Happiness doesn't lie in conspicuous consumption and the relentless amassing of useless crap. Happiness lies in the person sitting beside you and your ability to talk to them. Happiness is clear-headed human interaction and empathy. Happiness is home. And home is not a house-home is a mythological conceit. It is a state of mind. A place of communion and unconditional love. It is where, when you cross its threshold, you finally feel at peace.” ― Dennis Lehane
2014 has been quite a year. It's been full of adventure both exciting and uncomfortable, utopian islands like Ibiza, stunning beaches in Portugal, living in Thailand during a military coup, and stunning sunrises in Nepal. I have seen things I never imagined I would, and learned how to enjoy my solitude while sometimes feeling the most alone I've ever felt in my life. I ate some of the best food I've ever eaten in my life, and some of the worst. I've slept ingorgeous suites in Bangkok and hovels in Nepal where a rat slept in the headboard of my bed. It's been a year of contrast.
Es Vedra At Sunset
It's been a year where I learned a lot about myself. It's been a year where I learned that as much as I love travel, I am much more a person that enjoys actually living in a foreign country as opposed to constantly traveling. I like waking up and knowing what country I am in. I like having an oven, a nicely equipped kitchen, and cooking my own meals. I like drinking out of the same coffee cup. I like feeling settled.
I like having friends that I know I will be with a year from now. I am tired of saying goodbye. I learned good friends are not easy to come by and shouldn't be taken for granted. I know that those who know how to hold my heart in their hands should be honored and cherished.
In late November, after being attacked by a dog in Bali, I realized I wanted to be surrounded by people I knew and loved. So, I decided to come back to Portland, Oregon where I had lived before I started this adventure. (By the way, thanks everyone for your well wishes. The dog bite has healed very nicely, and I am doing fine!)
While I was glad to be surrounded by people I knew and loved, something felt wrong. It no longer felt like home. Since leaving the US, I had changed. I was no longer in a rush, and didn't understand why everyone else had to be. I started seeing how many people struggled just to survive. Being here at Christmas time, amplified the the trap of consumerism that I've worked so hard to escape. The news and the media broadcast a message of fear. Being in America has made me feel nervous and sad and lost. I sadly realized I still hadn't made it home.
And so I asked myself, "Where would I go, if I could go anywhere? Anywhere in the world? " I realized that answer had been singing to me underneath my skin all along. It had been there when I often remembered dancing in the Sundayecstatic dances, when my memories faded to the smiles and laughter of the friends I made there. It was written in my half-smile when I would realize I was practicing the patience I had learned there and just wanted to slow down, when I remembered the Technicolor blue sky that took my breath away each day, when I thought of the tacos from my favorite taco truck, when I occasionally used a word of Spanish instead of Thai. San Miguel de Allende was where this love affair began. And I knew, that San Miguel was there waiting patiently for my return.
In February, I wrote a message to San Miguel, "It's not you, It's me." And it was me. I had written to the lovely colonial town that I was too young for it. And, at the time, I was. I still had wanderlust in my heart. Other places were calling to me. They had lessons to teach me. And, I learned. I learned in joyous ways, quiet ways, and I learned in hard ways. I also learned that experiences can be things we consume just as much as material items and that the most important thing is our connection to other people.
Walking Home
“Home is where somebody notices when you are no longer there. ” ― Aleksandar Hemon, The Lazarus Project
I want the joy I had in San Miguel of friends knocking on my door unannounced, of running into someone I know on the street and having them take the time to talk to me instead of rushing off. I want to sit next to the homeless woman again while she drinks coffee I just brought her. I want to sit on a park bench next to a stranger and have them look into my eyes when I talk to them.
Sitting in the Jardin-the gathering spot of San Miguel
I want to live a life where I awaken to hot air balloons in the bluest sky I've ever seen, and I have time to enjoy them. I want to be still. I want to notice. I want to stop chasing after the world. I want to let the world come to me.
I want to sit in that soft, golden light and feel how it warms me from the inside out. I want to go home. And, so I am. OnDecember 30, my new journey begins. I will go home. I will walk down San Miguel's cobblestone streets again. I will hear her church bells, her mariachi bands, her fireworks. I will listen to her welcome me home in the language that I love and know.
“She might be without country, without nation, but inside her there was still a being that could exist and be free, that could simply say I am without adding a this, or a that, without saying I am Indian, Guyanese, English, or anything else in the world.” ― Sharon Maas, Of Marriageable Age
If you don't know what a caguama is, let me help you out:
It's a species of sea turtle. And since we're on the subject of creatures that live in the water, let's talk about one more, a ballena.
Yep, a ballena is a whale.
Yeah, I know, you're thinking, "Rodney, where are you going with this?". OK, vamos al grano (Let's get to the point).
A caguama in Mexico is not just a sea turtle:
A caguama is any brand (marca) of beer that comes in a botella (bottle) of roughly 900-1000ml, or 33oz. Carta Blanca is just one brand of beer that sells caguamas, but there are others. Here are a couple of corcholatas (bottle caps) from Sol and Tecate.
If you're thinking "that's a lot of beer", well, you're right. If you're thinking "well that's a good start", then you'll be happy to know that there's something bigger than a caguama, which is a caguamón.
A caguamón has roughly 1200ml, which hopefully is enough to quench your thirst. Let's put the difference between a caguamaand caguamón in perspective.
Wow. That's a lot of beer. I'm pretty sure most people know the word for beer in Spanish is cerveza, but in Mexican Spanish you have a few other ways to refer to a cerveza.
Vamos por unos chelas Let's go get some beers
¿Qué me toca pagar las chelas? What do you mean it's my turn to pay for the beers?
There's also the word cheve.
Vamanos a echarnos unas cheves Let's go have some beers
This next one is universal.
Quiero una fría I want a cold one
Know any colloquial words for beer? Share them in the comments.
We're almost done, the only thing we have left to talk about is the word ballena.
A ballena, aside from being a whale, is just another name for a caguama when it comes to beer. And a ballenón is the same as acaguamón.
And again, let's put things in perspective.
By the way, we still have to cover the title of this entrada (post).
¿Pichas las caguamas?
Pichas comes from the verb pichar, which means to treat or to pay for. With that in mind, let's translate our phrase.
¿Pichas las caguamas? Are you buying the beers?
Regarding the verb pichar, I need to leave you with a word of warning. It can have more then one meaning among Spanish speakers. You can read about it's meanings at Así Hablamos. Remember, know your audience.
Whew, that's finally it. I'll leave you with one last thing, a video of what I think is is a pretty impressive feat. Personally, it would take me a week or more to finish a caguama, much less a caguamón. This gentleman puts it away all at once. And on top of that he does it with no hands.
Staying in a dorm room with strangers can be a whole lot of fun, although it does come with challenges – cacophonous snoring, intimate smooching and offensive odours. Here are some handy tips to make your hostelling experience all the better.
Pin this image'Shall we flip a coin to decide who sleeps on these moss-covered rocks?' Compromise is key to getting along with your fellow hostellers. Image by Jupiterimages / Getty Images
Don’t treat shared bathrooms like a spa
Picture the scene. After standing in the corridor for over 15 minutes waiting to use one of the hostel’s only two showers, another four people have joined the queue. The feisty hosteller in front of you is banging on the shower door. After what seems like an eternity, someone steps out of the cubicle amid billowing hot steam. But when you step in and switch the shower on, the water is barely a trickle. Somehow, gingerly splashing your nether regions with chilly water wasn’t the deep cleanse you were hoping for.
Pro tip: shower outside the rush hours of early mornings and late evenings to avoid queuing. If you’re guilty of long indulgent soaks, try to remember your equally sweaty and smelly bunkmates need a shower too.
Don’t be the late-night rustler
A rustling sound breaks the silence that has finally descended on your dorm room. Your bunkmate has leaped off the bed above you and is performing a series of packing rituals at the ungodly hour of 4am. One by one, he sorts his trainers, shoes and sandals into colour-coded plastic bags. Only when he finally leaves for his early-morning train does quiet return… that is, until a soundtrack of snoring erupts from the opposite side of the room.
Pro tip: when it comes to other people’s nocturnal noise, earplugs can be a great defence. If you’re noisy yourself, spare your roommates by packing the night before an early start, and use a backpack with a side-zip to access your stuff (it cuts down the rummaging). And if you’re known for breathing a tad heavily, try to doze off in your less snore-prone position.
Pin this imageSure you can keep your rucksack and flammable clothing right next to the lamp, it's not like there aren't clearly marked fire exits... oh. Image by Gabe Rogel / Aurora / Getty Images
Think before you hit the light switch
You’re just about to drift off to sleep when the dorm room light comes on. With a single flick of a switch, your new hostel friends just became foes. Hostels are packed with jet lagged and exhausted travellers, so light switch wars are a common source of tension. If you find yourself in the crossfire, try to win over your roommates by staying positive and friendly. If negotiation and common courtesy fail, try and see the humour in the situation – you’ll be telling the story of your jerk roommates for weeks after your trip.
Pro tip: need to navigate back to your bunk after lights-out? Use your phone as a torch, or download a torch app (just don’t flash it in your roommates’ faces). And if you’re the one blinded by the lights, consider packing a pair of eyeshades.
An unfamiliar sound wakes you, followed by heavy panting – a couple in the bunk next to yours have had a caipirinha too many. They are shushing each other, she lets out a little giggle, and a full re-enactment of R Kelly’s Bump n’ Grind is unfolding. When travellers are on the road for a while, sparks inevitably fly. But there are better venues for romance (a capsule hotel or behind a sand dune?)
Pro tip: guilty of a little dorm room romance? No matter how quiet you think you are, you can bet your life your roommates are reaching for the popcorn. Keep it classy and find a different location. If it’s your bunkmates dancing the horizontal tango, see the next section for ways to decelerate their romance.
Lay off the beans
A powerful odour wafts through the dorm. A thunderous fart has awoken the entire room. While the other travellers shift uneasily under their sheets, you’re left wondering whether to stay put, leap for the door or start lighting matches. And you push from your mind the awful possibility that you might be the culprit...
Pro tip: we’re all human. But in close quarters an ‘excuse me’ goes a long way, as does quarantining yourself in a bathroom stall if you’ve had an especially heavy night on the refried beans. If you’re the victim, some passive-aggressive spraying of aerosol deodorant should make your point.
You’re happily packing away when a furry shape pops into your field of vision: a stray wombat, or the elusive yeti? No, just your roommate strolling around butt naked. Seeing an exceptionally hirsute backside on the bunk below me first thing in the morning wasn’t the best way to start my day when I shared a room with a nudist in an Australian hostel, and some tact is often required to ask them not to leave it all hanging out.
Pro tip: wanting to ‘get back to nature’ doesn’t equate to nudity, whether you’re male or female, average-looking or a love-god. Be sensitive that your neighbours might have differing comfort levels when it comes to big ol’ naked you – and don’t be shy about offering your exhibitionist bunkmates a towel.
Don’t be the guy with the phone
A loud ringtone breaks the early evening chatter, sending a wave of eye-rolling around the room. Your roommate frantically rummages in his backpack. The ring tone reaches a crescendo of vibrations and tinny Nokia beeps. He eventually retrieves it and lies back on his bed, squealing down the phone in excitement to his family back home.
Pro tip: leave your phone on vibrate, especially in the evenings. And if you’re going to answer, take it outside. It may be important to you, but no one else wants their socialising (or sleep) interrupted by what uncle Max has to tell you from back home.
Your roommate is munching on her fifth pack of crisps as she lies on her bed, headphones in ears, bathrobe loosely wrapped around her. A gentle snow of crumbs drifts downwards as she dusts off her hands, descends from the bunk, and nimbly leaps over the heap of towels, travel guides and headphone cables that she’s dumped on the floor. Those lessons about tidiness you ignored while growing up? They’re coming back to haunt you.
Pro tip: in-room lockers are a godsend when it comes to stashing your gear safely in one place – use them, and nudge any slovenly roommates in their direction. If that fails, commenting loudly on how you’ve always wanted a pair of those expensive headphones is a good way to get your roommates to stow their gear out of sight.
Don’t lounge with laundry
The crisp-muncher is back, and this time she’s got laundry. She hangs her just-washed trekking gear around the dorm room, looping bras around bedposts and stringing her socks over the windowsill. As if that musty smell wasn’t enough, a pair of damp knickers has just fallen onto your pillow. Perfect.
Pro tip: most hostels have drying rooms where guests are encouraged to hang their wet clothes. Don’t be shy to remind your roomies if their smalls are decorating your bunk. If the drying racks are full, it’s a nice gesture to fold other people’s clothes (instead of tossing them to the side) before hanging yours up.
You’ve just got back from a long trek in the Peruvian Andes and you’re itching (literally) for a shower. You grab your shampoo, reach for your towel – and your hand brushes thin air. Someone has taken your one and only towel. While borrowing someone’s belongings is fine if you have their consent, taking them altogether is quite another.
Pro tip: your moral compass knows the difference between using a squirt of someone’s shampoo in moments of desperate need, and taking an item that isn’t yours (side note: that towel has likely rubbed areas you would otherwise not go anywhere near). If you need to borrow, ask. And try to keep your own essentials out of sight.
