THE NEW YORK TIMES
The last countercultural coast of Mexico
By Freda MoonFebruary 8, 2020
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On a wild stretch of the Pacific coast, Costa Chica attracts artists, architects, surfers, yogis and "naughty friends." (The New York Times)
After getting off the plane in Puerto Escondido, on the Pacific coast in Oaxaca, I filled my lungs with dense and tropical air. After spending three days on the heights of the capital of Mexico, inhaling the penetrating smell of the sea and the wet vegetation was like resurrecting. I got into an "authorized" taxi and headed northwest from the airport, going through papaya crops and low hills full of rocks. The landscape was bright green and pale yellow with touches of fuchsia and fire-colored bougainvillea, while in California, where I live, that ornamental plant is in pots, here it grows to the size of an apple tree.
There were delays: a young man on horseback struggling with a white ox and a group of road workers who, with machetes, waged an endless war against the invading jungle. Finally, we left the highway and entered a narrow dirt road flanked by a fence of branches and barbed wire, in addition to the tall grass that surrounded the windows, as if we had entered a dusty carwash. With each vehicle that passed in the opposite direction, the taxi driver played the game of the slowest hen in the world.
My plan was to spend the next five days walking from one beach to another along the Costa Chica, which stretches from the neighboring state of Guerrero to approximately half of the Oaxaca coast. My family has visited the Costa Chica, which is famous for its extreme surfing, since before my birth. I have often wondered if the murderous waves that initially attracted my dad and my uncles - but that they turn the water too treacherous to visit the beach by chance - have saved this area from unbridled development in the style of Cancun, which has been the destination of many of the most beautiful coastal places in Mexico. Instead, the Costa Chica has developed slowly and organically over the decades. Its economy, based long ago on agriculture and subsistence fishing, It now includes a modest tourism industry. It is relatively difficult to reach this area (there are no direct international flights), but that - like all the peculiarities of the area - ends up being a strength instead of a weakness. The outsiders who end up on this stretch of the Pacific coast are here for a reason. Beyond its bohemian surf cities, the evolving culture of the coast includes world-class art and architecture at Casa Wabi, a space for modernist artists and an exhibition venue designed by the award-winning architect Pritzker Tadao Ando, among others ; a small but notable gay community in the city of Zipolite; and the followers of the New Age and the yogis of Mazunte. but that - like all the peculiarities of the area - ends up being a strength instead of a weakness. The outsiders who end up on this stretch of the Pacific coast are here for a reason. Beyond its bohemian surf cities, the evolving culture of the coast includes world-class art and architecture at Casa Wabi, a space for modernist artists and an exhibition venue designed by the award-winning architect Pritzker Tadao Ando, among others ; a small but notable gay community in the city of Zipolite; and the followers of the New Age and the yogis of Mazunte. but that - like all the peculiarities of the area - ends up being a strength instead of a weakness. The outsiders who end up on this stretch of the Pacific coast are here for a reason. Beyond its bohemian surf cities, the evolving culture of the coast includes world-class art and architecture at Casa Wabi, a space for modernist artists and an exhibition venue designed by the award-winning architect Pritzker Tadao Ando, among others ; a small but notable gay community in the city of Zipolite; and the followers of the New Age and the yogis of Mazunte. The evolving culture of the coast includes world-class art and architecture at Casa Wabi, a space for modernist artists and an exhibition venue designed by the Pritzker Tadao Ando award-winning architect, among others; a small but notable gay community in the city of Zipolite; and the followers of the New Age and the yogis of Mazunte. The evolving culture of the coast includes world-class art and architecture at Casa Wabi, a space for modernist artists and an exhibition venue designed by the Pritzker Tadao Ando award-winning architect, among others; a small but notable gay community in the city of Zipolite; and the followers of the New Age and the yogis of Mazunte.
Arriving at Tiny House
By the time we passed by Casa Wabi, founded by Bosco Sodi, one of the most celebrated contemporary artists in Mexico, I was very hungry. Between Wabi and Hotel Escondido, the glamorous $ 325 boutique hotel the night next door, I assumed there would be somewhere, anywhere, to eat near there. A palapa-style seafood shack facing the sea, a simple shop ... something. Apparently I was wrong.
The road reached a sandy point with no exit and the driver pointed to a wooden gate integrated into a wall of tropical dry forest. There, but not in sight, was my accommodation that night, a small cabin with which I had dreamed awake for almost a year before, when I wrote a profile about the architect who designed it Aranza de Ariño, who lives in Ciudad de Mexico. It was the first major project of Ariño (who at that time had just graduated); the photographs of the simple structure, which is available on Airbnb, had been recorded in my mind.
It was just me and the cottage inspired by Henry David Thoreau (there were "Walden" books in several languages on a shelf). I admired the contrast of textures created by the smooth concrete and the cobbled floors, the basket of indispensable rustic products (repellent incense, a portable horn, a deck of cards, candles and matches), the bulky clay utensils and the rusty stove with two burners A long concrete table was the focal point of the cabin; On it was a decorative bowl of apples, cucumbers, green oranges and some mottled bananas. I opened the frigobar. It was empty. That confirmed my fear: I would have to eat fruit for the next 24 hours.
Casa Tiny was as minimalist as promised, a magical escape from things (cell phone service, internet, distractions) that suddenly alarmed me not to have.
The hottest part of the day was approaching, a bad time for a walk. But I was hungry and needed to know what I had gotten myself into. I took a shortcut to the ocean along a deteriorated path through a cactus field. The beach was long and wild. At one end there was a rock wall sculpted as if it were a monument of nature in honor of itself; on the other, the sand seemed to extend to the horizon. Burning, he slipped into my sandals and punished my feet.
Finally, I arrived at Hotel Escondido, sweaty, thirsty and overwhelmed by the frenzy around me. The hotel, which had been reserved for a wedding, was closed to the public. They told me that the event would be one of the “biggest they have ever had”. However, recognizing that I was in trouble, the hotel manager invited me in. I found a cool space under a fan, ordered a pina colada and some takeaway food.
While preparing my marlin ceviche with guacamole and grasshoppers, I went out to take my first look at Casa Wabi, next to it. I had missed the only opening to the public of the day. But with a wink, the staff at Hotel Escondido encouraged me to go anyway.
In a hole near the complex, I entered shyly. After reading about Wabi's design, I expected to find a museum, a gallery, a colorful institution. But instead, I found an outdoor ceramic workshop surrounded by dense foliage, outdoor tables, half-finished projects and a large oven. I went through a maze of carved brambles with winding paths of my size. Here and there, structures rose above the sea of weeds: an elegant half-built brick tower, an abstract mud pavilion, and a long black rectangular building that looked like a modernist museum. However, when I approached, I noticed the shelves that went from floor to ceiling and white birds. He was a chicken coop. At that moment I understood that that wasWabi house. All that. It was not a single structure, but an idea of how art can and should work in the world.
Next stop: surf city
Although the enclave of Casa Wabi is a surprising mix of cosmopolitan and casual qualities, my next stop, Brisas de Zicatela, is a bohemian and hectic surf town. After a 40-minute trip, they left me in La Punta - as the locals say to this area, just south of Puerto Escondido - where is the Hostal Frutas y Verduras, a backpacker accommodation painted with bright colors where I had booked A modest room with a shared bathroom for 500 pesos (about $ 27) a night.
After my time alone at Casa Tiny, the surroundings of La Punta was a cultural shock. An international crowd of beautiful people wore the unofficial beach uniform: the women wore ultra-short denim shorts and blonde dreadlocks, and the barefoot muscular young men had chongos and arms full of tattoos.
Everyone seemed to be accompanied - from a friend, a lover or a future lover - and the music rumbled constantly, as if he had come to an endless party. I longed to be back at Tiny House.
Over the next two days, I rested under a palm umbrella on the party beach while watching people. I drank a mezcal cocktail at a beach bar, sitting on swings instead of benches, where my feet touched the sand. I ate in a palapa roof restaurant run by a lovely couple of Argentines, while I watched them carry babies, and drink wine and mate when socializing with friends. I saw surfers without a board, who were dragged by the waves that broke on the shore, but I did not dare to do so. Not there. Instead, he walked and watched, and then walked and watched a little more.
Despite my aversion to tourist tours, I signed up for an afternoon trip to the bioluminescent lagoon of Manialtepec. For 350 pesos (about 17 dollars), along with five other travelers, they took me by car to the lagoon, where they introduced us to our captain and his crew, a father and his son, in the age of going to primary school. They pushed the little panga through a tangle of tangled ropes to take it to the narrow dock. The water was crystal clear, and the air, almost at eight o'clock at night, was warm and still. I felt relaxed by the mezcal I had after dinner and the excitement of an uncomplicated adventure.
I had been warned that the Moon, one day after being full, could eliminate bioluminescence. However, when the captain told us to put our hands in the water next to the boat, light trails were painted in the middle of the warm, black and still water while thousands of small aquatic organisms defended themselves with light. When we stopped, I took off my dress and dived. With the movement of my arms and legs, the water became blue and gray as it came to life.
In Zipolite: 'Welcome to those who misbehave'
The next day, I shared a taxi with German backpackers who got off in the small Japanese city of Mazunte before letting me continue to Casa Sol Zipolite, a boutique hotel of the founders of Red Tree House, in Mexico City, one of my places favorites during the time when he had no children. For years I had been a fan of the couple responsible for the hotel, Craig and Jorge, so when they bought a former nudist complex on this remote stretch of the Oaxaca coast, I was curious.
Zipolite is known for its openly nudist beach, one of the few in Mexico, and the week I arrived was a particularly entertaining time for a first visit. A convention of swinger couples - mostly older Americans - had reached the small town. The hotel next door had a sign in front that said: "Welcome to those who misbehave", a phrase that became a recurring joke among the boys of Casa Sol.
Every night, Ernesto, the right hand of Craig and Jorge, and the soul of Casa Sol, organize a happy hour for the guests, who gather to enjoy the daisies and the conversation. During my stay, the place - which is often reserved from a year earlier - was extraordinarily quiet. It was just me and two couples. After a few drinks, I joined one of them, Renée and Matt, from Vancouver. They, who were about my age, offered to guide me from the dark elevation of the hillside where Casa Sol was located.
I did what Ernesto advised me and I got into a taxi that took me to La Pizzería in Mazunte. The area around Zipolite is full of Italian restaurants, so, with the philosophy of “if you can't against them, join them”, I found a table available outside next to a burning pizza oven and under a series of lights. The site seemed to be run almost entirely by minors, including a teenager in front of the kitchen, who kneaded the dough with an empty bottle of Corona beer and baked beautifully Neapolitan-style pizzas. A boy who did not seem to be over 14 years old was the only waiter in the pizzeria and attended the tables like an experienced professional.
At the long table next door, there was a group that, as I imagined, was foreign exchange students who were on vacation. I had a conversation with a young Londoner. He was there to solve a trauma, he said. He was surely a guest of one of several spiritual and healing centers in the area. He mentioned that there would be a "play" in a bar just around the corner, and he invited me to go. I had already drunk enough wine to accept.
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