Días del Flojo

The bus ride to Puerto Angel was hellish. The road twisted and turned endlessly, preventing any attempt to sleep. After eight hours, I arrived in Pochutla, where I had to take a further taxi to the wee tiny fishing village of Puerto Angel. My asshole taxi driver tried to get me to put my box in back and sit up front, possibly so that he could take off with my loot when I got out again. Fuck you, cabrón. I sat with my luggage.

I arrived in Puerto Angel (sleepier than advertised) and made my way to my hotel, La Posada Cañon Devata. When they say "canyon," they mean it: the hotel is actually a series of buildings scattered from the top of a ravine to the bottom. I was shown to a few rooms and then... El Cielo.

El Cielo is the highest building in the posada. That's the view; even better is that it was totally unoccupied, as this is the off-season. I had the entire place to myself. Ahh. Time to relax.

Except, no. I had to figure out how I was going to get back to Cuernavaca - I'd be damned if I was going to take that bus again. So I looked into getting a flight. A little pricey, but one sweet hour from Huatulco to the DF. I'll take it. Unfortunately, I had to pay in cash. As there are no ATMs in Puerto Angel, I had to go back to Pochutla, and then to the airport in Huatulco. Except the airport isn't in Huatulco, it's about twenty minutes west. Nobody told me this. Needless to say, I am now extremely familiar with the transportation system of southern Oaxaca.

Back in Puerto Angel, I crashed into a hammock until suppertime. I wound up in a beachside restaurant and ordered Hawaiian-style fish. It turns out that it was made foil-packet style (you Boy Scouts know what I'm talking about) and, for the first time during the entire vacation, I felt homesick. You see, the first meal that Andrea and I cooked together was foil-packet fish. Ahh, memories. I spent the rest of the night reminiscing from the rooftop terrace of El Cielo, looking out over the starlit bay.

I woke up early the next morning and went for a stroll on the beach. The fishermen were already coming back in for the day (it was still pretty early - nine or so), and one of them called me over to help pull his boat up on the shore (they're relatively small boats, maybe 20 feet long). It takes about six guys to move one. So I ended up spending forty minutes or so hauling boats up the beach and shooting the shit with the fishermen. They were probably thinking, "What a dumbass tourist! He's helping us for free!" but I was thinking, "Golly gee willikers! This is so neato!" I'm a sucker, I know.

Finally, I went swimming. The beach was peaceful, the water was cool, and for the first time in my life (that I can remember, anyway) I swam in the ocean. Tasted salt water. Decided that I have got to learn how to swim better, and how to scuba dive. When I got back to the hotel, my room was being cleaned, so I went to lay in my hammock.

That's when the blitzkrieg came. As I dozed, a couple of Germans came by, being shown around by the hostess. No big deal, I thought. I didn't realize that they were only the scouts - minutes later, the battalion showed up. My beloved El Cielo was under full assault by the Germans. I was outnumbered 11 to 1. No help was coming. Schiesse.

I tell ya, ever since the Germans failed to take over the world with their military, they've been doing their best to do it with tourists. So I went back down to swim again, ate the freshest tuna fish sandwich I had ever had for dinner, watched the sun set, and went to sleep. The next day, it was off to Huatulco, Mexico, and then good old Cuernavaca.