After an early breakfast , we met our driver just outside the hotel office. He told us his name was Job though he pronounced it closer to the English word for work than the English name of the hero of the depressing Hebrew poem. Job spoke some English, and were it possible to measure these things, I think my Spanish and his English would be about equal. He took us by the office so I could pay for the trip on my visa.
The road from Escondido to Huatulco is a bit better than when we took it twenty five years ago, but not much. Parts of it are now what the British call “dual carriageway,” but it still runs through many small towns along the way, each of whom seems to have put up those nearly lethal speed bumps called “topes”. While Puerto Escondido has grown tremendously, it is still a relatively small city and we were out in the country in a few minutes. There is some agriculture around here, but much of the land is still rather undeveloped. We crossed several rivers. These only had a moderate flow of water, but each looked like they could be torrents during the summer rainy season. We are about a month into the dry season, and many of the trees were starting to shed leaves in preparation for more dry months.
We came to our first stop after about forty five minutes. It was a place called Ventanilla, or “Little Window.” The name comes from a rock formation on the beach there. A small bridge of stone connects two larger parts of the formation creating a “little window” in the rock.
However, tourists do not come here to gawk at a rock formation. They come instead of look at the mangrove swamp and the animals who live there, especially the crocodiles. Job showed me to a small stall where I bought two tickets for the modest sum of 180 pesos. We were joined on our trip by a man probably in his mid-forties. I wish I had written down his name. He was from Mexico City, but worked extensively abroad as a sustainability consultant. His English was nearly perfect. Our guide here was a local man wearing a red shirt. He explained to us in Spanish that there were two groups of guides here. The guides wearing white shirts — the “blancos” — were older and not much concerned about the environment or habitat restoration. They brought tourists to a small island where they could see all the local animals in cages. The guides wearing red shirts — the “rojos” — were younger and environmentally aware. We are all glad that we were with the reds.
Just as we were starting to get in the boat, we saw our first crocodile.
In the United States we are accustomed to seeing alligators and we tend to think of crocodiles as living in Africa or Asia. But there are some crocodiles living in the even in the south of Florida and they are found all over Central America. They’re bigger, more aggressive, and had a far more potent bite.
This Ventanilla lagoon is typical of the mangrove swamps that used to cover much of the tropics. Until recently, their environmental significance — and the way that they can protect the land from flooding and storm surges — was not well understood and most of them were destroyed for inappropriate coastal development. So those that remain, like this one, need to be preserved. The “rojos” understand this. This area was directly hit by Hurricane Carlotta in 2012. Most of the mature forest here was destroyed, including much of the mangroves. The “rojos" have been using social media to attract attention to this, and each year volunteers from around the world join the locals to clean out dead wood and replant mangroves and other trees.
We saw lots of iguanas as we paddles through the lagoon. These creatures are about as shy as squirrels, and are quite happy to be fed by humans. They also have no fear of cameras and I swear they like to pose for pictures.
The smaller green ones are female. The larger orange ones are male. A male typically has a group of ten or so females. They need to have a large number of young as crocodiles think that iguanas are quite tasty. Some people do as well, and even though iguana hunting is officially prohibited, our guide admitted that in some towns you can find iguana tacos on the menu.
We also saw different kinds of turtles,
lots of birds,
and lovely flowers, too.
I could have spend even longer in the lagoon, about after about forty-five minutes it was time to do. I gave our guide a contribution for the preservation of this special place and its wonderful creatures.
Job continued our tour down the coast. Our next stop was the town of Mazunte. The Centro Mexicano de la Tortuga, the National Mexican Turtle Center, is located here. This is another example of the rising environmental consciousness in Mexico. Not only are all the different types of turtles found in Mexico and Central America displayed here, but they have a programs for rescuing and breeding endangered turtles. It was hard to get good pictures here because of the glass walls used to protect the animals. But I did manage a couple shots without too much reflection.
The next stop was Playa Zipolite, a place where the calendar seems to still show 1968 as the year. This is still a haven those who think that tie dye is the highest art form and that nothing smells as good as marijuana and patchouli. Most of the accommodation here is pretty cheap and basic, just hammocks under palapa roofs.
The restaurant scene is unusual for Mexico, too.
Playa Zipolite is also the only beach in Mexico where nudity is more or less tolerated. Given some of the people we saw walking around without clothes — all American or European — it probably shouldn’t be.
John took a quick dip in the water here, too, though I will let you speculate about his attire.
Our final stop, before we continued on into Huatulco, was Puerto Angel. This is a more family-oriented Mexican beach resort. It is almost completely protected by rocks from the ocean, and the water here is as calm as a pool. There are two beaches, the larger Playa Principal and the small Playa del Panteón, or Graveyard Beach. The latter is named for the picturesque cemetery that overlooks the beach.
We had lunch not far from these graves. Job had called ahead and they had a table waiting for us on the sand. We had a nice lunch of fish fillet cooked in garlic sauce and ceviche. Both the beach and the water were crowded with Mexican families enjoying the holiday and the warm water. I think we were the only Americans around. From where we sat, we had a good view of the cross that guards the harbor.
I wondered if the cross is there now to protect Puerto Angel from the morals of Playa Zipolite….
As we waited for our food, John amused himself by observing the our fellow tourists on the beach,
in the water,
and at an adjoining table.
After lunch, we continued on into Huatulco. When we were here twenty-five years ago, the big resorts were still under construction. Today they are all finish … and starting to age. The whole place looks very 1990. This the the Camino Real where we are staying. I think the architect was trying to create some kind of fusion between Brutalism and the Greek islands. It does not work.
Check in took longer than it should. We were given room 125 which is on the third floor. There was no elevator. We were supposed to have a room with a “private pool” and this one did not have that. But before I complained I observed that the rooms with a “private pool,” sort of an outside bathtub, hard compromised views. Our room had a spectacular view. But that was all that was wonderful about it. We were stunned by how rundown it seemed.
The walls needed painting and some of the woodwork was peeling.
A ceiling fan looked like it might fall down if we used it.
The place reeked of some kind of air freshener. I wondered if someone had smoked in the room and they were trying to cover up the smell. When we considered how much we had paid for this for one night, I could only console myself by thinking about how vicious my TripAdvisor review would be.
Still as I sat on the balcony thinking about how much I had paid instead of how stunning the view was, I did somehow manage to notice this rather pretty bird sitting quietly in a nearby tree.
We walked around the place and went down to the beach. I was expecting that Huatulco would be all Americans and Canadians, but almost all the guests here were Mexican nationals. There were lots of families. I wondered if these kinds of resorts were the places where upper-middle class Mexicans felt that their kids were safe from the violence and crime that plagues so much of Mexico today.
They cannot have been there for the food. The main restaurant features the typical resort all-you-can-eat buffet. But this was one of the worst examples of that I have ever seen. This was “International Night” and apparently “international” is defined as Italian. Pizza was featured. They seemed to have a pizza oven outside, but as soon as the pizza was done they had cut it into pieces and put it on a steam table. It was utterly inedible.
John went online — I should mention that the internet connection was probably the worst we have experienced in Mexico — looking for a tour of the various bays by boat. Everything was not only expensive but sold out. So he had the inspiration to call Job and ask him if he could arrange something. Before long, we had a call from Juan, Job’s friend who lives down here, who had a cousin with a boat. Juan came by and we gave him a deposit and made plans to be ready tomorrow by eight.
I hope that this tour redeems our decision to spend the night here. This hotel has certainly been a bust.
