Suffering Two Ways: Hot and Cold

Gorgeous beach of Zipolite, sunrise, naked people not shown.

Yesterday I rode east from Zipolite to the town of Hualtuco. (Kathy took a van part of the way, uninterested in riding in blistering heat and endless hills; I love riding alone though) I woke at 6am to leave early so as to ride less in the gory heat. By 6:30, a gentle glow from the sun had illuminated the ocean and the sky. I rode through the little beach towns before any shops had opened. Children were dotted along the road, waiting for school buses, I assumed. Or school taxis, as I'll see these little white and maroon taxis drive by, packed with children in matching uniforms. A woman walks along, a plastic bowl of tortilla dough on her head. A man rides a bicycle barefoot, carrying a machete. Most people return my greeting of "buenas" with a nod or an "hola". Unlike Southeast Asia, where I was stared at ceaselessly and with zero decorum, the people of Mexico only give me a little look as I pass on my bicycle. Very occasionally a wave.

It's stupid hot here on the coast. 

I rode as far as I could in the softer morning light, and then got hungry. Comedors (simple roadside eateries) sit in bunches: you'll go miles with nothing, and then see five at once. I stopped at the first one (does she get more business?, or less, because of her situation?). I had a very classic breakfast, beans, scrambled eggs, tortillas, salsa. I must have been hungry, because I ate almost the entire stack of tortillas. 

Tortillas are usually made at every establishment, while you wait. Somehow these ones here, by the stout expressionless woman, were the best I'd ever had. They were stretchy, and emanated the hot dry heat still from the fire on which they were cooked. I pulled off strips, enjoying the stretchiness of them. 

Hueves revueltos, homemade beans, bouncy tortillas

I mustered my Spanish, this goofy looking gringa who-looks-like-two-boys, and told her, "su tortillas son mejor del mundo." (Your tortillas are the best in the world) Then a wonderful thing happened: she cracked a smile, her hands covered in corn flour, and she took my 45 pesos ($2.25 USD). 

Unlike Colombians--who greeted me at their shops and restaurants with outpouring of warmth, "what would you like my love?", "how are you chica?", "Can I help you, mi corazon?"--Mexicans I've found to be very reserved, but polite. It is a no-frills "good day", or simply "diga mi" (tell me [what you'd like]). But helpful and generous, often unwilling to take the money I offer in exchange for a water bottle filling. 

It is uninteresting to write of the times I had at the beach town Zipolite; pure pleasure does not make for good stories. Eating roasted shrimps, bouncing like a child in the waves, people-watching the many European tourists, walking along the sand and meditating about the waves of pleasure and suffering coming and going. 

The only point of interest is that Zipolite is Mexico's single nude beach, which I did not register until, while gazing upon the teal waters, a fat naked man crossed through my view. 

Zipolite was packed with uber-tanned tourists, the sort of browned hale men with grey ponytails you imagine come every year to this beach from Italy or Spain. We also met many Canadians. In tourist areas, the locals see us as purely business, and seem more curt or pushy than in the off-the-path villages. But touristy places are touristy for a reason: they are indeed beautiful and have good Italian seafood, also.

I had my last warm night for months, for we left beautiful beach land and packed ourselves into a night bus the distance to the neighboring province of Chiapas, the high elevated town of San Cristobal. I wish I could move everywhere with my own quads, but there is simply not enough time if I want to retain my dear job at Cornell. 

Ready to board the shiny bus at the shiny station

My only possessions here. Everyone has been exclaiming how light I pack. I saw this fact when I disrobed my bicycle for its bus loading, my bags laid before me. 

The bus was large and bright, with seats that reclined, and they loaded our bikes underneath for no extra cost. It left smartly at 9:20pm, like our tickets said. A bus leaving on time in Latin America, what?! We had seats right in the front, and the driver's cumbia music filtered through my earplugs. It was a blizzard of air-conditioning and I was wearing all my clothes, with my scarf draped over me as an insufficient blanket. Stretching out meant too much surface area exposed for cold, so I curled into a tight ball. My left calf became numb against the armrest; my body threatened to slip off the seat, so I tried to prop myself by my foot. I woke up to roll over to the right; I woke up to hear the cumbia music; I woke up to feel the bus climbing up the crimped pasta-like roads. I was so cold. The best position was facing backwards against my seat, packed into a knot. 

I woke properly, finally, to encounter the sunrise over a stretch of misty mountains and we were soon deposited in the city of San Cristobal. 

The blizzard of the bus was comparative warmth to the bleak sharply cold morning climate of San Cristobal. Kathy and I shivered our way through town, hands numb, looking for a coffee shop that was open. It was so cold my coiling bicycle lock was stiff and recalcitrant. Who wants to be out at 8am when it's 40 degrees? Not this town. We finally found a coffee shop, with the ambience of a paper bag, wifi not working and silent (I actually miss the constant music of Colombia, playing at every opportunity). A few grey lights illuminated the stretch of empty tables, a solo barista tapped at her phone, but the bathroom had soap. I watched a man and a woman leaning towards each other over coffees, hushed voices, he was talking in a pleading way. A secret morning rendezvous? It is not at all uncommon for men to have a wife and a girlfriend. 

I had a latte. Then I had a hot chocolate. I cradled both and relished the feeling returning to my hands. 

Cold and pathetic me, with Hot Drink #1.

Hot Drink #2 and my customary energy is returning.

"Gah! I should have brought ALL my outwear!" I exclaimed to Kathy (tho it wouldnt fit on my bike). This lovely new friend of mine from southern California looked at me bemusedly. "What's outwear?" she asked, and we both laughed at our extremely different lives on the ends of the USA. 

After about 9:30am the sun graced San Cristobal and Kathy and I gloried in it.