The early hours of this morning were filled with the sounds of donkeys braying tormentedly and an array of bizarre bird calls. A weird insect made a cluttering sound as it did what Declan described as a “Mexican Hat Dance”.
We got up just after the sun rose and headed for the beach and a battle with the surf. Dangerous undercurrents made us stay within our depth. Locals walked along the beach carrying huge machetes on their way to work.
Back at the hotel we had a Mexican omelette for breakfast and set of to see what the village of Puerto Ángel had to offer. This involved a 25-minute walk along a very dusty track under a merciless sun and we were grateful for a cold Pepsi Cola half way, and a couple of Sprite drinks on the seafront at the finish.
Sprite is a colourless, lemon and lime-flavored soft drink created by The Coca-Cola Company. It was first developed in West Germany in 1959 as Fanta Klare Zitrone ("Clear Lemon Fanta") and was introduced in the United States under the current brand name Sprite in 1961 as a competitor to 7 Up.
We stopped sweating in the sea breeze under the palm trees and caught the bus into the nearest town where there was a bank. We walked along the dusty high street passed the Bus Station that we arrived at yesterday and passed a school that looked more like a prison. You could easily spot the banks by the blue uniforms and the guns of the guards outside them in the street. I was “delighted” (dismayed) to find that the Cambio had just shut 15 minutes earlier so we jumped back on the bus for the winding downhill run to Ángel.
There was bugger all at Ángel apart from a few souvenir shops and restaurants and a chemist shop (farmacia). Apparently, the Harbour Master deals with the mail. The rest of the day was spent swinging idly in our hammocks and swimming in the sea.
As the sun started to go down, we walked the 2 kilometres to a hotel and restaurant situated at the far end of the beach. We started off on the main track through the village where children played in the dust outside simple thatched huts.
We passed through a coconut plantation where the dense palm leaves blocked out the light and the littered coconuts and fallen branches looked ominously like skulls and bones on the scorched earth. We followed the beach and rounded some rocks where the surf crashed noisily, and came across a winding staircase lit by flickering lamps.
At the top a low stable-like building was equipped with a clean kitchen where they produced their renowned vegetarian meals. There was a sign forbidding drugs and alcohol on the premises. We had a good meal overlooking the magnificent wide bay in the fading light of day.
A bronzed woman went through some exotic calisthenics on the beach below. The music was 1960’s/70’s hippy orientated and seemingly appropriate with the spirit of the place. Zipolite is best known as being Mexico’s first and only legal public nude beach and for retaining much of the hippie culture that made it notable in the 1970s.
We walked back nervously in the pitch darkness following the white line of surf along the beach. Our footprints exposed weird phosphorescent creatures in the damp sand. Back at Suzanna’s we found all the seats occupied so we ate at the serving counter, consuming a huge fresh fruit salad with cream.
The other guests were in two distinct groups, French speakers and English speakers who were presided over by an American who had been there and done everything better than anybody else. He trumped any travel yarns from the others, having experienced greater things than them.
We sat on the porch ledge and drank a couple of “Corona” beers. As we turned in, the night chorus of animal noises was getting into full swing and one of the hotel staff was putting up some new hammocks.
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