Thanks to the Pandemic, My New Life in Mexico
Flash back to Spring of 2020.
I had a mountain home in the pine forests of Colorado’s Rocky Mountains. Between an acupuncture practice in Boulder and my side hustle with web design I was making enough to live in Boulder county and enjoy the mountains. I shared a home with my girlfriend and her 8 year old son, and a large black dog who followed me on runs for miles on the trails behind our place.
I had close connections with friends and my men’s group, and 2 grown sons who still wanted to hang with me. My life was full and I was reasonably happy.
I felt blessed to have great community, mainly from a collective of groups I joined or created. From Osho’s active meditations to Wim Hof breathwork and cold immersion, and my work with the Mankind Project, I had been going hard on the spiritual growth. Boulder is a great place for that. In addition to meditations I co-led a meetup on the weekend with guided breathwork and then a dip into the icy waters of Boulder Creek.
Just when the sailing is smooth, a storm is probably coming. Discomfort arises, and heralds growth.
COVID was starting to spread, and across the world the subsequent insanity of lock downs ensued.
My girlfriend had an auto-immune disorder so we were extremely careful in the first stages of the pandemic, socially isolating more than usual, meaning no one left the house except me for groceries once a week.
Too much time boxed up with my significant other, combined with the stress and uncertainty of the ongoing situation with COVID put too much stress on our relationship.
It unwound little by little, then all at once.
Suddenly I found myself with no where to go in the midst of a global lock down.
Having been to Mexico many times previously, I decided that sunny beaches and palm trees promised a more gentle alternative to uncertain lodging options (read: homelessness) in the harsh Colorado winter weather at 8,000 feet.
I bought a one way ticket for Oaxaca, Mexico and packed my stuff.
By the time I boarded the plane a few weeks later, I was ready to say goodbye to my former life. I was bound for the simple life, with sand between my toes and an ocean’s crashing waves to mark time.
A few weeks later I landed in the city of Oaxaca de Jaurez, a charming smallish city in the mountains in the South of Mexico. Oaxaca has become well- known for its haute cuisine and elegant colonial architecture, as well as the best place to partake in Day of the Dead celebrations.
I soon learned there would be no dia de los muertos celebrations this year, with COVID mass hysteria in full swing.
The cafes on the central zocalo were still open. The waiters, like everyone I encountered, were desperate to make a couple pesos in the midst of the sudden apocalyptic economy.
We thought it hit us hard in the US, but as a Mexican friend told me, people had just “sat in their houses and ate beans” for the last 6 months.
Mexico’s tourist sector is a giant part of it’s income, and for about six months in 2020, there weren’t ANY tourists. In September of 2020 with the global disaster still raging, I was one of the few, the brave, and as it turned out, the well rewarded.
I had been to Oaxaca before, many years prior when I drove down to Costa Rica in a van with some friends to start a mountain biking business. And a short stint before that in Puerto Escondido where I got a parasite and my friend broke his ribs trying to surf the thickest wave in the world at zicatela.
Back then Puerto Escondido was a sleepy fishing village of dusty roads and free range donkeys, roosters, etc. There was a mandatory siesta from 3 to 7 every day, everything just closed.
Not wanting to spend more money on unnecessary air travel, I booked a bus ticket.
I had traveled the same bus route 30 years prior. My “friend” had convinced me that the way to do it properly was to drink copious amounts of rum and coke. This worked well, dulling the suffering somewhat, but then the volume of liquid turned out to be a problem. As my bladder expanded to maximum capacity, I came to understand that there was no bathroom onboard.
The highway was completely devoid of straight sections, and a Mexican lady and her kids sleeping on me.
As happens frequently in Mexico, what I thought was impossible became magically attainable that night.
I was happy to discover the bus in 2020 had a bathroom. And with sana distancia polices firmly in place, I had the luxury of my own seat. I hunkered down for the next 12 hours or so and enjoyed some music and podcasts on my noise cancelling headphones, while watching the endlessly curving mountain road wind by.
Puerto Escondido was my destination, mainly because on my first trip to Mexico years ago I had a profound experience. A parasite I got from some food made me so sicker than I had ever been, and I could not speak the Spanish needed to find a doctor.
I was dizzy and nauseous every minute of the day except at sunrise. My entire existence became devoted to laying in my hammock and the frequent visits to the outhouse.
This intense suffering re-oriented my perspective towards a more holistic perception of life on the planet- and the stark reality that we are all intrinsically connected. This perspective changed my life forever, influencing me to go into the healing arts and develop myself personally, so I could be more of service to my fellow humans.
Puerto Escondido had changed drastically in 30 years. When I lived there in 1990 for 2 months, there was one telephone in town. Now there was world class hotels, organic smoothies, and an army of honed wave riders from all over the world. Puerto has a surf break on playa zicatela, known as the Mexican pipeline. It’s one of the thickest waves in the world, producing huge hollow barrels that crunch surfboards and all too frequently, surfer’s bones.
As I soon learned, a lockdown policy had just been implemented in Puerto Escondido. The surf kids were throwing the usual all night raves down at la punta ignoring mask regulations and social distancing, and it was pissing off the locals. The police had responded by arresting people on the beach for not wearing masks.
Puerto was not for me. I needed to move on, but there was a problem. Public transportation was shut down. No taxis, collectivos, or buses of any kind. It took me a few hours to find a solution, a driver with an unmarked vehicle who was willing to take the risk. In Mexico, where there is demand, supply follows.
Mazunte was a place I had heard about for a long time. A bohemian paradise, it was built under a strict traditional construction mandate, so everything is made of bamboo and earth, with palm thatched roofs. Truly a pueblo magico, Mazunte has the uber- relaxed vibe I was looking for.
The first night I rented a primitive hotel room right on the beach. I “slept” folded up in hammock with the points of suspension placed too close together. Imagine being folded up in a cloth taco with a rubber band around it.
After sitting on the beach for a lovely few days doing nada, I wandered down the beach road to the next spot on the map, San Augustinillo. Here the one road in town passes about 20 meters from the beach. There are no large hotels or even stoplights. Fisherman can be seen gunning their engines as they plow their pangas up and onto the beach, rolling over pre-placed logs. It’s Mexican ocean- side perfection.
I had found my place.
From there I could see the ocean, and listening to it’s crashing undulations followed by short silences lulled me to sleep at night.
For the first time in many moons, I slept like a baby on xanex.
I took up snorkeling and spear fishing, the first as a way to exercise and face my fear of the sea and it’s big fish, and the second as a way to make sure I have a steady supply of ceviche.
Chango was a scuba guide in Tulum before the pandemic shut down tourism. Now he was in Mazunte, living frugally and selling jewelry he made. I met him down on Calle Rinconcita by the beach.
He became my spear fishing guide and teacher, and introduced me to many local people.
On the weekends we would gather a group of friends, load them into his truck and make the short drive down the coast to Zipolite, famous for it’s nod to nudity and alternative lifestyle choices. Club TNT is really just an area of the beach with a little bar, but internationally renowned DJs show up to make the party happen. I am in my 50s, but managed to stay up and watch the sun rise at few times.
My weekdays were spent trying to find enough internet to work online, which is still a formidable task anywhere in Oaxaca.
I had to spend all day waiting for pages to load, so 2 hours of work took more like 4 or 6 hours. At first I found this incredibly frustrating, but soon found I had little control over the situation (one of the lessons Mexico offers us), and gave up.
While I waited for the little wheel to stop spinning, I gazed out onto the ocean, watching for boats or whales, or just staring at the waves hitting the rocks.
I settled into the slow pace of life in the tropics, in a place where there in not much to do but relax. The relaxation became an art form, a blend of Qigong on the beach every morning, a swim in the ocean, and a fat plate of ceviche as the sun sinks languidly into the dark blue Pacific.
I stayed in San Agustinillo for months, unwinding from the pressures of the more developed world. I was integrating myself into Mexican culture, and wasn’t speaking much English anymore.
I had no clue, but soon my life would transform again as fate pulled me into another adventure, sailing down the Pacific coast of Mexico.
