I'm writing this from my hotel room in Puerto Angel, on the Mexican Pacific coast. I've been on the road for quite a while now and only got in a couple of hours ago, but I already feel like I'm going to stay here for a bit because it really is quite nice.
Since leaving Oaxaca, I've been on a bus that took me in completely the wrong direction for 7 hours, then took a right, and another 4 hours to get to where I wanted to be. Even now, I couldn't say for sure if the driver was just styling out a horrible map reading error, or if the route was that intended. I did know it was going to be a long trip though, and my drop off point was just a few kilometres from the surf, so I spent the night in what is essentially a bus station town, San Pedro Pochutla.
I got really quite anxious about arriving in Pochutla and I don’t know why. Normally the prospect of getting off a bus and looking for some kind of accommodation doesn’t really register as something to worry unduly about. Maybe it was because it was getting late (I generally try not to arrive somewhere in the dark) maybe it’s because I knew hotels would be thin on the ground, or maybe I just got a bit of a ‘banditry’ feel about the town. It reminded me about arriving in Georgia a few years ago, and maybe that gung-ho and reckless experience got dragged a bit front of mind. Anyway, I found a cheap place with a bed in fairly short order as things turned out.
This morning I got up, looked at the map, and with time to kill, decided to walk the 10km from Pochutla to my hotel in Puerta Angel. This was definitely one of my stupidest decisions, possibly ever. Having done 10km a couple of days ago, it didn't seem like a big deal, but this time I was fully loaded with 25kg pack, 3 bottles of water plus day pack, blazing hot sun, no pavements to walk on, and the disability of creeping old age to slow things down even further. Additionally, my shoulders started producing massive bubble blisters from the sun which quickly burst and kind of oozed down my front making everything a bit icky. Finally, the road was being upgraded and the edges were full of displaced shale, which for the pedestrian had an effect like dancing on a billion imperfect marbles. After a dozen or so close shaves, the inevitable happened and I went down like the Belgrano. A nice chap stopped to see if the old boy wanted any help getting up, but I stiffened my upper lip and declared it was only a scratch and I was perfectly fine. I wasn't, but I'm British, so I said I was. By the time I arrived at my hotel, I was pretty much crawling on hands and knees, and very grateful for the very nice room with bay view. ...More on Puerto Angel in the next post.
So we're NOT going to San Pedro Pochutla then?
Interesting fact, tarmac is a remarkably effective sunblock. You may want to choose your method of application with greater care than I though.
"You stupid boy Pike!"
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