Mazunte
We reached Mazunte in the dead of night. After gladly disembarking from the cab (which took liberties with the hairpin curves), we were let off a junction labeled with handmade street sights. Ambling down the unlit path, we asked fellow tourists for directions. They told us to keep walking and take a left at the sign for pizza, and in doing so, we reached the moonlit ocean.
We got to this tiny hamlet of half-baked hotels, seafood restaurants and
family bodegas at its peak. Still undeveloped, but with an Internet café,
it was a perfect balance between a resort and nothingness. We rented an
idyllic cabana, swam in the most perfect blue waters, and soaked up the
quiet surroundings. At one of the many outdoor cafes, I could eat salad
and bury my toes in the warm sand.
It was still hippy paradise, but that made sense given the beauty and
isolation of Mazunte.
Sunrise over the pristine coastline.
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Hot, white sand on one of the many cloudless days.
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Mazunte’s pedestrian and vehicular “traffic.”
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A little patch of shade was a hot commodity;
It was hard to find destinations without official street signs, but
these markers were more interesting.
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Inside and outside our beautiful cabana.
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There were plenty of amenities for relaxing.
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Commodities, and how they were transported—often on someone’s head.
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Pochutla, the gateway to beach towns to the south, was hot and dusty but not without its own charm. Its main square, where these women had congregated, was an open area with plenty of concrete. This man sat in some coveted shade near the few nice cafes.
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One of the many pushcart vendors of helados.
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