Goodbye mosquito world.
I type this on Aeromexico Flight 718 destined to Mexico City while I scratch the red swollen mosquito bites of my left ankle. Picking the dried up pus and blood from the scabs. So many mosquito bites.
Memories that fade.
Mosquito bites that will go away.
Can’t help but think that I will be back soon. But I thought the same thing when I went to Minneapolis. That was a year ago during summer. It feels like it was yesterday.
We will arrive in Tijuana at around 9 pm to a mountain of work coupled with the need to move out of the apartment. I have a few photo gigs to take care off and I got another couple of gigs for early November.
And I have thousands of pictures to edit.
Tomorrow will be NFL time and edit calmly.
Go back to routine. Workout. Coffee. Word vomit. Work.
Figure out work. Try to make more money. And keep on working to make more money so I can fly again.
I spent around $500 in total. Including flights and lodging. And some souvenirs. And we ate and drank tons.
I can drink a lot by the beach. The heat. The extra oxygen. The nothingness. Makes it easier to chug beers and sip on mezcal.
Last two days happened like this.
Day 8 we went to Zipolite. We fought like couples fight. It was me who got mad at her. I said, “baby I’m going for a swim and a run by the beach. When I come back let’s leave.”
We fought like couples fight. It was me who got mad at her. I said, “baby I’m going for a swim and a run by the beach. When I come back let’s leave.”
After all, it was her who wanted to go to different places.
When I came back she wasn’t ready at all. And she didn’t say much. She just started to get ready and took over an hour to do so.
I was starving. The idea was to have breakfast in Zipolite and it was almost 1:30 pm when she was ready to go.
Hungry and my temper are not a good mix. Add heat and uncomfortable ride like cattle.
And more people were piling in. “Baby, scoop over.”
Anger adds up.
We made it to Zipolite. I have no idea what to expect. She kept asking questions that I don’t the answer to. How the fuck am I suppose to know what’s on the menu of a place I’ve never been?
Anger adds up.
So I strolled ahead. Partly because I didn’t want to talk to her, mostly because I was headed for the shade.
Got shade. Waited for her. Without saying anything, she deviates to a store.
Anger adds up.
I had enough. I was hungry and have been waiting for far too long. I left her and headed for the restaurant by myself.
Zipolite was gorgeous. To get to the restaurant I had to go through the town and over a tiny river. It has the feel of a hotel resort beach instead of hippies abound like it used to be.
Restaurante El Alquimista definitely had the resort feel. It was inside a resort. Got there still angry, sweaty, and hungry. Give me a beer to cool down.
No idea where the girlfriend was. But I waited for her. We were going there after all.
She called me to ask me where I was. Then asked me for directions to the restaurant.
How the fuck was I supposed to give her directions? I just followed signs.
I told her to follow the signs.
I was too hungry, so I ordered the breaded seared tuna with tempura vegetables. Pricey. Like always, I crave the priciest thing on the menu. I had no cash, but compared to Mazunte, Zipolite does take credit cards.
Order away. I wanted to drink as many beers for the anger to pass.
Girlfriend got to the restaurant before the food arrived. We argued and ate and argued some more.
My plan was to just walk the beach and try to go down memory lane.
This was not the same Zipolite from a decade ago. Still, several things looked familiar. Nude beach.
A decade ago, there was almost no one naked. Those who were, weren’t pretty to look at.
This time there was. Cute topless girl with her Rasta boyfriend. Bottom on for both. Not truly nude. She looked like 5 Tijuana girls that I know.
Strolling down the beach we saw more nudists. I wanted to swim but didn’t go with my swim trunks. I dabbled with the idea of GAGAGAGAgugugu getting naked.
After camping naked with Chad, it seemed easier.I didn’t do it.
I didn’t do it despite putting up to a vote on Instagram. Gay guys playing beach games naked. Uncircumcised penis flopping around. The other had a nice round ass that for a second I thought it was a girl.
Gay guys playing beach games naked. Uncircumcised penis flopping around. The other had a nice round ass that for a second I thought it was a girl.
Group of two guys and three girls naked. One was a hot tattooed girl sunbathing spread eagle.
“Whoa. I didn’t think I was going to see her vagina out in the open like that,” said the girlfriend.
I shrugged it off. “It’s a nude beach, what did you expect?”
I also didn’t expect spread eagle naked from a hot chick. But that wasn’t in my mind.
I was just still angry.
So we walked and my anger calmed down. And we collected seashells by the seashore.
I wanted to swim. Get naked and swim. I didn’t.
I knew my girlfriend wouldn’t do it with me. Not only because she wouldn’t get naked in public, but also because she is too afraid to swim in the ocean.
We walked from one end to the other. Beach didn’t have more than twenty people. The majority were naked (or at least topless for women).
Back to El Alquimista. More beers by the beach. And of course, mineral water for her.
We switched from the beach seats to the cooler restaurant tables.
More beer. More and more beer.
I just wanted to drink the anger away.
And then, some pizza. The beach specialty pizza. Zipolite pizza. Salmon, capers, and scallions with shitty dough and meh cheese. But salmon and capers are fucking great.
Anger came at me again when there were three slices left and asked if we should get it to go. The consensus was yes, but not before she picked the toppings of the slices.
WHAT THE FUCK IS PIZZA WITH PICKED TOPPINGS? Nothing but shitty dough and cheese.
I’ve told her this before. Is a horrible habit of hers that I hate.
I got angrier. She cried.
Let’s just go back and forget about the day.
Zipolite was nice. I would go back. Get naked. Spread eagle. Swim.
Drink more mezcal.
Back in Mazunte, we went to eat and drink at Doro’s house with the family there. We took two bottles of wine. I was already drunk and with a headache. I drank more beer and mezcal before that.
They made pasta with doradito. I had some of the fish despite not being hungry. Nice and lemony with some veggies on top. Healthy.
And I drank more and more. Until it got late and girlfriend said let’s go home.
We encountered a big toad on our way back.
Crazy fucking nature shit.
I love it.
Picture potential is insane.
The following morning, the same thing. Run and swim on the beach and came back to the room to go out for breakfast.
Fucking seriously. I told her the same thing. When I get back, let’s go for breakfast. She wasn’t ready. Fuck fuck fuck.
Yes. I was angry again. But she got ready quick knowing she fucked up.
Breakfast at Siddharta. The nice place that overlooks the beach. Because I didn’t eat pasta the night before, I broke one of my own rules and ordered pasta…
Fucking pasta by the beach….
It was… Surprisingly fucking good. Everything in that nice little beach restaurant was surprisingly good, probably because I expected bad.
Service almost everywhere was bad though. Like no one had the desire to be working so they see it as a fuck this I’m working thing.
Girlfriend got a salad and tzatziki with pita bread. The tzatziki was good though it required more of a strong flavor. The pita was stale.
Coffee was good. Not strong, but nice and smooth.
It was the hottest day so far of our vacation. I felt light headed and wanted to nap. Couldn’t. Started to fold my clothes to pack my bags instead.When I left the room, I couldn’t find my girlfriend or friends. Knowing this was my last chance at swimming some more, ocean time.
When I left the room, I couldn’t find my girlfriend or friends. Knowing this was my last chance at swimming some more, ocean time.
My brother waved me from the beach and made the motion of pictures. We agreed the previous day to go to Punta Cometa to take pictures. I didn’t know they wanted to do wedding shoot again.
We did a wedding shoot again.
We trekked through a different path next to Punta Cometa. A very difficult path with much-overgrown vegetation and dangerous cliffs. Take one step in the wrong direction and bye bye dear life. Or at least get seriously injured.
Doro almost fell and we all got scared. He was more worried about his wedding pants that got stained.
Photo shoot on Punta Cometa. But before that, State Police showed up. Weird. And they took selfies were we were going to do a photo shoot. Weird.
Then they let us be. Only one of them apologized and said they will get out of the way for the photo shoot.
Hundreds of pictures wedding style. Some with natural light. Many with sunset and flash.
I sort of regret not doing more natural light shots in a paparazzi fashion. Or more like the great Matei Horvath, one of the best photographers I know and I had the pleasure to work with. He charges over 5k per shoot. I should get close to that level. Well, not close. I just want to charge more.
My girlfriend was my assistant. Pictures look great. Can’t wait to edit. I deeply regret not being able to shoot RAW. And I also need more equipment.
Then I ventured by myself down the rocks to take some long exposures.
Picture potential is great.
I wished I had a tripod. A light travel tripod.
Balanced the camera on the rocks. Pictures are okay.
On my climb back, I didn’t go by the path. One rock that I grabbed to pull myself up, fell apart. I got scared for my fucking life. One wrong move and I was fucked.
Vegetation abounds. And as a climber, you know you don’t grab vines to pull yourself up, but I didn’t have a choice.
I grabbed thick plants to pull myself up. Luckily, none snapped.
I was fucking scared for my life.
But I made it. My camera made it. And it was getting really dark.
Jungle trekked in the dark with flashlights. Crazy jungle. Crazy paths.
Picture potential is insanely good.
Last night in Mazunte. We got three pizzas, some wine, more beers and more mezcal. And enjoyed them in my brother’s cabin overlooking the beach. A giant Mazunte crab was by our table hiding by the drain.
My plane just landed in Mexico City.Such a short flight from Huatulco to Mexico City.
Such a short flight from Huatulco to Mexico City.We have a couple of hours to kill.
We have a couple of hours to kill.Then I’ll type the drama of the following morning.
Then I’ll type the drama of the following morning.For now it’s more airport time.
For now, it’s more airport time.
I am typing this on Aeromexico flight 128 destined to Tijuana. It’s going to be three hours long and unlike the trip south, this one doesn’t have a nice entertainment system.
My girlfriend sits next to me on the window seat 8F, I’m on the middle 8E, some young kid is next to us on the hallway seat 8D.
There’s a hooker sitting two seats in front. Her Bebe clothes, stupid voluptuous body, pouty operated lips, long black hair, and heavy makeup betrays her as a hooker.But who knows. And who am I to judge?
But who knows. And who am I to judge? Let the hookers be hookers
Let the hookers be hookers.
We ate at Sushi Itto at the Mexico City airport. California roll sans what makes it California (no avocado) and a miso soup with extra plain gohan (rice).
It was okay.
This morning before getting on the planes, we overslept like almost every Mazunte day. It wasn’t until 11 am that we got up. There was no internet and my girlfriend’s netbook was acting up. I couldn’t word vomit. That’s why I do it while we fly.
We had breakfast at Doña Meche, a traditional place that I’ve been wanting to try. Service again was bad. But the food was good, plentiful, and cheap.
Enfrijoladas with eggs and steak for me.
Chilaquiles with eggs for my girlfriend. Her plate had meat. I ate her meat. I couldn’t finish my plate from eating too much steak.
I didn’t have time to swim once more. Didn’t even shower. Didn’t want to pack damp towels or board shorts.
We met up with my brother and his family to share a taxi towards the airport. Halfway to the airport, my brother realized he left the passports in his room.
GREAT!Quick turn around. The taxi driver by the name of Rodrigo was amazing. He does the same one hour route from Mazunte to Huatulco airport 100 times or more each year. He knew every single speed bump. And on the way communicated with fellow taxis to know about upcoming traffic and such.
Quick turn around. The taxi driver by the name of Rodrigo was amazing. He does the same one hour route from Mazunte to Huatulco airport 100 times or more each year. He knew every single speed bump. And on the way communicated with fellow taxis to know about upcoming traffic and such.
He sped back and forth gripping the sharp curves.Great driving. Great conversation.
Great driving. Great conversation.
We made it to the airport still with plenty of time. And this loops back to the beginning of this word vomit.
Now I have three more hours or so of flying. They just gave me headphones and the movie Camelot started to play.Forced to watch a movie that I’m not sure I have any interest.
Forced to watch a movie that I’m not sure I have any interest.
Or I could continue reading Chuck Palahniuk’s Lullaby.
I didn’t read as much as I thought I was going to on this trip.I don’t read as much anymore.
I don’t read as much anymore
I need to read more.
Word vomit end.
Posting this as is when I get home.
It needs a picture. Here’s an unedited one:
That’s the one I balanced on the rocks. Unedited. Sorry.
I got home last night to a depressing looking apartment. There was no internet, food, or water. And Bisho was hiding in the closet.
Paid internet this morning.