The chihuahua bus pulls in to the station and I exit, refusing to let anyone touch my baggage. Not on a matter of security, but frugality. No help, no tipping. Ten minutes later I've assembled my bicycle. A pump of air at the pemex station gets me ready to explore the new territory.
Did I just say explore? That's a euphemism for "I don't know where I am or where in the hell I'm going." Translation: lost. So at 4 am my navigation consists of, "Ok is that the sun? I should probably go the other way to the ocean." A sketchy idea at best, I work my way into the neighboring villas. Having the internal compass of a brain dead monkey, the majority of my time is spent retracing my steps from every dead end. However, there's a shine to the mornings of Mexico. At 5 am school girls are out in their catholic uniforms.
Now when I say say school girls, I mean bangin' latina teenagers. With skirts as short as my attention span I can´t help but wonder if they're really headed to school or the casting call of Backdoor Latinas 5. What´s the age of consent here anyway?
Jailbait aside, the locals are already hard at work at tortillerias and catching the rickety chicken buses to their respective occupations. Like a mouse in a maze finally reaching the queso, I stumble upon the pacific ocean. Dragging my bike and 40 pounds of gear through sand, I remove my boots and take my first tentative steps into the Pacific ocean. It's colder than expected, but I've been on a bus for 3 days and I´m tired of smelling like cat piss. Pressing on, I take an Improvised salt water bath. Slightly cleaner and drying off on the rocks I take a look at the scenery. Tropical fish swim at my feet, neon crabs scuttle on the rocks, and sea urchins stick out like underwater pin cushions. Suddenly a strange level of zen-like calmness washes over me and I can't help but think that this is paradise.
But fuck I'm still lost.
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