Mazunte

During an idle moment on the beach, a thought entered my mind, caught my attention, and would not let go.

‘Why’, I wandered, ‘do I like this place so much?’

In fact, this was my fifth visit to Mazunte.  Normally such thoughts do not survive the commotion of everyday life, but on the beach, the mind is quiet, and the question would not fade away.

I rejected the premise that natural beauty is the main attraction.  There are beaches with bluer sea, whiter sand, or more colorful fish.  I did admit, that even though this area may not win first place in a beach pageant, it is wonderful.  The coastal range pokes hilly fingers into the ocean and separates the shore into small intimate beaches.  The Steep green cliffs of these fingers provide a vertical frame for the horizontal volumes of yellow and blue.  Black rugged islets, sprinkled close to shore, add drama to the scene.

Consequently, I deduced that the attraction lies in a more subtle interaction between Mazunte and the visitor, or what is usually call atmosphere.  At first, I defined it as a negative: 

‘I like Mazunte because it is not a Resort’

However over the next several lazy days, the specific manifestations of this atmosphere became clearer.  I’ll list them below.

1. No crowds.  The Mexican government funded a neighboring area as a tourism development target, and left Mazunte to develop on its own.  There are no high rise hotels or condominiums here, and absent are the associated crowds.  Nonetheless, there is enough variety here to satisfy every taste.  Accommodations range from boutique hotels to camping, but all are no taller than two stories, and do not block the beach
2. Mexican flavor.  The tourist infrastructure developed organically from the fishing village origins, and Mazunte still feels like small-town Mexico.  If you look hard, you may find the souvenir shop, but the majority of the shops lining the single paved road, serve the needs of locals and tourists alike
3. Nice tourists.  Difficult access, and the lack of nightclubs and fancy restaurants, eliminates the party seekers.  Mazunte is left with gentler tourists, who appreciate the simple pleasures of a beach.  Although I called it Mazunte, this area is comprised of three hamlets, only minutes from each other, which developed distinct characters.  Zipolite, is the yuppie place.  Nude bathing is tolerated, and occasionally, Alquimia, a rustic beachside bar, will host a live band.  Mazunte is the hippie hangout.   Facilities include beach camping, a vegetarian restaurant, and a Yoga center.  Between these two lies San Agustinillo, a family-oriented beach.  The waves here are safer, and that is where I stayed this time.
4. Close to the waves.  Whether camping or in a boutique hotel, I always stay on the beach, where I can catch the waves at sunrise, watch them from a shady spot during the hot hours, and listen to their powerful roar while falling asleep.

Of the people I know who love Mazunte, Enrique has the seniority.  He has been coming here for fourteen years.  He is in his late sixties, tall and broad, has a long white beard and a kind, hearty laugh.  Yvonne, his much younger friend, told me that when Enrique still had a belly, children would approach him, promise to behave well, and ask for a gift.  He was a sailor, a banker, a farmer, and now lives off the grid, in a thatched roof home, somewhere near a river.    On the subject of beaches he claims:

“I have been to only a few beaches around the world, but in Mexico, I know them all.  Mazunte is the best.”

Sushi and Jazz

Mellow jazz notes drifted onto the pedestrian street connecting Santo Domingo and the Zocalo.  We followed our ears into a large colonial building which has been converted into stylish shops and restaurants.  We recognized Miguel Samperio, our favorite saxophone player, who accompanied by a vocalist and a keyboard was rendering old favorites.  They were playing in a restauarant, which, to my knowledge, was the first sushi place in Oaxaca.  The restaurant was overfilled with a festive and noisy crowd, munching sushi, and sipping wine.  Before I could ascertain whether we wondered into a private party, a large smiling man came over.
"This is our inauguration night." he said in English, "Please enjoy the food and drinks.  They are free."

We sat by the sushi bar and ordered a tuna nigiri.  A young man, wearing a suit and a well groomed pony tail, filled our glasses with Argentinean malbec.  The malbec had a pleasing aroma, medium body, and fruity after-taste.
'So far, so good.'
With wine in hand, we relaxed and focused on the chef. He worked frantically to fulfill the hunger of the large crowd, yet kept his good spirits intact.  His smile exposed a silver front tooth that sparkled like a star in the bright lights.  No, he told us, he did not learn his trade in Japan, but in Tucson, Arizona, and has been a sushi chef in Mexico City for some years.  While waiting for the maguro, we grabbed a couple of slices of california rolls from a tray, which a heavy-set girl was circulating around the room.  In front of us, as on all the other tables, was a bowl of heavy soy sauce. Floating in the sauce were sesame seeds and sliced shallots.  I doused the roll in the sauce, put it in my mouth, and then, my breathing came to a sudden stop. When I could finally inhale and swallow, my eyes were tearing, and my mouth was seared.  Apparently, the green slices were not shallots but jalapeno, of the hottest variety.  I could not help but laugh.  The maguro arrived, and I painted it with only a microscopic amount of sauce.  I found the rice to be acceptable, the fish fresh, and the assembly containing an appropriate amount of wasabi.  Overall the nigiri was different from standard, but good.  Perhaps you can't expect sushi in Oaxaca to taste the same as in San Francisco.  Our next request, the tokyo roll, was one of the most colorful creations I have ever seen, and had a flavor to match.  We continued with more rolls off the travelling tray. Without any sauce, all the rolls tasted conventionally agreeable.  Adi, more accustomed to spicy food, dipped her rolls liberally, until a slice of jalapeno lodged between her teeth.  The acute pain that ensued, ended her eating binge.

The Jazz trio left for their next gig, we took another sip of the Malbec and approached the owner.
I congratulated him, and wished him good luck.
"Oaxaca needed a sushi restaurant."  I told him.
"How did you like the food?"  he asked.
I told him that the sushi was good, and that this was my first experience tasting soy sauce with jalapeno.
"And how did you like it?"  he inquired, suddenly alert.
I lied.

Oaxaca did need a sushi restaurant, and to make up for my lie, we will return soon.  This time, I will insist on pure soy sauce.