Get Me Out Of Here (Ch. 3)

I reckon The Great Lord from Above must have seen my Bizzaro display of humanity on my patio, and cranked up the Struggle Meter on me.  Small Stuff that I found myself forced into sweating.  After the fact bummers like stubbed toes and bad Chicken Mole.  Uncanny beat downs by sun, moon, and water.  Everyday Disappointments and Go Figures like short tied dogs and abandoned litters.  Bones to Pick.  Axes to Grind.  That kind of thing.  The list went on….  

My new watch broke, so I’m not 100% sure, but I believe today is December 21, 2012.  The end of the world arrived today, and I’m the only one that was left alive.  Actually, me and the tens of thousands of Visiting Mexicans that invade Puerto Escondido like is customary this time of year.  So on top of all the World Wide Snow Birds that lug their old bodies, their tight wallets, and their poor beach clothing choices to The Oaxacan Coast, Puerto Escondido also sees a gigantic pulse of their own.  Mainly Chilangos,(de D.F.) but they come from all over this vast country.  Guadalajara, Cuernevaca, Puebla, Acapulco, Monterey.  For the great most part, these are the Mexicans with some money.  Lighter Skinned Mexicans.  LS Mexicans that come to the land of the Dark Skinned Mexican, and bring with them entitlement issues.  The ignorance is bliss thing.  It’s sad to see.  I hate it actually.  Richy Rich Mexicans that come here with their obnoxious families, party it up real good, eat, drink, and treat the local Mexicans like lower class citizens.    

Stories still surface here where a local lifeguard makes a water rescue because a Macho Chilango Kook gets in over his head, and next thing you know, he’s drowning.  Anyway, lifeguard makes rescue.  Drowning victim doesn’t even say Thank You.  It’s this type of attitude and behavior that invades this proud area but only a couple of times per year.  Mexicans with Iphone 3’s, designer jeans, and clean toenails.  They also descend on Puerto Escondido during Semana Santa(Easter).  By January 6th, Puerto gets back to normal.  

So I was battling that whole upsetting dynamic.  Main Beach and La Punta areas were packed with vacationers.  More than I had ever seen.  As usual, The(out of the area) Skydive Company was killing it.  Again, more than I had ever seen.  All day long, with the last jump being as the sun sets, human beings are just flying out of the air and landing on Main Beach.  My guess is about 300 jumpers each and every day.  I guess These Parachuters or Whatever They Are Called, have pretty good control of their 10,000 foot jump.  Every year though, somebody ends up in a palm tree, several misjudge things and endure ocean landings, and of course dozens of spectacular collisions with innocent beach goers.  Here’s the sickening part.  In the end, it’s up to the people on the beach to get out of their way during landing.  Only in Puerto.  Don’t ask questions.  Puerto Escondido may be one of the only places on earth where this type of risky operation is allowable.  I’m sure many officials along the way have their hand out, but at $200 per jump, everybody wins.  And you want to know something?  I think it’s gay!!  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  

My good bud Scratchy suggested I get out of dodge to break myself free of all things Puerto.  That a change of scenery might set me free.  A change of temperature too.  He recommended I head to the mountains to a spot called San Jose Del Pacifico.  I had heard of it.  He drew me a map.  He’s a talented artist and likes to draw maps for people.  Once I saw him draw a map in such color and detail, that the sweet Polish lady he was drawing it for, knowing she had a plane to catch, excused herself to use the restroom, and never came back.  I let him know in advance that I only had until 10am tomorrow.  Scratchy was sure to tell me NOT to go all the way to San Jose Del Pacifico, but to a dirt turnoff along The Hwy situated 10 kilometers prior to San Jose.  He said there might be a sign, and there might not. 

The map was fool proof.  I was told to hand it over to the bus driver on the second leg of my voyage.  Scratchy told me I’d be blowing it hard if I went all the way to San Jose DP.  “Do you want to be someones guest or someones tourist?,” he said.  The map showed that the walk from the Hwy to the actual Cabañas in San Mateo was still about five Klicks, but The Scratch Man all but insured that I’d be able to hitch that ride in the back of someones truck.  He said when I got to Prospero’s Cabañas, mention the name Scratchy.  In case I got tongue tied when it really mattered, he wrote down Scratchy on the back of the map.  In all CAPS.  I folded up the map and stuck it in my pocket dictionary.  Good Grief Guy!!