It's been a little while since Emily and I have put up a blog post. Let me tell you why: we've been in the middle of nowhere. Internet access? Fuggedaboudit.
Emily and I spent Friday traveling to, and today hanging out in, a small town called Puerto Arista on the Pacific coast of Chiapas. Thus far on this trip, we've mostly stuck to big cities or common tourist spots, and this off-the-beaten-path locale was an interesting change of pace. Let me tell you all about it.
First, to give you an idea of where it is: we took a bus Friday morning out of San Cristóbal de las Casas, making stops in Tuxtla Gutierrez, the huge urban capital of Chiapas; Arriaga, some small town in the mountains; and finally, in its proper place in descending order of importance, Tonalá. But this small, relatively poor, not-at-all-tourist-oriented town (in which Emily and I are currently using the internet while awaiting our bus, which leaves late tonight) wasn't even our final destination. Instead, when we arrived on Friday, we hopped into a taxi for the 13-mile ride out of Tonalá into the lucky-to-be-on-the-map town of Puerto Arista.
We found our intended destination, José's Cabañas, without incident. And we needn't have worried about whether we would find a bed there. We were only the fifth and six guests at the place. José, a relocated Canadian who seemed a bit drunk the entire time we were there, showed us to our cabin, which featured two large cement beds, much like the stone structures the royal Mayans slept on at Palenque. So, yeah, we got the royal treatment, I guess. (Don't get the wrong idea--the beds had mattresses and pillows, too.)
After checking in, Emily and I went for a walk up the beach, intending to locate the turtle sanctuary that had been the primary attraction for us in Puerto Arista. We walked over to the beach and got our first view of the Pacific Ocean from Mexico. Compared to the Caribbean, the Pacific looks large and dark with big breaking waves crashing into the shore. Even the sand on the beach was dark and menacing. Plus, in our brief time there, we came across no fewer than seven dead animals on the beach, including fish, birds, and a crab. The Caribbean, on the other hand, is bright turquoise with slight, rolling waves that wouldn't knock over a fly (are flies hard to knock over? that's what I get for messing with metaphors). I can understand why Puerto Arista is not yet a resort-lined vacation spot.
We made it up to the turtle sanctuary, about 4km from our hotel, only to find it closed. Sigh. Well, we still had Saturday. So, we headed back along the highway towards our cabin. Then, the rain started again. And it wasn't kidding around this time. For the third time on this trip, Emily and I had managed to get ourselves stuck far from shelter in heavy rain. And given that Puerto Arista is practically a ghost town, we didn't come across anyone who might have given us a ride to save us from the rain (except for one taxi that was already filled with six people but still wanted to squeeze us in). We got back to our cabin soaking wet, besides also being now thirsty and hungry after our long walk.
Dinner Friday night was prepared by José himself. The menu was Robalo, a white meat fish that José described as the best ever, along with potatoes and salad. We sat down with some other guests, a nice couple from Slovenia, and were served with our dinner. Emily and I were a little surprised to see a whole fish, head and all, sitting on our plate, but we made do. The nice Slovenians showed us how to get the bone out, and once we achieved that feat (not without a grand mess by yours truly), the fish was actually not half bad. And the potatoes were delicious.
José soon joined us for dinner, and we all reached for our goggles as the bullshit began to fly from our Canadian host. José, always with a beer in hand, told us about how he had worked in the mines in Canada, and how he had been great at that work, which allowed him to make big bonuses and helped fund his move to Mexico. Also tied in somewhere was a story about his father winning--get this--the Caring Canadian Award. José told us this is the highest award a Canadian civilian can receive. He indicated that his father's winning the award helped him to relocate to Mexico and open his cabañas. I somehow doubt it. José went on to talk about how when he came down to Mexico, he had been a great pitcher, and the people in town called him el brazo de oro ("the golden arm"). He added that kids followed him down the street chanting his name. Yeah. Oh, and he added the classic about how he's succeeded on the strength of his word alone. I always love that one.
Those are just the stories that stand out right now. But I'm sure you can see already that this guy was a Grade-A bullshitter. Emily and I immediately recalled a description in our guide book, which noted that José likes to hang out after dinner and chat with his guests. We were apparently supposed to read between the lines that José is a heavy drinker who likes to sit down with his guests at dinner and rant on about whatever nonsense happens to be on his mind. Well, he was certainly amusing; I'll give him that much.
Saturday we breakfasted with the two small parrots (or parakeets?) who live at José's and who ate at the table and climbed on Emily and a Basque couple who were there (and who got peed on by the birds three times). We then went back up the beach, now with our Slovenian friends, to the turtle sanctuary. The place is well set up for a small operation, and a friendly worker showed us around the various areas of the sanctuary, which houses a crocodile and several caimans besides a wide variety of turtles. We got a close-up look at some of the baby turtles, including a bin full of baby sea turtles hatched that morning that will be released tonight. The sea turtle babies were buzzing as they flippered around there little box (check out the video).
Finally, we walked back down the beach towards the hotel. On the way, we came across a small bird as it got washed ashore. The little yellow trooper was still alive, but clearly in bad shape. We managed to move it up the beach to a log where it would be out of the way of water and passers-by, and where it will hopefully dry off and reenergize enough to go back home. Keep your fingers crossed for our little feathered friend.
After our rescue misison, we had lunch, and went back to the cabañas. We hung out for a minute before finding a cab that had come all the way from Tuxtla Gutierrez (a good 3 hours) on a fare and that agreed to take us back up to Tonalá on his way back. Now, we're back in Tonalá, passing time here rather than in Puerto Arista because of the difficulty getting transportation from the small beach town anytime past 6pm.
Overall, Puerto Arista was an interesting one-day diversion, and it was great if just for the turtle sanctuary, but we're glad to be on our way again. It may just be the season, but the weather is bad, there are plenty of mosquitoes trying to bite you, and there's hardly anywhere in the town. The beachfront setting might be nice, if you could only find a place in town to sell you a decent margarita with which to enjoy it.
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