Puebla – Oaxaca – Puerto Escondido
We reluctantly left the comforts of San Miguel de Allende and headed down the trail to Puebla. Arriving that afternoon in Cholula, an offshoot of Puebla, we weaved our way to the campground, our stomachs begging to be fed, we quickly parked the truck and wondered down the street in search of a collectivo with “puebla” scribbled somewhere on the windshield. Success! Off to Puebla in search of the famed tacos al pastor! A short but bumpy ride took us and about 10 others to the centro in a small Toyota van. The driver weaved in and out of traffic – hoofed, wheeled and shoed, only inches from trading paint with passing and parked cars alike. We lurched to a halt, the door slid open to unload us into the hustle and bustle of the city, then rumbled off down the cobblestone road in search of new prey to consume and then regurgitate in another local. After a few wrong turns, u-turns and some backtracking, we made our way to the restaurant, our stomachs now crying out in long drawn out moans. “Cinco tacos al pastor, por favor!” Delicious.
tacos al pastor in Puebla
Puebla itself didn’t captivate us, so after a quick post-dinner tour of the market, church and zocalo we stumbled our way back as the sun was sinking behind the hills. We woke to the standard symphony that is a morning in Mexico – church bells ringing, roosters crowing, dogs barking and a truck grunting down the road shouting “soni gas!” or any other of what seems to be an infinite number of advertising messages broadcasted from these mobile noise/air pollution machines. “Lets head for Oaxaca!” On the way out of town Ken and I stopped off to get the oil changed in our trucks while the girls hung out in a coffee shop to research the next leg of the trip. Having left both of our translators behind, Ken and I played charades with the mechanic until he understood what we needed. Total price of labor: $4. Deal!
oil change. labor cost: $4
We planned to spend the night just outside Oaxaca in the Benito Juarez “national park.” Not having proper gps coordinates we followed our nose up and out of the city toward the general direction we believed the park to be. We drove through a small town and continued onward, the roads now turning to dirt we crossed a stream while patrons of a roadside taco stand shot stares that seemed to question our sanity. We climbed further up at a snails pace, the 4-wheel-drive proving itself with every rut in the road conquered. We soon found ourselves at a gate of what surely looked like the makeup of a national park entrance. We hopped out of the truck and a man came out of his guardhouse to greet us. We asked him if it would be possible to enter the park and camp for the night. He gave us a sideways look, said something about a permit, then went back inside and came out with a cell phone. He dialed, it rang, and we listened. During what seemed like a lengthy conversation for the situation, we overheard him say some like, “blah blah blah, cuatro gringos, blah blah blah.” We all laughed. This man obviously thought we had lost our marbles. He informed us that the mystery person on the other side of the phone call said we could not camp there. “Darn!” Not wanting to stay in the city, we decided to do a little pirate camping back down off the road we’d climbed earlier.
climbing upward to the “national park”
trying to figure out what to do after being denied entrance to the “national park”
As we headed back down, carefully maneuvering around obstacles in the road, feeling all manly and whatnot in our big 4×4 trucks, a three-wheeled tuctuc came flying around the corner, nearly becoming a hood ornament on Ken’s Ford Ranger. We burst out laughing. Some off-roaders we are… We spotted a small track heading off the road, up a notably steep hill and toward a patch of trees – a perfect spot to pirate camp. Ken was first to give the hill a go. All of 4 feet later he found himself in a precarious position, one wheel a good foot off the ground, another a good foot into a drainage gully he’d failed to notice. Gunning it, the engine roared and the two remaining useful wheels desperately grasp something to grip onto. A violent lurch and the truck frees itself from the trap! My turn. With the truck in 4-low and staying well clear of the pit to the right, we made it up with ease. We found a flat spot and called it good.
not a bad pirate camp spot
surveying the territory
flower
After kicking back in our chairs and watching the sun begin to fade away, we cooked up a delicious dinner. As we were sitting there enjoying our meal, the remaining sunlight becoming overpowered by the darkness of night, Kylee spotted a cowboy hat that by means of reason sat atop a cowboy’s head. Soon it vanished behind a hill and left us with a funny feeling lingering in our guts. We were being watched! It was like an old western movie, our fire too big, we were easily spotted, in this scenario, the lights from our truck playing the role of campfire. For a few minutes every rustling bush was a possible bandito making his way nearer to our camp. High alert. Snapping back into reality, we dismissed the encounter with the phantom gaucho and did the dishes. Reality sucks.
doing dishes, yay!
A short while later I noticed a pair of headlights bouncing up the road towards us. I walked over to Ken and Anaka’s truck and said, “we might have a situation on our hands.” As I feared the headlights came to a stop just below our camp, then turned off. Five smaller lights now bobbed up the steep trail, growing brighter with each passing second. Silence. Nobody spoke. I walked toward the five lights. “hola, buenos noches!” I called out to the silent figures making their way toward camp. “hola” I heard in return. Kylee, Ken and Anaka joined me as the lights now illuminated the faces of the middle age men who wore them and the machetes hanging from their belts. The situation was uncomfortable. I played the dumb gringo card. In broken Spanish I informed them that we believed ourselves to be camping in the Benito Juarez national park. In rather good, and fast Spanish they informed us of what we already knew, that we were in fact not in the national park and that we were on land belonging to the small town of San Pedro we’d passed through earlier that afternoon. The latter part we were unaware of. The tense situation quickly unraveled into laughter when one poor gaucho chose to sit down on a small cactus. “Yeee!” he shouted, we all turned and saw what had happened and immediately we were united by the misfortunes of the gaucho now with a sore behind. “Espina!” somebody cried out and the laughter started all over again. We passed out beers to our new amigos, the universal sign of friendship, and we all sat around, careful to avoid any espina, and made small talk as best we could with our limited vocabulary. They informed us that they didn’t want us to leave any basura (garbage) behind and that it would be okay for us to camp there for the night. After the beers were finished, they got to their feet, wished us well and headed back down the hill. Huge smiles hung under our noses the rest of the night.
Goodnight
The following morning we packed up camp, leaving no garbage behind and made our way into the city of Oaxaca. We pulled up to the hostel Kylee and I had stayed at a year or so ago when we were in Oaxaca for Spring break. We were able to park on the street directly in front of the hostel door. Lucky. Inside we took a few moments to relax and take a shower. Ken went back out to his truck to grab their phone and a few other belongings, only to return a few short seconds later with a sullen look on his face. “Somebody broke into our truck,” he said. It took a second to process this bit of information because of how unlikely it was. It was mid-day, we were parked along a quiet but well used road with many pedestrians and the truck was only feet from were we sat in the courtyard. Turns out, after looking over surveillance footage the hostel had, the thief made several passes by the truck on foot then pulled up along side it in a car, jumped out and had the door lock picked in a matter of seconds. Once inside he didn’t waste any time, he grabbed what he could carry and ran back into the awaiting car. Total time it took him: maybe 10 seconds. Yikes. Ken and Anaka quickly ran through what the thief took as best they could remember: a bag of books, their medical kit, their phone and a few other knickknacks. Not too bad of a loss. It wasn’t until some time later that they realized the thief had also made out with their SLR camera! Darn thief! A cheap lesson just became an expensive one. They felt a little deflated but impressively kept their spirits high enough to explore Oaxaca later that day. From now on as a rule of thumb Kylee and I no longer keep anything in the front of the truck. It all goes in back where there is metal over the windows and difficult locks to pick. Unfortunately that also means it goes on our bed…oh well. At night we simply transport everything to the front and lock the doors, easy enough.
Caught in the act! kinda…
Ken and Anaka stayed in Oaxaca another night so they could fix their lock and install an alarm. Kylee and I left the following morning for the sun, sand and surf of Puerto Escondido. The drive is short in length but long in time. It took us nearly 6 hours to drive around 120 miles. Slow going on possibly the windiest road I’ve ever driven, but also perhaps the most beautiful as well. We twisted and turned our way high into the mountains where the cool air seemed easier to breath and pine trees reminded us of home. Each bend in the road revealed spectacular views down into the valleys below.
On the road to Puerto Escondido from Oaxaca
this picture doesn’t do the twists and turns justice
Soon our posteriors grew numb and our eyes strained against the constant barrage of alternating bright sun and dark shadows streaking across the road. Just as delirium was on the verge of setting in, the road straightened out and we sped quickly toward the coast, arriving in Puerto Angel with relief. From there it was a quick, and straight, 30 miles down the coast to Puerto Escondido. About 15 miles in, we came to a halt behind a long line or cars and trucks stopped dead in their tracks. Soon a few daring drivers pulled out and sped up the other lane toward to the front. Naturally we did the same. Upon arriving at the front of the line we were confronted with an army (of grandmas), holding fast to their line, armed to the teeth with signs a-many. We pulled over to the side of the road, grabbed our camera and went to investigate what this blockade was all about. Best we could make out, they were protesting the expansion of the road we were currently driving and that it would be three days until the road would be clear. “Whelp, that’s that, time to turn around.” Then we heard a report that the road would now be open at 7pm. Conflicted now, shoot. To stay or to go? But then somebody announced something and everybody gathered into a circle to listen to who we believe was the town mayor. Five minutes later everybody cheered and began to disperse. The two trucks that had been blocking the road rumbled off. We were free! “Quick, before they change their mind!” Easiest three days ever!
roadblock
the truck and the blockade
listening to the mayor
can you spot the gringo!?
everybody circling up to listen to the mayor
We arrived in Puerto Escondido, setup camp and lived the life of the standard gringo tourist for a few days, hanging out on the beach under an umbrella, snorkeling and doing all the other things gringos do. Relaxing. I won’t bore you with the details as my fingers are growing tired and your eyes surely are beginning to seek a new form of entertainment. I hope you enjoyed our latest tale. Thanks for listening. See you again soon.
our camping spot in Puerto Escondido
- Joe and Kylee
In the medical museum
At a cafe in San Cristobal de las Casas
The market
cheap, delicious fruit
Agua Azul from the top
Agua Azul from the bottom
Howler monkeys above our campsite
Palenque ruins
Palenque zen
Palenque gym
sacrafice
Palenque yoga
The band
Awesome sandcastle
what overlanders do at the beach…
on the yucatan
Joe palm tree climbing in Bacalar
Bacalar campsite
Bacalar sunset
Bacalar dock
