Waiting for the Mini-Bus

Puerto Arista, Chiapas

Mexico is not a homogeneous place. I guess this is obvious. I mean it’s not like Minneapolis is the same as Duluth is the same as Hayward is the same as Austin. But I think from the perspective of us Americans it can seem like these other places on Earth are all one big homogeneous unit. Mexico. Europe. Asia. 

And I’m not just talking about the landscape – which has changed considerably over the last few days. We went from the mezcal region – arid and harsh, with sharp and bristly plants just hanging on for dear life on the sides of mountains – to regular old jungle – lush and green, with birds and insects and life just bursting from every corner.

There’s also the people and the houses and buildings and infrastructure. Puerto Arista is like a town that time forgot. It’s on the ocean. It has a beautiful beach that appears to stretch on for miles. It should be a tourist destination. Or at least a successful fishing village maybe. And it looks like it had grand plans – or maybe a heyday years ago. There are old hotels and what used to be a nice square and park. But everything seems to be in disrepair now . . . Falling apart. In need of more than a paint job. Mildew. Just kind of sad really.

And that applies to our Airbnb as well. There are parts that seem okay. Nice even. Right now I’m on a hammock on the outdoor patio under an awning. And there is an outdoor kitchen of sorts with a cool grill. There’s an outdoor bathroom and an outdoor shower. But then there is stuff lying around randomly, and nothing quite works right. 

The inside? Stuffy and smelly. The tiny kitchen? Like someone forgot it since 1922 – and just kind of left grandma’s things. This morning I found a sugar canister crawling with tiny ants. Just not the type of place that makes you excited to cook . . .

Town itself . . . My sense is there are about 200 people who live in this town. But somehow there are about eight little grocery store type things. None of which even match a typical American gas station convenience store in depth or variety of products. We had purchased most of our provisions in Tonala before we arrived – but I went in to town here to buy butter, milk, eggs, and yogurt. 

Butter – exactly one stick of butter in the back of the refrigerator case. Milk – I think I purchased one of the two things of milk they had. Eggs – I purchased ten of about twenty eggs they had for sale. Yogurt – there was one yogurt drink in the place, no actual yogurt – and none in the other stores. I still don’t know how these places – or, more important, the people who depend upon them – survive . . .

We went on a little walk through town last night. Just by walking along and not kicking them we were adopted by a pair of dogs. Mind you, we didn’t pet them or anything. We just didn’t kick them – and I guess that was enough. Followed us on our walk. Followed us home. We tried to shoo them away. But to no avail. 

They slept on the patio. And, in fact, one of them had the audacity to come in the house during the night and slept inside. Only in the morning – after Diana decided they must have fleas – did we finally chase them away. I had to yell at them and pretend to kick at them to get them to slink away. Even then they just hid around the corner – hoping we would change our minds. Kind of sad. (They are still just around the corner and occasionally peak their heads around, hoping for a better result.) But I guess that is the state of dogs in Mexico.

Mid-post update. After Diana woke up we decided to jump ship. This airbnb, this town, and those dogs are just too much for us. We were hoping for a little oasis of niceness. The ocean provided some of that – we swam again this morning – but the rest of the town, and especially the airbnb, are just not what we were hoping for.

Only proviso – there is always a proviso – is Fidel from the bike shop in Tonala. We are waiting on the tire he is supposedly sending via mini-bus. And we kind of have to wait because Old Dan did, indeed, have a catastrophic hemorrhage. Last night, while cleaning the bikes (more on that in a moment) I noticed yet another aneurysm caused by  a second double barreled dissection. This morning the tire was flat and there is a tear in the tire in the location of that aneurysm. 

So much for the new tires we purchased in Puebla . . .

Oh yeah, cleaning the bikes – or more specifically the drive trains. I really haven’t done a lot of cleaning other than just wiping away what dirt and grime I could with a piece of napkin or paper towel. We don’t exactly have degreaser along on this trip.

Or, do we? 

A few days ago I realized that gasoline is probably a good de-greaser. One google search later and we’re in business. Turns out gasoline works pretty well. And we have the little fuel bottle full of gas for fueling the cook stove for our coffee and tea. Worked great. Old Dan and Little Ann are now cleaner than they have been since Minnesota . . .

So now we’re waiting for the mini-bus . . . 

But I don’t want to leave you on a completely down note . . . First off, things aren’t all bad. The ocean swimming was fun. The pelicans were doing their usual fun stuff. And we had a wonderful lunch on the beach when we rolled into town yesterday. Fresh whole fried fish with salad and rice and beans. Delicious. 

If the mini-bus ever arrives we push on toward Guatemala . . .

And that’s the quick report from Puerto Arista. 

Where the houses and hotels are dilapidated. The convenience stores are plentiful – even if pretty unhelpful. The dogs are ubiquitous and loyal – to a fault. And the ocean is still beautiful.