Accidentally Perfect

After sleeping the entirety of yesterday, we’re somewhat refreshed, though still slightly out of sorts. We pack, leave our things at the front desk of the hotel, and swing by the bus station where we learn there is only one bus to Mazunte per day. Oh. Jay runs to the market and Maya and I walk around the still sleepy town. We’ll reconvene at the San Juan Hotel, our accidentally perfect stay in Puerto Escondido, with an ocean view from our private porch, AC, a painfully hot shower, and right next to the bus station we need. Don’t plan too much, don’t think too hard, just trust…

I want “accidentally perfect” to be my life’s vibe.

We board. I watch the jungle fly by outside my window. And just like that, I feel things are truly underway. My journey has kicked off.

There was a moment in Sayulita where a new friend said to me, “I thought about coming with you, but I’m not sure I vibe with your friends how you do.” I think of this as I turn from the window of the bus to look at them, and find both head-banging and bouncing around to the music in their separate earphones. Raging hard in the back of the bus. I grin and laugh. I love the energy of the trio we have formed. I also see how not everyone would. And I’m perfectly okay with that. As Maya shouted at me the other morning, “Here we are! Making a scene in the street!” Maybe it’s not everyone’s vibe, but we don’t mind. We joke about being the weird Americans and, unlike on previous trips, I embrace it fully.

We almost miss our bus stop, each of us is so wrapped in our individual moments. I catch the bus driver staring at us in the rearview and tug out my headphones. The man in the row in front of me turns around. “Mazunte,” he says. Oh shit. We scramble off the bus and spot a group of hippie kids sitting on the ground outside a gas station.

“Hi. Do you know how to get to Mazunte from here?”

“Wait with us, we’re catching a collectivo.”

But when it arrives, we can’t all fit, with so many people and bags.

“We’ll catch the next,” we tell them, but the lovely Isreali girl of their group says no, and runs towards a Jeep that’s just stopped.

“Come on guys, we’ll hitchhike!” She calls to us.

The Jeep is owned by a sweet family, with a small boy. There are four of us, three packs, and three seats. I put my pack on Jay’s lap and climb on top of the spare tire in the back of the Jeep, holding onto the rusty axe sticking out of the back. Okay, let’s go!

As we breeze down the road, sun on face, wind in hair, I’m already so much happier. This is my speed, my vibe, my desire. Everyone in town looks like a friend. Little crusty beach hippies. They smile as I ride by on the tire. In the next few hours I’ll learn they smile whenever our eyes meet. We walk down jungle roads, and my breath comes slower and deeper.

We’ve arrived in Mazunte with no plans, no accommodations, no idea if we even intend to stay here or continue to Zipolite.

We leave Maya and all the bags at the first open cafe we spot, and Jay and I head out in search of a room, or some beds, or some hammocks…really whatever we can find. After being turned down many, many times, we manage to book a room, with our very limited Spanish, for three people for 700 pesos. We accomplished our mission for the day. Get to Mazunte. Find a place to sleep. We high-five as we walk back to Maya.

February 1st. The new moon. 

To fresh starts. To new beginnings. To disappearing in order to be reborn. To allowing the darkness to be calm and healing, not scary. 

I didn’t know I was searching for my perfect day, but it found me nonetheless. 

I leave our room early in the morning, Jay is still sleeping, and Maya is taking her time preparing for the day. Head to the cafe we discovered the day before and sit down to write. To catch up. To clear my brain. 

Maya joins me, and we quickly make the acquaintance of two French boys at a table over. They inform us of an ecstatic dance this afternoon in Zipolite, and over the next few hours, we gather a crew. Thomas from England, Maria from Germany, Haley from Scotland, Jay, Maya, and I. Colorado, California, and Texas. Valentin and Arnaud from France will meet us there.

We wave down a collectivo, pack it full of travelers, flow toys, instruments, speakers. We have a jam session on the 20 minute ride from Mazunte to Zipolite. I hang off the back step of the truck, dancing. I feel as though we’re on our way to a rainbow gathering. Looking at all these grubby, smiling faces… I’m happy. Fully at peace in this moment, flying down winding mountain roads.

After wandering the streets of Zipolite, asking strangers, following hidden, vague signs, we finally arrive to Camp Zipolite. 

Three hours of blissful dancing. No drugs, no drinking, no talking. 

Communication through smiles, laughter, movement, shouts of joy, cheers.

It’s so hot, dancing in the middle of the day in Southern Mexico, but we push through.

The music begins to wind down, and I slow my movements. Hold my hands on my stomach, sway, eyes closed. I settle into stillness, in the middle of the floor, and thank my body for housing me all these years. As the thought is born, I’m flooded with empathy for all the pain I have put this body through, intentionally and not. I am flooded with gratitude for it’s resilience. I start crying in the middle of the dance floor, eyes closed, feeling the movement of bodies near me. So happy. 

The music stops and we’re instructed to lie down.

We meditate.

For a moment, after hours of not talking, I’m sure I’ll never speak again. I communicate through smiles and laughter now. I start to giggle, laying on the floor. Arnaud and Maria start to laugh besides me. Releasing pent up energy back to the world. I am high. 

We rise, hold hands, set intentions for the new moon. We’re all smiles. Hugs. Dreamy eyes.

A girl named Kiva approaches me, “every time I was getting tired, I would find you on the dance floor, and you were still going so hard, I would be energized all over again,” she tells me. We embrace and she joins our group. 

“I need to go to the ocean to replace my salty wetness with fresh salty wetness,” I say to Kiva, and she agrees, laughing.

Numbering at least 12 now, we head towards pizza and the sea.

I bounce along the shoreline, splashing in the waves and playing with my hula hoop, still high from the ecstatic dance. There is no moon, but the ocean glows brightly. 

The slope of the ocean floor here is gentle and inviting, and I’m able to venture far into the waves before the water seems to rise much. I spin and spin, my hula-hoop flying more quickly than I can think to control it, flowing with the water.

Suddenly four naked bodies streak past me in the bright night, laughing and whooping. Jay, Maria, Kiva, and a German guy I’ve not made the acquaintance of yet. I’m taken by surprise, and my laughter erupts to join theirs. I strip my clothes, drop my hoop, and run to join them.

“We’re so lucky,” Kiva says, standing waist-deep besides me, starring at the stars.

“It doesn’t even make sense,” I respond.

So fucking lucky.

Writing. New friends. Good food. Rest. Dancing. Meditating. Swimming naked with strangers and friends. A perfect day. I crash hard.

Maya and I head to a new cafe for coffee in the morning. Though I’ve fallen in love with the one I’ve been visiting daily, I suppose it’s important to branch out. As our coffees hit the table we spot the two boys who invited us to ecstatic dance the day before. They ask if they can join us. They pull up an image on their phone. A flyer for a singing circle this evening. It was mentioned briefly the day before, but we didn’t have any details. It looks lovely. 

Maya laughs. “Is this the new routine?” She asks. “You appear in the morning as we have our coffee and tell us our plans for the day? Show us our itinerary.”

“I love it,” I reply. “It’s a perfect routine for me.”

And so our nights in Mazunte, though numbering only three so far, are full of promise, potential, love, friendship, and laughter.

On night one, we eat at a cafe. The waiter is completely overwhelmed. He tells me he and one cook are the only people working, and that he’s having to wash the dishes between taking orders.

I immediately ask if he needs help.

I would live here.

I would happily wash dishes.

Keep me, Mazunte.