Mazunte Magic

 “How long have you been in Mazunte?” Maya asks the man at the table next to us, who’s just started a conversation out of the blue.

“8 years," he responds. To me, he adds, "I recognize you from last season.”

“Me? No, I’ve never been here before.”

“Really? But I know you. Are you also from California?”

“No, Texas.”

“Austin? That’s where I know you from!”

“Really?” I’m doubtful…he’s the second person to say that to me on this trip.

“I’m sure of it. I know you. Let’s look at facebook.” Pause. “Yup, 77 mutual friends. Austin people. Oh wait… do you work Sherwood Faire?”

“You work the ren faires?” Now I’m quite surprised.

“Yeah, for years. I play with a bunch of bands there.” He starts listing off names of people I’ve known for a decade, if not my whole life.

“What the hell?” Maya pipes up, laughing in disbelief.

“What the hell?” I repeat after her. “This is crazy. You have a good eye for faces.”

“I knew I recognized you.”

The world is tiny. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.

Nice to see you again, Ian. 

World’s apart, but closer than ever.

For the second day in a row we gather a crew and load onto a collectivo to venture to Zipolite. For the second day in a row, we’re too many hippies to fit in the truck. Arnaud, Valentin, and I climb onto the luggage rack in the front of the truck to make it work. I don’t mind. The view from up top is much better than staring at canvas walls anyway. 

Today’s quest? The singing circle - Unite in Babylon.

We start off across Zipolite, no actual heading, but sure we’ll find the spot somehow. I overhear two women ask a street vender if he knows where the singing circle is, and he points to our ragtag group as we pass, “Just follow them. I’m sure it’s where they’re going.”

The group grows. 

Together, we make it there.

To describe the circle now, out of it and looking back, seems nearly impossible. To capture the feelings of it. Six and a half hours of singing, dancing, meditating, hugging, playing, laughing. Perhaps I’ll have to describe it as it happened, and not as it felt.

We arrive in the daylight, the musicians are in the center of a huge tarp on the ground, performing soundcheck. Jay has come a few hours before us to help set up all the sound equipment, and I see him bouncing around between musicians, fiddling with cords.

There are already at least a hundred people forming rings around the musicians, sitting cross-legged on the ground, with dozens more milling about, and additional pairs and groups pouring down the driveway by the minute. It will be a large event. The tarp is spread under a giant mango tree, and when I stare upwards I see thousands of tiny green mangos, like decorations, hanging above our heads.

I go and ask for cacao, and pass it around our group. The energy builds in anticipation.

Finally, we are called to attention. Asked to quiet. Asked to focus ourselves and our intentions. To place a hand on our hearts, and one on our neighbors. We om. Numbering 200, at least, the sound is deep and powerful and cocoons us. The first song begins. We are led gently, to open our hearts and trust our voices. To share our music with each other. The musicians take turns sharing songs from their cultures. So many nations present here. We sing in Spanish, English, Portuguese, Hebrew. I’m forgetting others. 

By hour five, I’m exhausted. I sit down where I’ve been standing and put my head on my arms, swaying. I feel hands patting my hair and rubbing my back. Maria and Maya sit on either side of me and adopt the same position. It’s been a long ceremony already. They don’t stay long though. An upbeat song begins and they rise, called to dance. They wave their hands above my head, casting spells, calling me to join them. Others begin to do the same, until there are a dozen hands casting spells on to me. 

I rise.

This is how we manage six and a half hours. Riding waves of energy. A tide, sometimes rising, sometimes falling.

The last song begins. I see Jay and Thomas in the crowd next to each other, and wrap an arm around each. An old friend. A new friend. We sway as one.

“Home, I am home,” the circle sings. 

“I found a place to heal my soul.

“It is right here.

“We are right here.

“Between the hills, the sun, the stars,

“The river, so clear.

“River, so clear.”

The song fades. The circle connects. People begin wrapping arms around those on either side of them, grabbing hands, placing palms on backs, until we’re all touching one another. We om again. We review intentions. We close the ceremony.

sound check

happy boy, Jay

I’m starving after this intense experience. So is Maya. 

We, along with Jay, Thomas, and Alex, set out in search of a taxi back to Mazunte. A chore which proves harder than we expect, as the circle has gone much later than planned, and everyone is trying to return at this point. 

We see no taxis and begin sticking out our thumbs. A car stops with only one space. Alex takes it. The four of us remaining stand on the side of the highway and have a little jam session, waiting for more headlights to pass.

A second car stops with two spaces. Maya and Jay get in.

Then there were two. 

Thomas and I stand in the street, but no headlights come. Four women approach, also trying to get back to Mazunte. This may become difficult.

A taxi slows for us, and they run to it, desperate to go. Thomas approaches it as well, and I hear the driver say in Spanish that he will take five people. I remain further away, prepared to stay behind. At least with only one person, I can hitchhike on a motorbike, which pass much more frequently then cars.

But one of the women stands up for me. “6?” She asks. “Esta chica es muy pequeña!” (this girl is very small!)

The driver looks me up and down, grumbles a bit, and jerks his head for us to get in. 

I melt into the laps I’m on, exhausted from the day, and so grateful for the experience.

The following day I wake on the wrong side of the bed. I need to book hostels and look at plane tickets, but everything feels difficult. It’s as though I’m hungover, despite not drinking anything at all the day before. Perhaps I’ve overdosed on the love. Like taking too many stimulants and hating life the next day, serotonin depleted and sad.

I watch the waves crash. Everything is beautiful. Everything sucks. Life rolls on.

I joke with Maya and Jay that I will go back to the room and restart the day, like an electronic device. “Have you tried turning it off and back on?”

I’m sure I can turn the day around, and agree to meet them on Playa Mermejita for sunset later. Something we’ve been meaning to do since arriving, but haven’t.

Today is the day.

Mermejita is beautiful, with the softest black sand your feet have ever touched and the perfect location for stunning sunsets. Arnaud and Valentin join us, bringing mezcal, juice, and beer. We mix drinks and watch the sun descend in the sky. 

There are people everywhere, playing with poi, hoops, and staffs, having small jam circles with instruments, doing acro-yoga, dancing. It’s beautiful. 

The sun disappears. We cheer. Darkness ascends amidst our conversations. Wrapping us safely in our bubble of friends.

I wander into the waves, once more.

It seems in this trip, the ocean calls to me at night most often. 

I dance lazily along the shoreline, flirting with the water. Twirling in the sand. I begin singing to Yemaya - orisha of the ocean. The moonshine has replaced the sun, and her reflection on the water is stunning. I walk towards her, singing loudly. The crashing water disguises my voice and removes any shyness.

I feel the rising power of the tide. It shares its power with me. 

The waves get bigger. 

Louder. 

I see something glowing in the water from the corner of my eye.

I look down. 

It’s gone.

I continue singing. I see it again. It’s gone. And another. Now I’m watching, and singing, and curious. I begin to spot them more and more frequently, these bright glowing dots in the water swirling around my feet. It looks like the sky has joined the sea. Stars dancing in the waves. 

The reality of what I’m seeing hits and I’m overcome with joy, laughter erupting. Bioluminescent plankton! I join the stars and the sea in their dance.

I run along the dark shoreline, following the sound of the hangdrum being played within our group. Maya is deep in conversation with a new-comer, but I kneel beside her in the sand, touching her arm.

“Sorry to interrupt, but come with me! There’s plankton in the water!”

Jay hears and is fast on my heels. The three of us run back to the waves, excited.

I was able to hit restart on my day. I was able to turn it around. To have an excellent, magical experience. 

Have you tried turning it off and back on again?

In the morning, Jay leaves us. His time in Mexico short and sweet. We’ve formed such a crew, it’s hard to watch him go. Our routine and camaraderie. The ease of traveling with these two friends has been so lovely, and I’m overjoyed they’ve gotten along so well. It’s sad to watch him leave. Nevertheless, the time has come. We wave down a collectivo, share hugs and well-wishes, watch him drive away.

And then there were two.

Las Mayas.

With Jay gone, we’ve asked to move to a smaller, slightly cheaper room in the same hostel. Our host, Rafa, says it’s no problem and we pay him for four nights in advance.

I walk to our current room to pack my back and find him constructing a huge bell tent in the open space outside the private rooms. 

“Whoa, that’s cool! What’s that for?”

He looks at me, clearly distressed. “I need to talk to you.”

Uh-oh.

“I made a mistake. I thought I had a room available, but I forgot to write down a reservation of someone who booked online. So…this is for you girls. I will give you the first night for free to fix my mistake. I realized at 2am what I did. But I will make it nice, with a fan and lights and a nice bed inside. If you don’t like it, I’ll give you the refund.”

And this is how we end up glamping in Mexico for two weeks.

It’s actually perfect. He could not have made the mistake with two better people. We don’t mind at all.

He builds us a nice porch area, which is somewhat secluded and private, and I quite enjoy that we can now host friends at our place instead of in a hostel common area. We buy candles. Hayley loans us a star projector. We make it home. We live here now.

A week into my stay in Mazunte, my flight back to Texas is fast approaching. Four days away. 

No way I’m going back yet. Why would I? 

I cancel my flight and message my mom to let her know I’m extending my trip.

“I figured you’d be gone a while. A month didn’t sound like enough for you,” she responds.

I’m grateful to have family who accepts my need to move. Experience. Love. Live life loudly.

A month was never going to be enough.