Vamos a la Playa

Notes from Catemaco: stumbling off a bus at five in the morning and immediately being pressed to visit a black magic witch doctor across the lake; staying with "mom" and "dad" who wouldn´t cut us a deal but talked about all the important people who stayed with them; a fear of crocodiles, and being chased by rowdy cattle; the concrete hobbit house at the end of the trail; the constant chatter of birds; forty plastic chairs set up in the street facing a public bathroom; the oppressive midday heat and the chilly nights that only breach your bedroom at daybreak; riding 40 km to Ibarra, where a massive lagoon meets the gulf; fresh fried fish on the beach where exhaustion implores you to open your wallet; the beauty of sunlight through slow, shallow waves; mountains ringing the water like you´d expect to find in Thailand; a lancha ride across the lagoon with drunk Mexican tourists; the peppery night air as we climb back to Catemaco, not on bicycle, but the in the back of a pirata pickup.

Some memories should be scattered to the wind, seeding stories for another day.