Author: John Bassett

Japan is an ancient nation, but Tokyo is not an old city. There was only a small village here in 1603 when Tokugawa Ieyasu, the first shogun, created established a new city here as his center of power. What we call Tokyo was known then as Edo. The emperor continued to reside in Kyoto and that was the official capital of Japan, but the emperors had little authority and political and military power resided with the shogun in Edo.

One of the parts of Edo developed during this period is the area where we are staying. It is called Shiodome. Now Shiodome sounds like a rather bad name for a sports complex, but the word is Japanese and probably meant something like “keeping out the tide.” The area was originally marshland on the north side of Tokyo Bay, and the shogun ordered it filled in and gave his feudal lords, daimyo in Japanese, the land here for building their homes. The shogun required the daimyo to live for much of the year in Edo. This allowed him to keep a careful eye on them, and also drained a good bit of the finances they would need to mount a rebellion.

In 1868, after a good deal of interference by the United States and Britain in the internal affairs of Japan, the shogunate was abolished. In theory this restored the power of the emperor, and for that reason it is called the Meiji Restoration. But in reality Japan was dominated by the western powers during this time and its national government was fairly powerless. The abolition of the Shogunate was also the end of the feudal system, and the residences of the daimyo were abandoned or destroyed. The land here was used by the new government as a railway terminus of the Tokaido Main Line, the first railway in Japan.

Throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Shiodome remained an important transportation area. And after 1914, when the Main Line was extended, it became the primary freight yard for Tokyo. The area was badly damaged during the 1920 Kanto earthquake, but rebuilt soon afterwards. It suffered even greater damage during the American bombing of Tokyo towards the end of the Second World War. Again, it was rebuilt and remained central to the economy of the region. But the development of motorways and changes like the shift to container shipping left diverted most of the freight away from Shiodome. In 1987, the Japan National Railways was sold to private investors, and the Shiodome freight yards were sold to developers. Working with local and national government planners, thirteen major skyscrapers were built in this area of only 55 acres. Shiodome is now a significant new urban center for Tokyo, and its towering buildings are home to some of the country’s most important corporations. Our hotel, the Park Hotel, is located in one of these high-rises, the Shiodome Media City.

John and I slept better than we expected we would after moving across 16 times zones, but we both woke up fairly early. We decided to go down to breakfast right away at seven, and then to go exploring a bit before our guide showed up. Breakfast was a choice of Japanese or “Western” foods. I knew I should do the Japanese as I am here and it has fewer calories, but somehow a green broth with some kind of meat and vegetables did not appeal to me today. After drinking a last cup of coffee, we went out. By daylight, the whole Shiodome area made a lot more sense to me than I did last night. I had a much better sense of what the buildings were and how the different walkways worked.

Our building is possibly the most handsome of this generally undistinguished group of skyscrapers. 

We caught a glimpse of our first cherry blossoms. 

We found the Shiodome 

and Shinbashi train stations. We were supposed to take the train from Shinbashi to Shinjuku this afternoon, though we did something else — more on that later. We also found the remnants of the old train station complex. It is really surprising that this building somehow survived not only the Kanto earthquake and World War II, but also urban renewal. 

We found this rather whimsical clock on the side of one of the buildings.

We also discovered that they’re doing a production of Aladdin here, though we just somehow do not have enough time for it.

I think we have made the same excuse in New York a couple times, too.

We returned to the hotel, and promptly at nine our guide showed up. He was an older man, and we learned later that he had worked for a shipping company for over 40 years before he retired. His name was Keiichi, but he preferred to just be called Kei. He had obviously been informed what we wanted to see, and after making sure we understood what was in our packet from the tour company, we were off to see cherry blossoms.

It was good to have a local help guide us through the Tokyo subway system. He showed us how to top off our Pasmo cards, a rough Japanese equivalent to London’s Oyster card system.

I would have to check, but I feel pretty sure that there must be more miles of rail in this city than in either New York or London. And the names of the stops are not easy for westerners to remember. It is all quite clean, even if some lines are rather old. And, this being Tokyo, it seems far safer than any other system. That is mostly because of the Japanese culture, but there are so many people working here, too. There’s nobody in those other systems whose only job is to let you know the train has arrived and its time to get on board.

Our first stop was Ueno Park. We had a suspicion that we would not be the only people out looking at cherry blossoms, but we were completely overwhelmed by the number of people here.

Poor Kei, wearing the brown coat in the picture below, was worried he was going to lose us in the crowds.

John and I were delighted to be part of such a scene, and loved all the people camped out to eat and drink under the blossoms.

One group appeared to consist of some men dressed up as women, but we were not adept enough with our cameras to catch a picture here. We were able to photograph some of our fellow photographers.

And, of course, there were all those lovely blossoms.

After a bit here, we were ready for another spot, perhaps less crowded. Kei suggested that we try the Yasukuni Shrine. As we went through the subway headed towards Kudanshita Station, we started to notice how many young men were there wearing new black suits

 also young women wearing kimonos.

We learned later that this was the day of the graduation of Nihon University, one of the largest and most prestigious of the Japanese universities. The sidewalks were so crowded with the graduates and their families that we could barely move. Kei told us that for the graduation ceremony Nihon had rented the same facilities where the Beatles had played in 1965!

The crowds were so intense that we did not actually enter the Yakusuni Shrine itself. I am a little sorry about that, but I would have made the same decision. It is one of the most sacred of the Shinto shrines, but, as it commemorates Japan’s war dead, including those who died fighting in World War II, it is a controversial place even for the Japanese. The Shrine is directly adjacent to the gardens surrounding the Imperial Palace, and this provided us with some beautiful pictures of more cherry blossoms

and those enjoying them.

I even had an opportunity to get close up to some of these beautiful flowers.

After all the crowds, we were ready for something quieter, and, frankly, so was Kei. He said he had never experienced crowds like that in Tokyo, and he had lived there most of his life. So he suggested Hamarikyu Gardens, right by our hotel. That worked for us, too, as we needed to be back by about 1:30 to get ready for our train trip to Matsumoto. We somehow found our way through the crowds back to the subway station, and Kei found the right line and we were on a train in no time for our last trip. This time I spent less time trying to figure out where we were and more observing the train and my fellow passengers. The Japanese are utterly phobic about germs, so you see people wearing face masks everywhere. 

Really, the more time we spend on the Tokyo Metro, the more surreal everything began to seem there. Kei was sitting next to this guy. He had a pea jacket on his lap along with a Coach purse. Despite the vaguely punkish look, he was clearly worried about dry skin.

 

Meanwhile, I could not stop looking at some of the posters on the train. I guess this one looks like something about what to do if you feel unsafe or something, though I wondered why the man looked like he had somehow not change anything about his appearance since 1975. 

And I have NO IDEA what the accompanying picture suggested at all. 

Gentle readers, if any of you have any idea what this is about, do let me know. 

The Hararikyu Gardens is one of the oldest parks in Tokyo. It is just south of the Shiodome area, and the park was established by the first shogun as part of establishing Edo as his capital. The park served three purposes. First, it provided a buffer between the town and possible flooding from Tokyo Bay. Second, the canal dug through the park allowed small lighters to carry goods from the boats moored in the bay to Edo Castle, the shogun’s residence. Third, the park was a kind of pleasure garden where the feudal lords and their families could spend free time. Somehow, when the rest of Shiodome was turned into a rail yard, the government of Tokyo had the good sense to preserve this area even though it was cut off from the rest of the city. Now it is one of Tokyo’s most beloved places to stroll on a sunny day. And we did just that. As you enter, you first see this 300-year-old pine tree, a living reminder of the days of the shogunate. 

There is also a statue of some feudal lord, but Kei was not clear who he was.

There were a few cherry trees blooming here, though my eye was attracted to other blooms as well. 

Kei showed us a new tea house that is being build there in exactly the Edo period style.

It was not open yet, but there is another tea house that was open and he took us there for a bowl of green tea. 

The tea looked more like pureed kale. Kei explained that this is matcha green tea. It is made by grinding very young tea leaves to a powder and mixing them with hot water. I had vaguely heard about this in Los Angeles where it one of our latest health crazes. I did not mind the taste particularly, but I thought it smelled like seaweed. I would not rush to order it again. We did admire the flower arrangement on the wall opposite us.

We took a short walk afterwards around the lake. I wonder what Tokugawa Ieyasu would make of this scene. I think he would actually be impressed by the power and modernity of the city he established.

We returned to the hotel and bid goodbye to Kei. We were a little after the checkout time, but the hotel staff was gracious about it. We had decided not to follow our travel agent’s advice to send our luggage by courier to the next destination, but we knew we did not want to schlep a couple big suitcases through the Metro. So we took a cab to Shinjuku Station. I liked this better, even as we had a chance to see more of the city than we would underground. And it was only about 30 dollars, not a bad deal at all. 

The train left the station promptly at three o’clock. It’s surprising how quickly Tokyo gives way to countryside. And it also surprises me how much more traditionally Japanese it all begins to seem. We did not take any pictures for some reason, but you have all probably had too many pictures already for one day. It took almost three hours for the train to make it from Tokyo up to Matsumoto where we are spending tonight and tomorrow night. Our hotel is pretty magical here … but more on all of that tomorrow.

 

 

We had a pleasant, uneventful flight. John had splurged — he swears it will be his last time — and bought us business class tickets. It is rather wonderful having seats that recline into beds and all that attention from flight attendants. This was our first time taking ANA, All Nippon Airways, and I would happily fly with them again.

We had a less pleasant time when we landed at Narita. After we left the main terminal, we had to all walk in a single file line past a camera which took our temperature all the time looking at bizarre cartoon figures of camels. Apparently Japan is seriously concerned about MERS, Middle East Respiratory Syndrome, and I later learned that contact with dromedary camels is one of the principal means of transmission of the disease. I wonder how many Japanese people really go to Saudi Arabia anyhow. And many of these people wear face masks to go to their neighborhood grocery store. Would they really be snuggling up with camels?

After having our temperature monitored, we were then stuck for about an hour in long immigration lines. The government is apparently trying to automate the process somehow and had a bank of about 20 small machines, all painted a light pink color, vaguely reminiscent of a 1956 washing machine. These machines were supposed to scan passports, take photographs, and maybe capture fingerprints. All of them seemed to require a human to operate them, but, nevertheless, most of the were not working most of the time.

We were met by a charming lady holding out a sign with John’s name on it. She gave us a packet from the tour operator with all the various tickets and vouchers in it. We went to an ATM and took out some Yen. The kind lady took us to the van. Our driver was well-dressed, extremely polite, and able so speak some English; he was, in short, typical Japanese. It took us about ninety minutes to get to from the airport to the hotel. Narita is located about forty miles from central Tokyo and while I am sure that it is better for many reasons to have the airport located so far out, it does make it difficult for travelers.

We are staying at the Park Hotel here. This is in the Shiodome area of central Tokyo, not too far from the Ginza district. It’s a high-rise business area, and occupies several floors of a business building. This is apparently a fairly typical arrangement here in Tokyo. We had to take an elevator to the twenty-fifth floor to find the lobby. We checked in without difficulty, and were given the card key to our room on the twenty-ninth floor.
We have a pretty spacious room with an absolutely amazing view.

In the evening, we went out to try to find something to eat. One of the disadvantages of staying in an area like this is that it is fairly deserted after the office workers leave in the evening, and although there are scores of restaurants here most are closed on a Saturday night. It is also not an easy area to get around. Pedestrians are supposed to use second-story walkways instead of the street level, and while this is no doubt safer for all the walkways do not always quite follow the pattern of the streets. We wandered about for a while until we found the Shiodome City Center building. We had an inexpensive though pretty mediocre meal at small Japanese cafe there. This lady enjoyed her meal or the company, maybe both. 

Tomorrow, we get to explore a bit of Tokyo — I hope — before we head into the mountains. More pictures in the upcoming posts!

There is seldom much interesting about getting from one point in the world to another, and this is particularly true if you are flying. Still, trips have to begin somewhere and ours is beginning today at the Bradley Terminal at LAX. Our flight leaves a little after noon, a few minutes from now. It will be twelve hours long, but as we cross the international date line we will not arrive until 4:30 in the afternoon tomorrow. The next post will be from Tokyo.

We woke up fairly early and had breakfast at the hotel. It was a buffet as I had expected, and it was about as good as I expected. Still, it was pleasant enough sitting there having coffee overlooking the garden. 

We went into the city and found our barbershop. I am not quite sure why we did not get any pictures here. The people who cut our hair knew little English, but they knew far more about cutting men’s hair than the folks at our local Great Clips. I must admit to a certain nervousness whenever a straightedge razor is applied to my neck, but the cleanness of the trim is amazing. 

We went to one of the most famous churches in Mexico after this, Santo Domingo de Guzman, the old Dominican monastery church. This structure covers most of a large city block and it was once larger. The facade of the church is beautiful, 

but it is the interior that is truly the most impressive. 

It is not simply the amount of gold leaf that has been applied here, but the charm of the carvings which mix both Spanish and indigenous styles. 

It’s not surprisingly a popular spot for weddings.

But we were not here primarily for the church. Instead, we were interested in the state culture center that now occupies the old convent. This is a fairly recent addition to Oaxaca’s cultural treasures. The Dominican monastery was closed in the 1850s as part of La Reforma, and in the aftermath of the Conservative defeat in the three year civil war that followed, the friars’ quarters were turned into military barracks. While the building was returned to the Dominicans during the administration of President Lázaro Cárdenas, the building was generally leased to the local university for  classrooms. In the late 1990s plans were made to restore it as much as possible and to make it an important regional museum. Additionally, the old cloisters and walled garden enclosures have been turned into a botanic garden showcasing the native plants of the state.

It’s interesting to wander through this old building. Parts of it are still somewhat ornate.

But most of it is quite plain. But that is interesting, too.

Looking at the views out the windows may be the best part.

Of course, there is a lot of religious art here.

The museum houses Oaxaca’s oldest library, an important source of information about the colonial era and the early years of independence. 

The botanic gardens are available only by guided tour. English tours are offered only two days a week, and today, alas, was not one of them. So we went along on a Spanish tour. Our guide, fortunately, knew how to speak clear, simple Spanish that people like me would understand. So I followed the tour and felt prtty good about my skills in this language. 

Oaxaca had many different ecosystems. The state is largely mountainous. On the south, Oaxaca is open to the Pacific and has the typical climate of Mexico’s southern coast — hot, wet summers and warm, dry winters. Much of this summer precipitation falls on the mountains which is still fairly thickly forested. Another mountain ranger is found on the north east side of the state bordering Veracruz. During the summer tropical storms drench the mountains here. In the middle of the state is a long, fairly flat, central plateau. On the lee side of both ranges, this valley is fairly arid but sustains a significant amount of agriculture. 

Cactus is one of the most iconic plants of the central valley. The garden showcased the cactus quite effectively. 

Cactus is amazingly photogenic. 

The section devoted to tropical plants was interesting, but other than a few bromeliads, it just looked like big trees with a lot of leaves.

There was also a large section devoted to cultivated plants, particularly corn. This is what corn looked like before people started to cultivate it. 

Doesn’t look much like an Iowa farm, does it? The native peoples of this area learned to alter the plant until the ears looked like this 

or this.

Certainly much more interesting than those big yellow things you find in an American grocery store. 

Along the way, as our guide talked, we rested 

and admired the historic building.

After the tour, we stopped by the Camino Real hotel. This was once known as the El Presidente, and when John and I stayed here twenty odd years ago it was the first time we had ever stayed at a hotel where they turned down your bed and put a chocolate there! It was once a convent for Dominican nuns and has been exquisitely restored. The courtyards are particularly lovely

and appealing to different kinds of guests!

We went back to our modern hotel and rested. In the evening we went back to town. We somehow found ourselves on a square we had never seen before. This area was not quite as well-restored.

But as night fell we noticed that this area was kind of a trendy area, not four tourists but for locals.

Today is the night before The Epiphany. In Mexico this holiday is Three Kings Day and it is the culmination of the Christmas season. Mexican children get presents on Three Kings Day, not Christmas. So the plaza area by the cathedral was packed with families. There was a place where the kids could get their pictures taken with the biblical figures. But others seemed more interested in having a family photo with superheroes for the day. 

Tomorrow, it’s back to Los Angeles and reality.

We left Puerto Escondido early in the morning. The sun had just come up when we arrived at the airport. When we had first come to Escondido nearly thirty years ago there was only a small airstrip here, only big enough for prop planes. It was not long after that it was widened to be large enough for jets. Today there are at least a couple flights each hour, most headed for Mexico City. We were not on one of those, however. Instead, just like the old days, we were on a small plane headed straight over the Sierra Madre del Sur toward the city of Oaxaca. 

Our flight on AeroTucan was indeed an adventure. It was even smaller that the plane we had taken all those year past. Our flight was full, and I think I counted all of 18 people. I saw almost directly behind the pilot. I was a little unsure how exactly he could see over the instrument panel, but it was nevertheless an almost perfect flight. Looking down at the mountains, I could see a maze of winding roads and I was grateful we were not taking the other option for going to Oaxaca, a twelve hour bus ride. Here I am rather inelegantly exiting this tiny plane. 

After getting our luggage, we caught a collectivo to our hotel. We chatted briefly with a woman from Canada and a couple guys from Seattle. We were the last to be dropped off. Our accommodations in Oaxaca are at the Hotel Victoria. John and I had stopped by this place years ago on one of our first visits to the city. I remembered it as being sort of at the edge of town and sort of 1950’s modern. As the taxi dropped us off, it no longer seemed so far away from the center and if anything a bit bleaker than I had recalled.

It was pretty early in the morning, so our rooms were not ready yet. We hung around the pool for a while even though it was pretty chilly.

I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why he had been so obsessed with getting a room here, even though its Presidential Suite was about the cost of a standard room at the Camino Real, the most upscale hotel in the area. But when we finally got into our room, I decided John was a genius. Of course, you all knew that already, didn’t you? The room itself was absolutely huge. I used the iPhone’s panorama setting to try to get a feel for it, but of course it distorted everything. But you will still get the idea.

But the real attraction of the Presidential Suite is the view from the balcony. You can see the entire Valley of Oaxaca from here. This picture does not do it justice. 

As we were tired and the room was so wonderful, we decided to nap for a bit. 

After we were rested, we went into town. We stopped by a barbershop. They were full at the time, but happy to make a reservation for tomorrow morning. We walked around looking at some of the places we remembered. For some reason, neither of us took many pictures today. After a bit of that, we went back to the hotel.

In the evening, we went back into the city for dinner. We had made reservations for one of the area’s most talk-about restaurants, the Pitiona Cocina de Autor. This is one of those places with a multi-course tasting menu. We do not normally do that in Los Angeles, but Oaxaca has become famous not only for its traditional foods but for its emerging fusion food scene. And, besides, we knew this experience would be far cheaper in Mexico! And it was more or less what we expected. There were lots of largish plate with not much food on them, and the food was usually some rather odd mixture of things.  

Most of the dishes we liked, though we did not fall in love with any of them. Probably what I will remember most of all is that we were wondering if the package we had sent from Virginia had arrived at home. We checked the security camera footage and not only saw the package being delivered but a few hours later saw a young woman stealing it! I guess we’ll deal with this when we get home though I doubt we can do anything. Sigh. 

Today was the last day at the beach. Having had such a good experience with our previous excursion — at least the part not involving the overpriced hotel — we decided to book a day trip with the same people. We looked over the options and decided that Chacahua Lagoon National Park looked the most interesting. This is a large brackish lake located about an hour north of Puerto Escondido on the road to Acapulco. As you can see from the map below, there are actually three lakes here and a river. As I understand it, at the height of the rainy season the whole thing can become one large estuary. 

The area is famous for the amount of bird life there, and our trip was to be devoted first to looking for birds and after that for some recreation. It sounded good, and it was overall a fairly good experience. Our guide picked us up at the hotel in a minivan. His name was Ivan.

He spoke a little English, not nearly as much as Job. We were not sure yesterday whether there would be other people as well. But when we looked at the van, we were pretty sure that would be. We made three other stops. As it turned our, there were eight of us. I should have noted down people’s names and taken pictures of them. We had a young couple from Querétaro. They were very cute; both of them were finishing university. There were two woman traveling together from Mexico City. One of the had spent some time studying at UCLA and spoke better English than my Spanish. And there were two men, one a younger Mexican, and the other a pale European whose English was flawless but slightly accented. We think they were a couple. He was Swiss but mostly worked in England teaching Latin. Not being particularly clear on the difference between the dative and the ablative, we talked about other stuff mostly. 

The ride to Chacahua seemed to take forever, and the little towns were passed through reminded me that while the city of Oaxaca and the coastal resorts are reasonably prosperous the rest of the state is one of the poorest in Mexico and sends many migrants to the United States. Oaxacans, not Koreans, are the largest ethnic group in Korea town.

We finally parked and were put on a powerboat. The lagoon is enormous but quite shallow. There are numerous mangrove “islands” in the lake and the are home to different kinds of birds. 

We law lots of herons.

But there were also cormorants, pelicans, and hawks. 

And there were some birds I can not quite sure what they were. Our guide names them all in Spanish. 

After we had been on the lagoon for about ninety minutes, we were taken to a rather depressing center for the conservation of crocodiles. Even though it was supposedly run by the national park, this was nothing like the tortoise facility. It seemed like the worst kind of third world zoo. The poor creatures seems crammed into pens that were far too small for them. I took pictures anyhow. 

I also had to take a picture of this sign. I am surprised somebody even thought it was necessary to put this up.

After this, we went back in the boat and had a short ride to an area right by the place where the lake opened to the ocean. On both sides of the mouth of the lagoon were beaches covered with restaurants. As usual with these things, there seemed to be a connection between the tour operator and a particular restaurant. What made this area interesting was that the tables were so close to the water.

In fact, when the tide started to come in about half of the tables were actually in the water. Yet nobody seemed to care … or even notice.

We spent more time here than I wanted to. The food was okay. I did not much feel like swimming in the water here. Around four in the afternoon, Ivan led us up a long path up a hill. I thought we were returning to the van, Instead, we found ourselves at a small lighthouse. Walking up to the top, we did have a great view of the lagoon and up and down the coast.

As we were leaving a group of local boys scrambled to the top and acted like … boys.

After this, we finally went back to Puerto Escondido. It was dark by the time we were back at the Santa Fe. I was strangely exhausted. John and I went to a like restaurant on the beach that billed itself as sort of a biergarten. The food was pretty mediocre.

We have an early morning flight to Oaxaca tomorrow and I need to pack. I have overall enjoyed our time here. 

It was a pleasant, but quiet New Year’s Day. We had breakfast at the Santa Fe, and went back to our room to do some packing. For some reason — I am not sure if it was our choice or what was available — our reservation called for us to leave the Santa Cruz Bungalows and to spend our last two night here at the hotel. So we went back to the room. John watched the Rose Parade en español for a while and also napped a bit. I worked on photographs. Finally, as it grew closer to noon, we finally pushed everything into our suitcases and went over to the main desk. Our room would not be ready for a while, so they told us to put leave all our belongings in front of the desk and promised that when the room was ready that would be transferred to our new room. 

John and I went down to the beach. We were surprised by how quiet it all was. We figured on a holiday like this lots of people would be down at the beach. But instead there were few cars on the road and only a few people on the sand. John looked in some of the stores that were open for a something more classy than a small trash bag to carry all the stuff we were bringing with us for the afternoon, and he finally found something that should probably also be useful for farmers’ market shopping later. 

We walked all the way down the surf beach to Punta Playa Zicatela. John found a little palapa that had a chaise longue and a table. He pulled over a chair. It was not particularly comfortable, so I spread out my towel on the sand. After spending a little time in the water, I came back and fell asleep. I woke up a little later when some snacks and a Coke Lite arrived. I read for a bit. Even though somebody had a radio playing at a nearby table, it seemed enchantingly peaceful. 

We took a cab back to the hotel. I was really irritated to see that our bags — which contained my phone and wallet and other important stuff — had been left sitting in front of the desk for six hours. The younger man showed us to our room. We are on the third floor. There is a small balcony, but no particular view. The room is fairly spacious however. I did some unpacking while John napped.

In the evening we went to Fresh again. The food was good, but not quite as wonderful as it had seemed a couple days earlier. As often happens in Mexican restaurants, it took forever at the end of the meal to get la cuenta. It took a while to find our room again, too!

Now, off to bed. 

As we had made arrangements to meet our tour guide at eight o’clock, we had an early breakfast. Once again we were one of the first people in the restaurant, and once again buffet food proved to be nearly inedible. Had I paid far less for this room than I did, I might forgive all of this. But when the price charged rivals that of the best hotels in the capital cities of Europe, I do not think that asking for more than rubbery eggs, soggy French toast, and limp bacon is too much. 

After a short wait, we met Juan again. He was accompanied by another young man who drove us in an SUV to the marina in the town of Santa Cruz Huatulco. At the dock, we were introduced to our Santiago who would actually be our guide for the day. Santiago had a small powerboat, with several fishing rods attached to the roof. He pointed these out to us, but I told him politely that we were more interested in sightseeing, swimming, and snorkeling. He seemed quite agreeable to this and we paid him the rest of the money.

We left the marina and sailed around a point towards the national park. Las Bahias de Huatulco is among the dullest of Mexican resort areas, yet Fonatur, the government agency that developed these projects thirty years ago, made a couple good decisions here. One of these was to set aside a large area that included some of the best beaches as a national park. We stopped along the way to the park at another cove where we rented some snorkeling equipment.

We continued on to the national park. We came to an place with a stunning white beach, but Santiago went a little further out towards a large rock in the water. A large area, maybe about an acre, was marked with floating balls. “Aquí está el coral,” he told us. We put on our masks and fins and without much grace jumped into the water. 

Normally, I do not find snorkeling as rewarding as most people do because my eyesight without glasses is pretty bad. But for some reason, I just had an amazing experience this time. I swam around for several minutes without seeing much of anything. But then, all of a sudden, I was floating over a blanket of purple and green surrounded by brightly colored fish.  Continuing on, I found a hole amid the coral and there were phosphorescent blue fishing daring in and out of the coral caves. I experiences a sharp stinging sensation on my arm and realized that I had probably been stung by a jellyfish. I started to swim back to the boat, but decided to risk more stings in order to see more. I soon found myself swimming with a huge school of small gray fish. It was an astonishing experience.

When I returned to the boat, John had been been waiting there for quite a while. He had not seen nearly as much as I had, and it sounded like he had had an even worse time with the jellyfish.

We continued on to a small beach in a nearby cove. There were only five or six people there. We walked the length of the beach. John sat on a rock and I splashed about in the water. After thirty minutes or so, we were ready to go. I was up for exploring another beach, but John needed to eat. But when I told Santiago that “mi compañero tiene hambre,” he seemed to know right where to go. On our way there, he pointed out a famous stone formation that looks something vaguely like a human face. 

As we approached the beach we noticed a number of different restaurants. But we were met on the beach by a very friendly lady who immediately told us to follow her to her restaurant. We figured out that there was probably some connection between Santiago and this woman, and we decided not to protest. She gave us a prime seat right at the front of the restaurant on the sand and we had a very pleasant meal there. After we ordered we noticed a meal in a styrofoam container being delivered from the restaurant to Santiago. 

We were supposed to check out of our expensive hotel at one o’clock, and as we finished eating our meal we noticed that it was already twenty past twelve. I paid our friend and tipped her generously. She motioned for Santiago to bring his boat to the shore. As we were getting on the boat, someone from the restaurant came running over to give us John’s wallet. Apparently I had left it on the table. There are plenty of places in the world where he never would have seen that again.

Back at the marina, they put us on a taxi and delivered us to the hotel. We went up to the room and we packed our stuff. Just before two o’clock, I check out and Job was there waiting to take us back to Escondido. He had told us yesterday that the return trip would take about two hours and fifty minutes, but it about an hour less than that. I napped for part of the time. John was a little nervous as Job whizzed past trucks on this two lane road, and he closed his eyes and tried not to look at those little shrines to people who died in automobile accidents that line Mexican roads. 

In the evening, John went to a meeting. We met up afterwards and had a pleasant meal at a small restaurant on the beach called Fresh. It was quite pleasant. 

After an early breakfast , we met our driver just outside the hotel office. He told us his name was Job though he pronounced it closer to the English word for work than the English name of the hero of the depressing Hebrew poem. Job spoke some English, and were it possible to measure these things, I think my Spanish and his English would be about equal. He took us by the office so I could pay for the trip on my visa. 

The road from Escondido to Huatulco is a bit better than when we took it twenty five years ago, but not much. Parts of it are now what the British call “dual carriageway,” but it still runs through many small towns along the way, each of whom seems to have put up those nearly lethal speed bumps called “topes”. While Puerto Escondido has grown tremendously, it is still a relatively small city and we were out in the country in a few minutes. There is some agriculture around here, but much of the land is still rather undeveloped. We crossed several rivers. These only had a moderate flow of water, but each looked like they could be torrents during the summer rainy season. We are about a month into the dry season, and many of the trees were starting to shed leaves in preparation for more dry months. 

We came to our first stop after about forty five minutes. It was a place called Ventanilla, or “Little Window.” The name comes from a rock formation on the beach there. A small bridge of stone connects two larger parts of the formation creating a “little window” in the rock. 

However, tourists do not come here to gawk at a rock formation. They come instead of look at the mangrove swamp and the animals who live there, especially the crocodiles. Job showed me to a small stall where I bought two tickets for the modest sum of 180 pesos. We were joined on our trip by a man probably in his mid-forties. I wish I had written down his name. He was from Mexico City, but worked extensively abroad as a sustainability consultant. His English was nearly perfect. Our guide here was a local man wearing a red shirt. He explained to us in Spanish that there were two groups of guides here. The guides wearing white shirts — the “blancos” — were older and not much concerned about the environment or habitat restoration. They brought tourists to a small island where they could see all the local animals in cages. The guides wearing red shirts — the “rojos” — were younger and environmentally aware. We are all glad that we were with the reds. 

Just as we were starting to get in the boat, we saw our first crocodile.

In the United States we are accustomed to seeing alligators and we tend to think of crocodiles as living in Africa or Asia. But there are some crocodiles living in the even in the south of Florida and they are found all over Central America. They’re bigger, more aggressive, and had a far more potent bite. 

This Ventanilla lagoon is typical of the mangrove swamps that used to cover much of the tropics. Until recently, their environmental significance — and the way that they can protect the land from flooding and storm surges — was not well understood and most of them were destroyed for inappropriate coastal development. So those that remain, like this one, need to be preserved. The “rojos” understand this. This area was directly hit by Hurricane Carlotta in 2012. Most of the mature forest here was destroyed, including much of the mangroves. The “rojos” have been using social media to attract attention to this, and each year volunteers from around the world join the locals to clean out dead wood and replant mangroves and other trees. 

We saw lots of iguanas as we paddles through the lagoon. These creatures are about as shy as squirrels, and are quite happy to be fed by humans. They also have no fear of cameras and I swear they like to pose for pictures. 

The smaller green ones are female. The larger orange ones are male. A male typically has a group of ten or so females. They need to have a large number of young as crocodiles think that iguanas are quite tasty. Some people do as well, and even though iguana hunting is officially prohibited, our guide admitted that in some towns you can find iguana tacos on the menu. 

We also saw different kinds of turtles,

lots of birds,

and lovely flowers, too. 

I could have spend even longer in the lagoon, about after about forty-five minutes it was time to do. I gave our guide a contribution for the preservation of this special place and its wonderful creatures. 

Job continued our tour down the coast. Our next stop was the town of Mazunte. The Centro Mexicano de la Tortuga, the National Mexican Turtle Center, is located here. This is another example of the rising environmental consciousness in Mexico. Not only are all the different types of turtles found in Mexico and Central America displayed here, but they have a programs for rescuing and breeding endangered turtles. It was hard to get good pictures here because of the glass walls used to protect the animals. But I did manage a couple shots without too much reflection. 

The next stop was Playa Zipolite, a place where the calendar seems to still show 1968 as the year. This is still a haven those who think that tie dye is the highest art form and that nothing smells as good as marijuana and patchouli. Most of the accommodation here is pretty cheap and basic, just hammocks under palapa roofs. 

The restaurant scene is unusual for Mexico, too.

Playa Zipolite is also the only beach in Mexico where nudity is more or less tolerated. Given some of the people we saw walking around without clothes — all American or European — it probably shouldn’t be. 

John took a quick dip in the water here, too, though I will let you speculate about his attire. 

Our final stop, before we continued on into Huatulco, was Puerto Angel. This is a more family-oriented Mexican beach resort. It is almost completely protected by rocks from the ocean, and the water here is as calm as a pool. There are two beaches, the larger Playa Principal and the small Playa del Panteón, or Graveyard Beach. The latter is named for the picturesque cemetery that overlooks the beach. 

We had lunch not far from these graves. Job had called ahead and they had a table waiting for us on the sand. We had a nice lunch of fish fillet cooked in garlic sauce and ceviche. Both the beach and the water were crowded with Mexican families enjoying the holiday and the warm water. I think we were the only Americans around. From where we sat, we had a good view of the cross that guards the harbor. 

I wondered if the cross is there now to protect Puerto Angel from the morals of Playa Zipolite….

As we waited for our food, John amused himself by observing the our fellow tourists on the beach,

in the water,

and at an adjoining table.

After lunch, we continued on into Huatulco. When we were here twenty-five years ago, the big resorts were still under construction. Today they are all finish … and starting to age. The whole place looks very 1990. This the the Camino Real where we are staying. I think the architect was trying to create some kind of fusion between Brutalism and the Greek islands. It does not work. 

Check in took longer than it should. We were given room 125 which is on the third floor. There was no elevator. We were supposed to have a room with a “private pool” and this one did not have that. But before I complained I observed that the rooms with a “private pool,” sort of an outside bathtub, hard compromised views. Our room had a spectacular view. But that was all that was wonderful about it. We were stunned by how rundown it seemed.

The walls needed painting and some of the woodwork was peeling.

A ceiling fan looked like it might fall down if we used it.

The place reeked of some kind of air freshener. I wondered if someone had smoked in the room and they were trying to cover up the smell. When we considered how much we had paid for this for one night, I could only console myself by thinking about how vicious my TripAdvisor review would be.

Still as I sat on the balcony thinking about how much I had paid instead of how stunning the view was, I did somehow manage to notice this rather pretty bird sitting quietly in a nearby tree.

We walked around the place and went down to the beach. I was expecting that Huatulco would be all Americans and Canadians, but almost all the guests here were Mexican nationals. There were lots of families. I wondered if these kinds of resorts were the places where upper-middle class Mexicans felt that their kids were safe from the violence and crime that plagues so much of Mexico today.

They cannot have been there for the food. The main restaurant features the typical resort all-you-can-eat buffet. But this was one of the worst examples of that I have ever seen. This was “International Night” and apparently “international” is defined as Italian. Pizza was featured. They seemed to have a pizza oven outside, but as soon as the pizza was done they had cut it into pieces and put it on a steam table. It was utterly inedible.

John went online — I should mention that the internet connection was probably the worst we have experienced in Mexico — looking for a tour of the various bays by boat. Everything was not only expensive but sold out. So he had the inspiration to call Job and ask him if he could arrange something. Before long, we had a call from Juan, Job’s friend who lives down here, who had a cousin with a boat. Juan came by and we gave him a deposit and made plans to be ready tomorrow by eight. 

I hope that this tour redeems our decision to spend the night here. This hotel has certainly been a bust. 

Today did not begin particularly well. We could not find a remote for our air-conditioning unit in the bedroom yesterday, and by early morning the room was freezing. About four in the morning, with teeth almost chattering, I went out to try to sleep in the living room of our bungalow. The sofas are thin pieces of foam placed atop a cement base. They are designed to be used as additional beds, but I would not recommend them to anybody with a bad back. John came out shortly after I did carrying his pillow and his sheet. Thankfully, we both finally fell asleep again.

In the morning we had a buffet breakfast at the hotel. It was adequate and fairly cheap, but nothing memorable. John wanted to check out the possibility of taking a trip down the coast to Huatulco Bays. We stopped by the office to ask for a “control” and to ask about excursions. The helpful young man introduced us to a charming older lady who arranged tours. Her English was a limited, but my Spanish is apparently adequate for doing things like arranging small trips. We wanted to make this a two day adventure, and she was happy to arrange a driver and a car for tomorrow and the following day. She could not, however, make hotel reservations for us and she warned us that it would be hard to find a place. We agreed on 5000 pesos as a price for the guide and the driver. That seemed quite reasonable for two days. 

Back up at our room, John and I went on the usual hotel websites to try to find something for tomorrow night. There was not much at all available on the Oaxacan coast, and most of what was left was pretty unappealing. We finally agreed that the splurge of this otherwise pretty frugal trip would be one night at an expensive resort. I guess this will be our New Year’s celebration a couple days early. 

Our big adventure for today was walking down Playa Zicatela, Puerto Escondido’s legendary surf beach. When we first came here in the early 1980s, there was not much on this beach except a few small hotels catering to North American surfers. Today hotels and restaurants line the entire beach. While we found this depressing last night, today as we walked on the beach we noticed that it still seemed fairly uncrowded.

There were a few new interesting things we liked. The rocks in front of the Santa Fe hotel, the formation that separates Playa Marinero from Playa Zicatela, now has a wonderfully Mexican mirador that looks like it was inspired by a trip to Disneyland. 

There is also a strange statue of two hands. I tried to make this connect to surfing in some way, but I just could not. But it’s a great place for some posing. 

No doubt because the surf is so powerful and the undertow so famously treacherous, there were not all that many people in the water. There are red flags every hundred feet or so warning people not to enter the water. 

Everybody ignores them. John and I popped in the water several times as we made our way to the end of this two mile stretch.

At the far end is the small village of Playa Zicatela. This looks a great deal like the Puerto Escondido we remembered. The streets were not paved and dogs were sleeping on what passed for sidewalks. There were about a dozen small shops mostly selling the same stuff they did thirty years ago, a combination of tie die, macrame, and Mexican handicrafts. John and I found a small restaurant on the beach and had lunch there under a small palapa. There was a hammock next to the table, and John napped in it while we waited for the food to arrive. This being Mexico, there was a substantial time lag between ordering the food and having it arrive.

We walked back more quickly along the beach, jumping in once or twice to cool off. When we arrived back in our room, we were initially started to find the door open. Fortunately, we were not being robbed. The hotel staff was there providing us with a remote control for our air-conditioner. We thanked them. 

This morning I thought that returning to Puerto Escondido was one of our worst vacation decisions ever. This evening I am softening quite a bit. I wish it was a little more like the town I remember, but what is here is still a little funky and there is still something of the surf culture here. I may come to really like this place again.