For accommodation I once again consulted Couchsurfing. To my surprise there was one couchsurfer in Mazunte (not bad for a population of about a 1000). His name is Pete, a 5o-year old yogi from the U.K., who accepted my request. He would later become a very important character in the story.
When I arrived to Pochutla it was already late and the colectivos had stopped circulating. I was forced to take a private cab since Mazunte is still about half an hour away and I had an 'appointment' with Pete. I was fearing that I'd end up in another random hotel room. The cab driver wanted to charge me a 100 pesos (= 6 EUR), so I said 'fuck it'. Pete's place was located somewhere slightly out of the ordinary: he resided at a yoga center where he had parked his RV, painted with colours and shapes reminiscent of sixties' heydays, with which he had been traveling for almost two years. As the taxi drove through Pochutla a different lifestyle, clothing habits and energy came across. At least, so I felt the change from inland to coastland. Suddenly I saw palmtrees, hammocks and women in short shorts. The latter I had rarely witnessed in male chauvinist, sexually repressed, prudish Mexico. And there not feminist ideals cause that change in apparel, but rather the pressuring hot-humid climate. Either way, I have to admit I enjoyed said tendency.
Continuing the cab ride, around 21:00-21:30 I finally arrived to the yoga center. I went up and what I found was a group of people chatting and playing percussion instruments underneath a small concrete dome with a very enjoyable decorative arrangement. I felt instantly comfortable, even though I'd just just walked into a totally strange environment. Luckily, Pete was still around. We conversed quickly after which he disappeared. So, I started socializing with the others who were around. What followed in the following hours, days and weeks was pure magic. All of a sudden I started meeting a whole lot of new people in a very short period of time. Those days were filled with anthropic dynamics of high intensity.
How it all started
One week had passed and I found myself still at the yoga center. Let me tell you when I had planned on going to Mazunte, I figured that I'd only stay for three, four days hanging out on the beach zoning out on ganja and simply relax. Quickly I learned that would not be the case. Of course, the aforementioned was also included in my experience, but it did not constitute exclusively. I started meeting a large amount of people in a very short time and it amazed me how easily people there would open their hearts and talk to you as if you had been long time friends. Somehow during that first week I stumbled into a clique of yoga students with whom I shared a number of wonderful moments that are sealed permanently in my memory. For instance, one day we walked to a tiny, bay-ish beach behind Punta Cometa, Mexico's most outstretched rock formation of the Pacific. To start with we were given the the beautiful gift of seeing a whale's tail crashing into the water, something I had never witnessed before. At that secluded beach we improvised a drum circle, played with the waves while the sun set down, held long, intense ganja conversations, elevated in an ohm meditation and gazed at the stars. During the whole time I tried to cease that moment as much as possible, to suck out all the marrow of that very instant, because I knew I was experiencing a true apogee. For a moment I thought that it couldn't get any better, but I was wrong. I was merely at the beginning of a wonderful journey that didn't seem to know any lows.
The reason why I experienced that first week so intensely was because I coincided with the last week of their yoga course. I had arrived at a moment when the students were filled with love and excitement. Some were going away, others stayed, cliques dissolved. And in spite of those social circles, at no point I felt excluded. Their open-heartedness made me feel I was part of their energy. That level of openness was truly inspiring, not to mention unprecedented. After most of the aspiring yogis left, I stuck around for another week. Suddenly the place was 'filled' with a major vacuum: the staff had disappeared or was on a break and only a few people remained. Also, by then my CS host Pete had left with his RV. With no one around questioning my presence and/or duty, I managed to find myself useful working in the kitchen, cleaning yoga mats and helping two hired masons building a new sewage disposal system. For this I was not alone, however. Suddenly (my apologies, I will use this word frequently) a 'crew' was formed comprising four members: Verdu - an eccentric Argentinian artisan who resembles very much to surrealist painter Dali because of his mustachio, Cristian - a Mexican young all-rounder who likes to occupy himself with anything ranging from teaching Spanish to selling home-baked pies, and Pier-Luc - a fiery ex-nationalist Quebecois turned stoic tolerant pacifist. Us four for some unexplained reason came together and kept ourselves busy with everyday tasks at the yoga center while no one actually required us to do so. This funny set of circumstances led to a beautiful micro working community where ideas, inspiration and friendship were exchanged.
During the second week I was still convinced that I would pick up my backpack quickly and proceed my way southwards. Verdu kept on trying to make me find a genuine reason to leave a place such as Mazunte. 'Making it all the way down to Buenos Aires', was my regular but mostly cloudy excuse. Until one day I finally came to the realization that I had been trapped in the town's addicting energy to which so many other travelers had succumbed to. After serving at the yoga center I went into town to find some inspiration on the six-string in front of the main beach El Rinconcito, 'The Little Corner'. I sat their practicing some compositions, a few bystanders listening with a smile, when all of sudden a dreadlocked accordionist wearing only a gamchha - a cotton towel from India - sits down by my side and listens attentively to what I'm playing. His friend with similar hairstyle follows with the clarinet. Then a crazy Canadian who I'd met before joins in with some Jethro Tull-style flute solos. A second clarinetist of French origin expands the impromptu orchestra. In a matter of minutes a group of musicians had come together to jam aloud while around them jugglers performed their complex tricks, which successively attracted more curious people. All of this happened without prior planning, although it seemed like a well-reahearsed performance with every character having a designated part. It was a pure explosive, instantaneous spur-of-the-moment loaded with thrilling synchronicity. A clear example of how energetic such extemporaneous gatherings can be. It's not surprising that I was overwhelmed with amazement. And that's not all. After we had finished an improvised tune, a Californian lady clearly impressed by the energy addressed us enthusiastically: 'That's amazing, you guys! Do you wanna play concert in our bar, like this Friday? We can pay you a small amount and dinner.' Suddenly out of that afternoon jam session a band was formed with a first gig scheduled in two days. At the end of the day I knew for sure, without doubt, that I would stay in Mazunte for an indefinite period of time. Just as many days in that curious, little coastal town, it was not a good day to leave. Oh, how wonderful the turns of life...
Building up a small life
Meanwhile, while those crazy moments took place, I had left the yoga center and found temporary accommodation at Cristian's place, who had left for Mexico City for a couple of days. While I expected to take some time alone to write and play the guitar by myself, I was met with a different situation. The landlady Doña Frida for some strange reason treated me like her grandchild/assistant right from the start. She asked me to rake the fallen leaves into a pile, go buy groceries for my lunch, clean out the bathroom, etc. She would not tell, nor offer, but order me to have a cup coffee, sit down and eat, wash my hands and so on. I didn't feel bothered at all, but rather I was amused by her peculiar kind of hospitality. Later on I would understand why she was all concerning despite the fact I stayed only for a couple of days. She lived her days lonely most of time, always trying to keep herself busy with something. Rarely she would receive visits from friends or family, according to the rumours because she had a difficult personality. On some days, when coming home late I'd find her sitting in the dark of the kitchen listening to the radio, leaning her head on her palm as in a contemplating posture. Besides that being scary, it was also very saddening. As Rolling Stones' Mick Jagger sang in 'Mother's Little Helper': 'What a drag it is getting old'.
Since I had accepted the fact that I would stay longer than planned, I was in need of finding a fixed place to stay, preferably in exchange for labour. It didn't take long time to find what I was looking for. In fact, I was extremely lucky. One day while walking over the main avenue I bumped into Louisa at a restaurant. She was a 27-year old German single mom with seven years of traveling behind her who I had made acquaintance with. Upon telling her about my search she immediately offered to help out. She took me to the hostel where she was staying, called Posada Porfiria, and introduced me to Carmen, the person in charge and a very fine lady. She redirected me to the hostel's owner, 87-year old Doña Porfiria. I went up to her to ask if I could offer my hands in exchange for accommodation. At first, and she remained like this most of the time, she looked at me with great distrust. One of her questions including the job application was: 'Do you have the notion to fall into vice?' I answered that I had tried some things in the past but eventually I only liked to drink a couple of beers once in a while, which on occasion would result in abuse. Since getting drunk and the whole culture around it is generally accepted by westernized societies, as it is in Mexican society, she accepted my request. I was allowed to stay at the hostel's campsite but emphasized that I shouldn't expect any meals. And although back then I wasn't traveling with tent or hammock, several people had offered me theirs. Perfect! I was ready to settle down for a little while, and for all of this I had received a lot of help of people with great hearts. It was amazing how the people around me, having just barely met, were willing to give a hand on any occasion. The more I was conscious of this flow of energy, the more I realized I had simply arrived to the 'right spot' on this trip. 'A place to rest my bones', put dramatically.
By then that last-minute gig was coming up. The members of the band were Finn from Germany (accordion), Kansia from Wales (clarinet), Melchior from France (clarinet), Trevor from Canada (flute) and me on the guitar. This crossover of nationalities gave birth to a sound which could be categorized as balkan, Eastern European, French folkloric, jazzy, Arabic, all-round traditional music. A potpourri of different genres with main objective: getting the hips in motion. We baptized our collective Manouche De Mermejita. Manouche refers to the gypsy jazz genre, while the name Mermejita is taken from a widespread, secluded beach behind Punta Cometa where we would rehearse most of the time. Actually we only rehearsed about seven songs in one afternoon, the same day we were due to play. Right before the gig we skimmed a couple of restaurants, which served as rehearsal and extra money-income. Besides that, for me it was the first time I played in said locations. Eventually it was time to perform at the Colibri, the bar where we were invited to play. The gig was a success. With the little time we practiced we managed to fill an hour and a half. Starting out with a crowd of friends and a few people who had received our flyer, the bar ended up jam-packed with loads of people standing outside watching. It was beautiful to watch them dance, shout and sing along frantically. It seemed like our show was Mazunte's only nocturnal activity. Although that's not unsurprising considering the centric location of the bar and the town's small size, where inside the foreigners' community word goes around quickly.
After the whole event I tried to understand what was happening. I wasn't simply touristing around as I had done so much before arriving at Mazunte, rather I was discovering a new form of traveling. Especially the people of the international circle proved to be very inspiring for me. This idea popped into my mind that, if the right people are present in the same place, at the same time, magic occurs. As if the encounters between certain characters were written in the stars or resulted as an effect of a specific constellation. It could even be interpreted as an example of the law of attraction. Anyhow, I felt my presence was synchronized in time and place, almost perfectly intertwined with others' frequencies.
A night at the circus
The folk band project eventually didn't last that long, since all of the members were travelers with each their own route. We played about four concerts in total. On one occasion someone who had seen us perform hired us to provide musical accompaniment for a marriage proposal, which is perhaps the most beautiful event I've been hired to play for. Imagine this: a table set for two with candlelight allover, on the beach under a star-studded sky and Manouche De Mermejita filling up the silence with subtle melodies. She said 'yes'. While we played some friends came over to watch who eventually participated with the show. Gradually our decorative function in the background turned into a more participative, energetic show wherein the couple joyfully danced along. Two girls who had come to watch us even put up a humourous mimical show for them. The evening ended with smiles on everybody's faces. Without doubt, musicianship is one of most beautiful professions around. Is it not nice making people happy and being paid for it? At least, I can come up with more jobs that create frustration, depression and other negative feelings.
During the third, fourth week or so Mazunte hosted its first contemporary circus meeting that offered daily acts and other activities a weeklong. The town was filled with artists of all kinds who would come together in a tiny plaza near the main beach to rehearse. During that week it exchanged its tranquility for a more dynamic energy. For a moment the international community had taken over the streets. In the meeting's agenda was also scheduled Manouche De Mermejita's last show with all original members (Trevor, the Canadian flutist, had already left the band to follow the umpteenth love of his life. They both eventually returned after their romance at short notice came to an end. The girl stuck around for some time, while Trevor returned broke to his homeland to start a beekeeping project with his sister). Our show was scheduled after a solo act in a pizzeria. Although technically it wasn't our best performance, it was definitely the most memorable. The whole scene with the band playing, people dancing freely, the restaurant's decoration had seemed to be taken from an Emir Kusturica movie. Wreaths of silk, trapezists and firebreathers would have made it a real night at the circus.
But the band kept playing. Although the pizzeria gig was the last one meaning the end of Manouche De Mermejita's short-lived career, a new proposal was about to reveil itself. One evening, sitting outside a corner store next to Pete with a fresh machete cut in my right big toe an appealing Quebecois/Canadian lady came up to me asking whether I was interested in joining her band to occupy the position of bass player. Mélanie said the original bassist was about to become a father and consequently couldn't fulfill his duty. After a few minutes talking about the subject it became clear that it wasn't just a fun, pass-time jamproject. The idea was to perform as much as possible especially during high season so to earn a little bit of money. Since all band members were travelers in one way or another that didn't seem like a bad idea. So, a few days later in an impulsive sway I acquired a cheap bass guitar and my time with Son De Mezcal could begin. The two months that followed we played at bars and restaurants in and around Mazunte, thereby gathering a couple of tell-worthy anecdotes. I was floating in a dreamlike reality. At first I found it hard to grasp the idea that I was actually combining two of my greatest passions: making music and traveling. In fact, before I undertook this intrepid journey I often dreamt of being hired as a musician in a traveling band. I could hardly believe that my dream then was becoming real. That's one of the reasons too why I decided to stick around a little longer. Because I knew, when Mélanie fired that proposal at me, that I couldn't ignore what life was presenting me what I had wished for. I was starting to believe that some dreams eventually do come out, but often elapse unnoticed.
Founder and undisputable leader of the band Mélanie discovered while traveling with a friend through Mexico that there were some artistic opportunities in Mazunte. She proved her organizing skills by forming the band after a spontaneous jam in the Colibri and scheduling a week-long agenda of performances. Those events took place in January, when I hadn't yet arrived to town. The idea was to continue the project in the months of March and April with all original participants. Eventually only Julian, the Argentinian drummer and soon-to-be lover of Mélanie, and Pablo, the Mexican lead guitarist and aficionado of hallucinogenics, stayed to realize Mélanie's project. The music isn't easily categorizable. The initial idea was to play mostly originals and a couple of covers, but eventually turned out vice versa. Our setlist consisted of danceable hits from the sixties till now and a few originals by Mélanie's hand. Blues, rock, reggae, afrobeat, funk, folk, pop, son cubano, soul, cumbia... Again a potpourri. Generally I'm not fond of playing versions of other artists' songs, but then I did not seem to mind. My duty was to extract juicy grooves and stay in line with Julian. Besides that, observing people dance was the second most fun part of the performance. No, not fun, but a true delight! How lovely it is to see a fossil loosen its hips and eventually setting aside his pudor, couples swinging sensually to latin grooves, solo dancers moving erratically all over the place or the flirting of lovebirds who disappear in the night or reject eachother as poles apart. Ah yes, music and dance are one of those things that bring people together and make them forget their worries.
Somewhere in the beginning of April Son de Mezcal was coming to an end. High season had just come to an end and everyone continued with their respective routes. Pablo stayed in Mazunte with his Argentinian girlfriend to help his friends with the construction of a beach house - the original reason why he had come here. Mélanie and Julian had plans on going to Quebec together and I, felt the need to start walking again. Many of the 'gang' had already left, with only a couple of travelers installing themselves as residents. Three months had passed, suddenly, in that little coastal town. Three days of relaxing on the beach turned into three months of intense living. What I learned during that period is of invaluable importance, as are the moments shared with other people. Often I would say to myself: 'These are the days of our lives', 'These are the best of times' or similar euphoric catch phrases. Without doubt, the Mazunte chapter is one of most enjoyable, intense-lived experiences of the trip, which I recall far too often when I float in memories of last year's events.
But, the wind blew southwards to San Cristobal De Las Casas, the next route loyal stop on the road where eventually I met the same people. And that's interesting because a certain number of people moving over the same line creates connectivity.
