Road dirt

Just a quick catch up, I´ve left Guatemala. Its been about a month now. Before I completely packed up I journeyed south on local buses with my dog, while she was still little enough to sit on my lap and while people still thought she was cute. We made it to El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua and to the border of Costa Rica. Long, long stories later I am headed north, everyday getting closer to where I started over a year ago. Well, not everyday...

Kim, Jon, Chuchi and I drive north from San Christobal through the hot, dry mountains into the state of Oaxaca. As the sun is getting low we turn off the coast road on to a rutted track leading out to the beach. The sun has set but there is still light as we arrive. The path ends at a grouping of thatched huts on a bluff above the beach, a long swooping cove, visable to the very end. Tall, green mountains rise above, backing the turn of sand. The water is turquiose blue, the sand is light and fine. We meet the dueño, Manuel, of what looks to be the only defined establishment, an ancient, crumbling cinder block structure with no windows or roof. He invites us to stay, offers space under the palapa, or a hammock (he sleeps in the other). Chuchi wears herself out playing with the random mut dogs. We sleep like babies.
In the morning the sun rises above the far end of the cove. The sky is orange, pink, purple, blue. The fishermen gather, shirtless, with 5 gallon buckets, around their lanchas resting on the sand. They work together and push the boats out before the sun is up. We spend the day playing, digging hole forts, bobing in the waves, observing the intricacies of crab society, being eternally greatfull that beaches still exist with out all inclusive resorts or condos. We are thankful for the car that brought us here.
The sky turns darker blue, the sun sinks behind the mountains, stars come out and shine with out the competition of electric lights. Manuel invites us to use his kitchen. He lights a cooking fire and I balance our pot of rice and veggies on the pieces of rebar laid over the top. He feeds us fresh caracol and we drink huge beers. The sound of the waves lulls us into the deepest sleep ever.