ZIPOLITE, Mexico- Business as usual was the carol that was sung on Christmas 2010 in Zipolite — a beach town on the coast of Oaxaca. All the shops were open, people went to work, and tourists walked through the street as if this holiday was just another day at the beach. It was. I could [...]
ZIPOLITE, Mexico- Business as usual was the carol that was sung on Christmas 2010 in Zipolite — a beach town on the coast of Oaxaca. All the shops were open, people went to work, and tourists walked through the street as if this holiday was just another day at the beach.
I could find little sign of Christmas cheer here in Zipolite save for a gaggle of blond hippie girls onerously chanting carols on their walk to the beach, two little family shrines set up in homes on the outskirts of town, and a plastic evergreen that was tied to the roof of a shop — a Christmas tree, even a false one, is a surreal sight in the shinning sun of an 80 degree day in the tropics.
I remember celebrating Christmas around a decade ago in a small village in the jungle of Peru, and it was truly a wild drunk fest with too much chicha, loud music, and lots of dancing. My friend Craig from Travelvice.com just emailed me his story of Christmas from Lima, a place that saw massive amounts of fireworks and celebration, and I know that Puerto Angel, a town a few kilometers away, had a large street party.
I am in Mexico, a fiercely Christian country that celebrates Christmas with gusto, but I am in a beach town. Beach life, ultimately, is like one long day played out over and over again; that damn Bob Marley album on perpetual repeat. In such a setting, holidays are truly inapplicable. Christmas day rolled into Zipolite like a wave, and rolled back out with a similar amount of consequence: I am unsure if anybody even noticed.
I went to the store and bought some essentials from the grumpy lady who works the counter every day. She added up my bill, I paid, as I was leaving I considered wishing her Feliz Navidad, but then thought better of it.
We are on the beach, and like the waves, the rolling sand, and the blowing wind, each day blends into the next indistinguishably, forming some sort of insoluble whole. Some call this whole a vacation, some call it life.
I have no idea what day of the week it is.