After two weeks in Puerto Escondido, we'd gotten into a comfortable routine of waking up, ambling downstairs for coffee, taking a 3km walk down the beach to La Punta (the point) for sunbathing (me) and surfing (Matt), lunching at La Flor de Zicatela, enjoying a bit of afternoon swimming and reading, then heading back to the roof terrace at Flor de Maria for a dip in the plunge pool and a cold drink while we watched the sun set.
After the festivities of Semana Santa, when the whole of Zicatela and Principal had turned into a massive party, Puerto Escondido had returned to its usual laid-back self.
The hotel owners, Joanne and Paul, had virtually closed the hotel in preparation for their annual trip to visit family in Toronto and Bratislava. They'd had a good high season and were winding down before handing over to their staff who run the hotel during their absence. We had the hotel to ourselves and the staff were happy and relaxed with just two guests to feed and one room to clean.
It was high time for us to get moving so we decided to catch a bus south to Huatulco, clase primera of course. Paul dropped us at the station and we boarded the air-conditioned behemouth that would be our home for two hours.
We arrived at Mision de Los Arcos, a small hotel not far from the town square, which has garnered rave reviews from New York Times, Newsweek, Frommer's and Fodor's who all agree that for the price it is one of the best small hotels in Mexico. For 595 pesos a night, the pared-back rooms with air-con, flat-screen televisions, modern bathrooms, comfy beds, crisp sheets and fluffy towels are definitely a bargain.
Owned by a muscle-bound Mexican - who is rumoured to have been robbed of the Mr Mexico title last year - and his blonde American wife with a Colgate smile, Mision de Los Arcos is a pretty little hotel with a yoga studio and friendly staff who will happily provide guests with an ice box (con hielo) for picnicking at the local beaches.
The sun shines relentlessly in Huatulco. Officially the area has 330 days a year of sunshine and an average temperate of 28 degrees. Needless to say, we were loving the air-con.
Bahias de Huatulco is an odd place. Purported to be Mexico's newest planned coastal resort, it is home to some massive hotel chains, yet development still seems to be fragmented. We stayed in the town, La Crucecita, which is about five minutes drive from the coast where there are numerous beaches - some hugely developed, others more low-key and some completely deserted and only accessible by sea.
On Friday, we took a jetski tour around the bays with a local named Louis Santiago. Matt and I shared a jetski and, as I'd never been on one before, he drove. Matt seemed to spend most of the trip laughing maniacally as he pounded the machine against the sea, pushing us to fly through the air and then crash heavily against the swell. I was drenched repeatedly, blinded by salt water, to the extent that at one point I inadvertently headbutted Matt as we landed violently. His deranged laugh just rang out a little louder.
I've always thought jetskis were incredibly annoying. Whenever you're at a tranquil beach, thinking to yourself, "How's the serenity?", some wanker on a jetski turns up seemingly completely oblivious to the peace they're destroying. After being on the other side of the scenario, I can confirm that the person on the jetski does indeed not give a shit that they are shattering your quietude. In fact, somewhat ironically (sorry Winona), the person on the jetski is probably gazing in at your idyll while thinking to themselves, "How's the serenity?".
We'd started the trip at Santa Cruz, hugging the coastline and stopping at quiet coves and pristine, empty beaches, an occasional group of pelicans flying overhead. We passed through the Parque Nacional (National Park) Huatalco, which includes Bahía Maguey, Bahía Órgano, Bahía Cacaluta, La India, Bahía Chachacual and Bahía San Agustín. Apparently Huatalco was awarded international recognition as a sustainable tourist area, but locals don't seem to think it will be long before these stunning bays are sold to the highest bidder and swamped with hotels and condos.
We found a quiet bay called Conejos where we spent a couple of days with our icebox filled with mangoes, sammies, Clamato, Coronas and vodka. At the far end of the bay a colossal hotel - "Secrets"- is under construction. We counted around 400 rooms - Conejos is not going to be a secret for much longer.
After Puerto Escondido, which caters mainly to Mexicans, surfers and backpackers, Huatulco sometimes felt like a bit of a tourist trap. When our taxi arrived at one beach (La Entrega), a bunch of guys hanging out in the parking lot literally raced each other towards us, battling to convince us to sit down at their beach-side palapa-roofed establishment, all with the same outrageously priced crap-to-mediocre fare on offer.
One day, having decided that we were better off heading back into town for lunch where the food tended to be better and the prices far lower, we'd stopped off in the square at Santa Cruz for ice-cream. I spotted a small restaurant with a pretty terrace and, after wandering over and checking the menu, we decided to give it a try. Prices were similar to the beach, but the menu bore no comparison.
It turned out to be a proper find, run by a French chef who bucked the trend by not desecrating the sublime local produce. We ate at the restaurant several times over the course of our visit, drinking lovely South American wine and eating delicious meals like snapper with beurre blanc and toasted almonds cooked to perfection by Olivier.
The end of our visit to Huatulco coincided with some sort of local carnival which involved a procession through La Crucecita, including dancing Corona girls, a rainbow-enshrouded tranny float that could easily compete with the costumes at Notting Hill and Rio Carnivals, little girls dressed like Pebbles Flinstone, and a large blue and yellow marching band with a jive-master and mistress leading the way.
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