Day 48- floating meditation on our last day in Puerto Escondido

It is our last day in Puerto Escondido. I go for one final swim in Mexican waters. The waves are fairly big so I swim past the breakers and float; the General’s meditation from the Marquez novel, The General and his Labyrinth. Floating on the surface of the water, I stare at the vast expanse of blue sky and remember the last time I found a floating meditation in Mexico, six years ago. I was in an under ground cenote, a sinkhole, filled with fresh water. I floated and stared up at the vines hanging down toward me, feeling like I was in the belly of the earth. Here on the surface of the ocean, I feel the same sense of peace and tranquility that is inherent to water. The feeling of the cool water around my skin is soft and comforting. Salt water can fix anything. Suddenly I hear Andrew calling out and I look up in time to see the set coming in. I swim out and, waiting for the waves to break, swim back in to shore.

Standing on solid ground, I spend some silent moments sending farewells to the Mexican coast, remembering the amazing people we have met. Negro, the owner of El Salvador habitaciones, who yelled at Andrew when he thought he was another man after he shaved off his bigotes, his moustache (this became the running joke, when they saw him, Negro would yell, “Oy es otro hombre!”, “Hey it’s another man!”); Monica and Adamo from La Choza de Viernes, who sat with us on our last night and talked about life and love and the difference between men and women; and Larry, the Southern Baptist from North Carolina, who has a story for every life experience and is moving up to the top floor of the hotel to live out his days among the palm trees…

Onto another part of the journey, and our final week in Mexico we board the bus at 2pm for Oaxaca. Immediately we start sweating- the bus has been left in the sun and the air conditioner hasn’t kicked in yet. We sit in the back of the bus, literally baking until we get to Huatulco, two hours away. Suddenly the air conditioner turns on and within half an hour we are cold in our clothes that are damp from sweat. At Salina Cruz we run out for a sandwich and when we get back on to the now full bus, the air conditioner has stopped working again. In fact, now it is blowing hot air. The rest of the passengers are complaining and fussing and the frustrated bus driver (dressed in long sleeve shirt and woolly vest) pulls over to open the two ceiling doors, letting in a minute breeze that barely competes with the hot air. When it is this hot, thoughts can’t come and for a while I find myself in meditative silence. All I can think about is the cool Mexican ocean. I am still floating there. Eventually we pass out. The air conditioning comes back on just before we arrive in Oaxaca at midnight.

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