|
The time had come, to move on. The boys, on their mission to learn Spanish and continue their Geography studies were on their way to Guatemala and wanted a quick break by the sea.
I was planning to go to Puerto Angel and Zipolite but was charmed into changing my mind. We opted for a little known beach called Puerto Arrista.
I had to take a later bus, and after spending my last afternoon in Palenque, selling jewlery in the park with some hippy friends. I endured the stomack wrenching bus ride to Tuxtla where I met the boys again.
Our hotel that night was... dodgy at best. The kind of place you'd normally rent by the hour. Peter and I went out for a snack and weren't allowed back in because we couldn't communicate with the VERY drunk man at the counter.
"Qual es tu nombre?" to me, meant 'what room number'. We kept saying "Ocho" (eight) but finally realized "Nombre" meant NAME. Ooops. We got in, had a sleep and were up the next day to get our bus to Tonala and the beach. Upon arriving in Tonala, we had no clue how to get to the beach. Noticing a gringo by a map on the wall of the bus station, I wandered over, looking as lost as can be and "loudly" put my finger on Puerto Arista and looked puzzled to myself.
A little mexican boy next to me said in perfect English "Do you want to go to Puerto Arista? My father is going there now." and motioned to the gringo.
Thats how we met Jose. |
