A Weekend in a Xhosa Village | Coffee Bay, South Africa

“I’ve been away from the ocean for too long,” I thought to myself as I nursed a brutal post-festival come-down. I had just gone to my first ever festival, and it was nothing short of an absolute send. Who else can say their first music festival was a New Year’s festival deep in the mountains of South Africa? I was traveling solo, and had bought the tickets without knowing anyone else going. Serendipitously, a friend that I had made in Peru years prior was also going to the festival, and invited me to stay with his family and go to the festival with dozens of his friends. It surely made the experience a lot more fun than if I had gone alone. But the festival had come and gone, and new adventures were on the horizon.

I was at my friend’s farm nestled deep in the countryside of KwaZulu-Natal. It was hours away from the nearest ocean. A cold swim and a fresh breeze would do wonders for this comedown. So instead of doing the sensible thing and moving north to Johannesburg, I decided to backtrack down to the ocean and further condense what had already felt like a rushed itinerary. To the Wild Coast we go.

I knew it was called the Wild Coast but I didn’t really know why it was called the Wild Coast. Come to think about it, I don’t really know why South Africa’s routes are named the way they are. The Garden Route didn’t really have too many Gardens. Surely the Wild Coast was just another undeserved nickname. Nope. Pretty wild.

I arrived in the bustling industrial city of Mthatha and parked myself in the Shell station that I would call home for the next few hours. I sat and waited for my shuttle to come pick me up and whisk me away to Coffee Bay. With a name like Coffee Bay, you don’t really expect something “wild.” Every “Bay” I had been to in South Africa so far had just been surfboards and Cali vibes. Mossel Bay, Betty’s Bay, Jeffrey’s Bay, etc. Surely Coffee Bay wouldn’t be too different.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. I hopped on the shuttle to Coffee Bay and we careened off of the N2 highway. Although the rolling hills of the Eastern Cape and KwaZulu-Natal have been omnipresent since I left Durban, staying on the highway kept things pretty tame. Hundreds of sharp turns, potholes, and cows in the road later, we pulled into my backpackers lodge. Passing by one overturned taxi made me feel lucky to be alive, albeit a bit nauseous. I quickly checked into my hostel before rushing to the beach in the backyard to take in that crisp ocean breeze to clear my head and exhale the nausea.

My short time in Coffee Bay was spent mostly in a Xhosa village called Rini. It was a refreshing change from being surrounded by the Western civilization that I sought to escape when I decided to come to Africa. The drastic change in scenery, immersion in a new culture, and unpolluted rural air was all I could have asked for.

From hiking along the violent and untouched coastline to having dinner and drinks at a Xhosa hut, my experiences were diverse and rich. It was a testament to the incredible variety of things you can accomplish in South Africa if you opt to step away from your comfort zones and the typical tourist fare. It truly felt like I had entered another world for the first time in a long time.

Dinner at a Xhosa hut calls for a welcome song and dance. Thankfully the dancing came before the meal otherwise we would have been far too full to pull off any dance moves.

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The rural countryside, featuring our dinner stuffed inside those two pots.

Just a quick shoutout to my homie. I put a camera in his hands and homie was a natural.

Just cows by the beach. You’ll come to see that I took a lot of pictures of cows on this trip.

Like I said, a lot of cows.

Anyway, here comes the good stuff. The scenery, ya feel? If you don’t know why it’s called the Wild Coast, these pictures will explain it all.

And just for good measure, here’s a goat chillin’.

Magnificent Sunsets Atop an Abandoned Lighthouse | Chacahua, Mexico

Where was I? As I stepped off the boat and onto the shores of the island of Chacahua, I was in complete awe. Although I had only traveled two hours from the modernized and very touristic Puerto Escondido, it felt like I had traveled much further. Not just in distance either. It felt like I had accidentally found myself hundreds of years in the past.

As far as I knew, I had just docked my ship and landed in the Caribbean during the era of pirates. I loved it. Chacahua quickly grew to be my favorite place along Oaxaca’s coast. The days were very laid-back, filled with doing very little. The sun was so hot that there really wasn’t much you could do during the day anyway. Go for a swim in the ocean, the lagoon, or take to the seas on a surfboard. Those were your three options in the blistering midday Mexican sun.

When the unrelenting sun started to fade away and the skies started to dim, that was my favorite part of the day. The mosquitoes come out at this time, but not even they could spoil the excitement of my favorite sunset spot in Mexico. From the shelter of the shaded hammock, I start to rouse from my sweaty swinging. It’s a ten-minute walk along the beach to get back to the dock, where I can catch a boat to the other side of the lagoon for a mere 50 cents.

The ride takes a minute at most before you find yourself on the other side. The abandoned lighthouse at the top of the hill is only a short hike up. For this little effort, it is unbelievable just how large the reward is. The red and white striped building is covered in graffiti, with the interior in a complete state of disarray. Piles of trash intertwine with the long, unkept grass. All of this is a stark contrast to the beauty at the top of the lighthouse. Climb up the teeny-tiny stairs and cap it off with the world’s shortest ladder, and voila.

It’s okay. Let your jaw drop. At golden hour and sunset, there is no other sight like this. The vast Pacific Ocean extends to the endless horizon. The ocean connects with the lagoon through the narrow inlet, flanked by dense jungle and the cute village of Chacahua. The surfers look like ants from up here, and the speeding boats going to and fro don’t look that much bigger. In the distance, Oaxaca’s mountains tower over the gorgeous scenery. As the sun continues to fade away, the skies melt into soft, yet fiery pastels. Pinks, oranges, and purples soften the once harsh midday sky.

The sun continues to slowly set over the ocean. The lower it goes, the livelier it gets. Maybe the birds are celebrating the respite from the heat, as well, because flocks of them emerge from the jungles to just fly around. Maybe they’re just helping a brother out and eating some of those pesky mosquitoes. Oh yeah, mosquitoes.

As the sky grows dark and the first stars begin to emerge, we stumble our way down the makeshift trail. A boat waits on the beach, ready to pick up the last stragglers from a magnificent sunset adventure.

A Boat Ride Through The Mind-Blowing Sumidero Canyon | Chiapas, Mexico

I had long heard about the otherworldly scenery that the Chiapas region boasted. All that hearsay nor all of my Google Image searches could prepare me for the jaw-dropping beauty of Sumidero Canyon. It reminded me of my fjord tour through Norway, or the dramatic Gocta Falls in Peru’s Amazonas region. It gave me shades of New Zealand, and the Lord of the Rings soundtrack appropriately played in my head as the boat took us under a towering, but gentle waterfall.

It was awe-inspiring, and for $18, probably one of the best damn things you can do for the price of a cheap meal in NYC. The pictures on Google Images don’t do this canyon any justice whatsoever. Although I’d heard amazing things about Chiapas, I was fully prepared to be underwhelmed, or at best, whelmed.

The hour-long bus ride from San Cristobal had taken the wind out of my sails. I’d been on an antisocial binge where even hearing people speak has become annoying. I was using my brown skin as a shield from having to speak to the other American on the tour. With my face mask on, I could be from wherever I wanted to be. For now, my headphones were on and if anyone tried speaking to me, no hablo Ingles.

The hot mugginess of our port of embarkation was only making me groggier and grumpier. We sat around waiting for the boat for around 30 minutes, and I was starting to wonder if it would even be worth the negligible cost of $18. Finally, we got thrown our neon yellow life jackets and got ushered onto the boat.

Sitting in the second row, the sun was beating down on me and I was already miserable. Thankfully, the boat started moving and the wind started to wake me up. For the first 15 or so minutes of the ride, I was very whelmed. It was exactly what I had expected, a boat ride on a river flanked between two tall land formations. We saw a white crocodile and some spider monkeys, and those were the highlights of the day so far.

And then, bam.

Although I was dressed for a hot, sunny day, I had never been so excited to see clouds in my life. The landscapes stayed the same, but the moody, gloomy arrival of the clouds transformed the experience entirely. All of a sudden, I was in Jurassic Park, Middle Earth, and Iceland all at once. Being on a boat slowly moving through the fog was an ethereal experience. We passed the highest point of the canyon, towering at around 1,000 meters above where the boat was situated on the river. Never had I felt so small, and yet, you couldn’t even see the top of the canyon. The clouds blanketed it so perfectly. It could have been as tall as my imagination allowed.

Tarzan could have jumped out of the dense jungle at any moment. They never did, because I am Tarzan obviously, and I was already on the boat. We continued through the surreal landscapes, flanked by the rocky behemoths of Sumidero Canyon. The boat entered a little crevasse where an altar had been set up, and the gray, stone walls of the canyon were drenched in pink colors. Being at the front of the boat, I could hardly make out what the guide had to say about what turned the stones pink. But hey, I like a little mystery.

We continued to speed through the canyon as the weather got chillier and the sun disappeared entirely behind the dense clouds. Eventually, we stumbled upon one of the most unique waterfalls I’d ever seen. The water was flowing in a way that had eroded the rocks into the shape of a pine tree. I have no idea how tall these waterfalls actually were, but from a distance, the rock erosion and lush greenery had made this stretch of canyon seem like a Christmas tree.

Seriously, where the fuck am I?

Eventually, all good things have to come to an end. We wrapped up the tour the same way all tours in Latin America end, with people trying to sell us stuff and the tour guide asking for the tip. He said we’d have to swim back if we didn’t tip him, so I let out a slight chuckle and threw 10 pesos into the hat. The boat turned around and you could tell that the guide stopped giving a fuck now that he’d gotten his tips. We zoomed through the canyon at hyper speeds and I chucked my camera into my bag and held onto the seat in front of me for dear life.

We finished the two-hour boat ride and set off for a small town called Chiapa de Corzo. It felt like another place out of time. The architecture seemed more North African than the Spanish colonial architecture you’d expect from Mexico. It was a beautiful stop, and I drowned myself in some amazing tacos to cap off a perfect day.

The Vibrant San Cristobal de Las Casas: A Photo Journal

“I found religion in San Cristobal,” crooned Mal Blum through my headphones.

I don’t know if I would call it religion, but I’ve definitely found something in San Cristobal de las Casas. The vibrant city high in the mountains of Mexico’s Chiapas region had been on my radar for years, but had somehow eluded me on my previous six trips to Mexico. My nine-hour travel day from Tulum involved two buses, a flight, and a taxi. Despite all that, I was absolutely giddy with anticipation for my arrival to San Cristobal. I watched the dying rays of the sun bask Chiapas’ countryside in gold as my flight touched down in Tuxtla Gutierrez. I grabbed my bag from the tiny airport’s lone baggage claim and rushed out of the airport.

Oh yeah, COVID.

Airport security stopped me and escorted me back into a room that reeked of hand sanitizer. I filled out the necessary forms and got my temperature checked before finally hopping on a shuttle bus bound for San Cristobal. The sun’s light began to fade as we pulled away from the airport. The rest of the 90-minute bus ride through the mountains was guided by the brilliant light of the full moon.

The shuttle bus parked in a seedy garage off the side of the road well outside of San Cristobal’s center. I collected my bag and waved down a taxi. It would be another 20 minute drive to my hostel, a ride which in Tulum would have cost about 200 pesos.

“Posada del Abuelito, cuanto cuesta?” I preguntar-ed in my once-fluent Spanish that had grown rusty in gringofied Tulum.

“40 pesos.”

Fuck yeah. Mi Mexico querido, I am home.

Never had I been more excited to explore a new city. I practically waltzed to the reception of my quaint hostel to check into my private room. I had booked the private room in anticipation of simply wanting to crash after a long travel day. That was far from the case. The vibrant energy of San Cristobal was too powerful to resist. The sound of drums and music filled the air while my taxi weaved through its historic center, further awakening the adventurer in me. Within minutes of checking in and dropping off my bag, I was bounding for the main plaza, struggling to keep balance as I danced on the cobbled roads, adeptly avoiding dog shit.

The Plaza de Armas was temporarily closed.

Oh yeah, COVID.

I sought out a potential dinner spot while scoping out future potential dinner spots, perhaps my favorite hobby as a traveler. I had finally arrived in authentic Mexico, a country whose cuisine I held in the highest regard. At last, I could have authentic Mexican food at local prices.

*fast forward 5 minutes*

“Uh yeah, I’ll have the vegan ramen and a hot chocolate, por favor.”

Whatever, I’m going to be here a while.

Moments of Serenity: Sunrises Over the Sea in Tulum

Sunrise in Tulum was my escape. Every morning, before the crowds awoke and swarmed the beach, I would have a few blissful moments to myself. I’d wake up around 6 AM, walk barefoot to the beach and wait for the sun to peek out from behind the clouds. Sometimes it would, sometimes it wouldn’t. Regardless of whether it did or not, these couple of hours were my escape.

The cool water would creep up and soothe my calloused feet. Shoes have been optional my entire month in Tulum, and the soles of my feet were suffering for it. The salt water served as gentle relief every time it curled up over the white sands. A few other sunrise watchers would join me for nature’s first show of the day, but besides them, the world was still. The raucous crowds dancing the night away in Tulum’s Zona Hotelera were still fast asleep. It would be hours before they would rouse from their drunken slumber and try to cure their hangovers with sunshine and salt water.

The afternoon was all theirs, as long as I had the mornings.

Resort workers joined the sunrise beach walkers as the only ones up at this hour. They’d rake the sargassum and garbage washed up on the shores from the night before. Their wheelbarrows wobbled in the sands as they cleaned the beaches up nice and pretty for Tulum's high-class clientele.

Walk far enough and the resorts start feeling a little more spread out. The long strip of bamboo mansions give way to more dilapidated private residences and independent accommodation. The palm trees become denser, and the jungle truly feels like it meets the sea as one approaches Sian Kaan. As the world awakens, I move further away from the world. At this point, I’m the only person on my lengthy strip of private beach. The sun has come out by now, not quite in full force, but enough to coax me into the ocean.

The cycle repeats, as I jump out to dry off, and then jump back in to cool down. As noon approaches, hunger beckons me back towards civilization. The beach becomes unrecognizable on the way back. A month spent living in the secluded jungles outside of Tulum has made me sensitive to people’s energies, and crowds have become overwhelming. My few moments of zen in the morning give way to booming reggaeton playlists and tourists in vacation mode.

But those few moments of serenity over the sea were all I needed.