Birthday in a Sea of Gold

Amy and I are the same age for two months each year. She turned seventy-three on March 4th, which means we share that number until May 13th, when I step ahead and become seventy-four.

This year, for her birthday, I made arrangements for us to escape to the Pacific coast, to one of our favorite places a short drive away: Mazunte.

From our home outside Oaxaca City it is about three and a half hours by car along the new highway that crosses the Sierra Madre mountains. It took years to build, carving its way through difficult terrain, and when it finally opened about several years ago it almost immediately began experiencing problems—landslides, boulders tumbling down from above. Even now parts of it feel precarious, and Amy becomes nervous when we pass through the steepest sections.

Still, the alternative is a much longer journey on the old two-lane road, just as dramatic with its endless hairpin turns. So we set off early, trusting the mountain gods to let us pass.

Our destination was a small hotel we have grown to love, Casa Ofelia, sitting quietly on the beach. It is cozy and intimate, with a small swimming pool and broad verandas that look directly out to the sea. Not luxurious in a grand sense, but perfect for us—and surprisingly affordable. Over time it has become our go-to refuge on the coast.

The drive went smoothly and before long we were settled in, breathing the salt air.

Whenever we arrive, the meeting of sea and land begins working on us almost immediately. Something in the body relaxes. The rhythm of the waves begins to wash through the mind.

The beach in front of the hotel is usually empty. Only at sunset do small groups wander down to watch the sun slip into the Pacific. It is always a quiet ceremony. The colors shift dramatically, the sea turning shades of aqua beneath the descending orb as it changes from gold to deep red before disappearing. For a few minutes everyone grows still. Happiness fills the air. It feels almost sacred.

The days hovered in the mid-eighties, the nights in the seventies, with a steady breeze moving through everything.

Mazunte itself remains a delight. The town is relaxed, easygoing, and perfect for people-watching. Many of the visitors are young travelers from around the world, drifting through with a distinctly counter-cultural spirit. Amy remarked more than once about how much skin some of the women were willing to display—so scantily dressed they seemed almost part of the beach itself. Outside our hotel at a nearby trail that ends at the beach, a sign reads, No Nudism."

We also discovered a few restaurants we had somehow overlooked on previous visits—simple places along the shore serving fresh fish and shrimp dinners that tasted even better with sand still on our feet.

Swimming in the ocean directly in front of the hotel isn’t possible. The currents there are simply too strong. But just a few minutes away by car there are calmer stretches where I can plunge into the surf, which gives me enormous pleasure. Amy prefers to watch from under a rented umbrella, content and amused.

4 minute video

The three days and nights passed in a seamless, tranquil way. By the end we both felt renewed. More than once we looked at each other and said how grateful we were to have made the journey.

The drive home was uneventful—no landslides, no falling rocks.

When we arrived back at the house our two dogs greeted us with great enthusiasm, along with Jo, our trusted house-sitter who had kept everything running smoothly in our absence.

And just like that, another small chapter of life had unfolded—sea air, sunsets, and the quiet joy of celebrating Amy.

Muro Vivo—Living Walls

Mexico has been at the center of major international headlines recently after the government carried out an operation that resulted in the death of Nemesio Oseguera Cervantes, known as “El Mencho,” leader of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel — one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the country. Assisted by the CIA in the United States, an ambush was accomplished and El Mencho was killed, along with others on both sides. The immediate result was celebration but also a wave of violence that swept across Mexico. The images of burning vehicles were rather gruesome.

Since then, numerous of our friends and loved ones have been calling us, asking, Are you safe? Are you okay?

We are. Thank God we are well — safe and living our ordinary, creative life in our home outside Oaxaca City, in a region still regarded as calm and secure. Life here remains grounded in daily rhythms, the friendliness of neighbors, and the simple joy of sunrise light on the mountains.

We are even planning a short trip to the coast for a special celebration. Before making any definite plans, we asked a neighbor who runs a coffee cooperative near the Pacific and travels often along the new highway whether it feels peaceful. He checked with his daughter, who lives close to our favorite beach town — and the word was reassuring: the road is calm, the coast is peaceful.

In other news, this past week my neighbor Mayolo came over for a painting session with me. We set up a still life of sunflowers in a vase, with an alebrije set next to it. Over the course of two session we painted side by side. Very enjoyable and Mayolo, a creative person who makes the frames for many of our paintings, was very appreciative of the opportunity to paint together. 

And yes, my creative currents continue to pull me in new directions. I completed a short video titled Muro Vivo, or “Living Wall.” For years, I’ve photographed street art all over Oaxaca. In this new piece, an AI animation platform was used to bring those images to subtle movement, like walls awakening with breath — a little magic and a little experiment.

Meanwhile, Amy paints steadily, losing and finding herself in color and shape every day.

So — despite unsettling news and distant violence, life goes on here. We are safe. We are creative. We are grateful for friends near and far who care. And through it all, the sunflowers still turn toward the light.

Winter Solstice Sojourn

For many of us, the winter solstice marks a time to reflect, recharge, and reconnect with the rhythms of nature. For my wife Amy and me, this year brought a longing for the Pacific Ocean’s embrace—a call we couldn’t ignore. After all, it is not that far a drive away. From our quiet village on the outskirts of Oaxaca, we set off on a journey to Mazunte, a jewel on Mexico’s Pacific coast. Known for its pristine beaches, bohemian charm, and soulful tranquility, this small seaside town seemed the perfect place to honor the year’s shortest day and longest night. Our plan was simple: to escape the everyday, soak in the ocean’s timeless wisdom, and welcome the return of longer days with an offering while surrounded by beauty and peace.

The joy of the Pacific Ocean is irresistible. As we reached Mazunte after a four hour drive—mostly on a new highway, the rhythmic crash of waves called us like an old friend, and soon we were in the water, laughing and leaping through the surf. Well, I was in the ocean. Amy does not swim, but likes to stride the sandy beach, waves licking her toes. The ocean’s embrace was cool yet invigorating, a timeless reminder of life’s playful, unrestrained energy. Frolicking in the shallows, we felt the weight of everyday worries melt away with each rolling wave. We enjoyed seeing people of all types and ages, in families, solo, with partners and dogs. A nude beach is not far away and sometimes young women were topless and unbothered.

Our days unfolded with a natural rhythm, guided by the sun’s ascent and descent. Walking along the beach at sunrise felt like stepping into a dreamscape—the light casting a golden hue across the sand, the ocean shimmering with the first blush of morning. As the day gave way to evening, we found ourselves in awe of fiery sunsets, their colors spilling across the horizon, mirrored in the rippling tide.

Mazunte’s vibrant charm extended beyond the shore. Strolling through town, we discovered eclectic shops offering everything from handmade jewelry to vibrant textiles. Each store felt like a small treasure chest, inviting us to linger and explore. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries often drew us into cozy cafes where time slowed, and we savored the simple pleasures of buttery croissants and rich, aromatic brews. Mexico’s coast produces some of the finest coffee in the world. 

Beachside grills became our favorite dining spots, where we indulged in fresh fish grilled to perfection, seasoned with local spices, and accompanied by tangy salsas, ensaladas, and warm tortillas.

For me, during the three day sojourn, I felt the weight of troubles lift by the hour, until a new found sense of freedom settled inside.

When we returned home, our trusted house sitter greeted us warmly, our two dogs safely in tow, tails wagging with excitement. The house was just as we had left it, a comforting welcome back to our life in the village.

The next evening, we joined our dear neighbors, Mayolo and Marta, for Christmas Eve supper. Their home is just a short walk from ours, and over the years, they’ve become more than friends—they feel like family. Sitting around their table, sharing food and stories, it was clear how much our lives had intertwined, weaving a shared sense of belonging.

On Christmas Day, our neighbor Remedios and her young daughter visited to bake Christmas cookies with Amy. Without an oven of her own, Remedios brought her heartfelt enthusiasm to our kitchen. The house quickly filled with the sweet aromas of cinnamon and sugar. Her husband has been away in the United States for several years, and she raises her two children on her own with boundless love and resilience. Watching her laugh with her daughter while they rolled out dough was a touching reminder of her strength and grace.

Just last night, we hosted a gathering of ten neighbors at our home, a beautiful mix of Mexicanos and ex-pats. Around the table, we shared a meal accompanied by laughter and lively conversation. The hours slipped by as we toasted, told stories, and celebrated the season, the warmth of connection lingering long after the last plate was cleared. It was one of those evenings that deepened our gratitude for this little village and the incredible people who make it feel like home.

Amy with Elba, on our rooftop