Surfboards tied to old jeeps. Bare foot hammering out frantic beats on heated sand. The waves talk to each other, making promises and threats. Puerto Escondido has a heartbeat: the water thumps and the drums of excitement beat in every surfer’s chest. This is not a shy petting zoo. There are a lot of breaks, barrels, and bottom turns in this untamed jungle. Explore here.
People think the beach here is mad. Maybe it’s the constant battering; the shore hits back at every reckless visitor. There is a story about a guy who tried to ride Zicatela’s famous Mexican Pipeline after having too many beers. He lost his board, his dignity, and his lunch in the whitewater. If you want to find baby waves, you should drive somewhere else.
Every morning, the pro surfers get out of their hammock beds, squint against the sun, and look at sadder people. The main stage is Zicatela Beach. The sand feels like a gladiatorial arena, with no clear boundaries. The waves? Six to fifteen feet, and occasionally more, coming in with heavy hands. People who live there name it La Playa de los Muertos. Not a joke.
But not everything about Puerto is scary. La Punta has smaller, more fun waves than some of the beaches to the west. Beginners establish their rhythm and get launched off boards at a surprisingly fast rate. Surfing teachers smile beneath dark glasses. They give you good advise in a quiet voice: “Keep your knees bent.” Remember to breathe. “Nobody looks cool when they’re scared.”
There are gear rental stores all over the highways, and the paint is coming off of the wooden signs. Wax, rash guards, and worn-out foamies. Most people don’t bother with elaborate sales pitches. They know you’ll find them if you need a board. Prices go up and down depending on your accent, how well you can haggle, and how confused you seem about pesos.
After a session, surfers swarm to smoothie stands like tired seabirds. Stories spread like flies. There are long, detailed descriptions of brilliant wipeouts. Every sprained wrist and ear canal full of sand is a medal of glory. People in town are talking about this: wipeouts are stories, while perfect rides are legends.
But what about the sunsets? They hold the day together. The sky is full of pink, gold, and purple. Sand gets everywhere. Salt-covered boards lean against the supports of the palapa. The evening winds blow away the sweat, leaving just laughing.
People should appreciate Puerto Escondido. Bring your best sunscreen, your A-game, and six tries to say Zicatela. Come for the surf, but stay for the stories. If you fall, wear your sand like a medal. You deserve it.