Another Day in Paradise: Living in the Aloe Cabañas of Puerto Escondido

Though my initially tired, hungry impression urged otherwise (I tend to be somewhat grouchy by the time I come out the other end of twenty-four hours of airplanes and airports), my home for the next month – the Aloe Cabañas – has turned out to be a charming place.

I don’t quite have the layout down yet, but it seems to consist of a random smattering of abodes offering varying degrees of creature comfort that are scattered throughout the compound. At the bottom end of this range you have what appears to be an old camper and a random array of basic wooden living structures. Cozy boxes out of the weather, if you will, more aligned with your standard hostel experience. Then there is the main building, which has been sectioned off into apartments of disparate luxury.

On the bottom floor are a few smaller apartments that I believe share the communal outdoor kitchen with the people in the cozy boxes. I’m in a studio on the second floor, which boasts a private kitchen, full autonomy, a reasonable view from the balcony, and a pleasant aesthetic. I’m pretty sure there is an apartment above me with an even better view. Somewhere up there is a rooftop terrace that is under construction.

You might have noticed I used the word “compound” earlier. That is because Aloe Cabañas is, indeed, a compound.

Surrounded by a tall, green, unintimidating fence, it’s difficult to tell how many different living quarters there are. Maybe fifteen for guests, and I’m pretty sure the staff resides in a second building next door on the same property. There’s a well equipped outdoor kitchen and table seating for a dozen at least, hammocks and sitting areas scattered about, a few outdoor showers, and a statue of Buddha at the entrance. Gardens and thatched roofs everywhere and guests – both short and long term – are often hanging around the grounds, as are members of the staff.

Who are great, it must be mentioned. They somehow pull off the delicate balancing act that is working really hard to ensure that everyone is comfortable and accommodated while making it seem effortless and like no one on the compound has a care in the world, themselves included. Anyone who has worked in a good hotel or restaurant will know what I’m talking about. It’s got that tranquility where shit still gets done. It’s got that tranquility because shit gets done.

I selected Aloe Cabañas from a number of contenders on Airbnb because the price was right, and I wanted to be as close to the beach as possible. We’ll get to the beach in a moment.

My apartment is a studio with two queen beds, some standard furniture, a fully equipped outdoor kitchen on the balcony, a comfy hammock, and a deceptively attractive décor. The first thing you notice upon entering are the dandelion walls of the main space and the big windows opening out onto the balcony, and it could almost strike you as a little plain. Then as you move in you notice the teal ceiling and the amber and auburn tiled floor and the cerulean bathroom with the emerald sink and shower floor of beach stones set in cement. Great colors, in other words. At dusk the space is illuminated by the pink glow of an ultra-high-definition sunset. At night when you switch on the wall fixtures, it turns out that they cast a unique and comfortable illumination.

There is no hot water. That’s probably a deal breaker for a lot of people, but keep in mind that it’s been ninety degrees every day and you’re spending most of your time in the sun, on the beach, and that air-conditioning is unheard of in restaurants and bars. That cold shower is the only break you get from the swampy nuzzle of the heat and humidity.

The beach is the unrivaled champion benefit to the Aloe Cabañas. From the front gate, the beach is maybe a one hundred second walk away. The roads leading to it are made of clean sand – as are many of the principal roads in this part of town – and shoes are exceedingly optional. I’ve given up on them entirely. Shirts too.

The neighborhood in which Aloe Cabañas is located, called La Punta, has a different thing going on from the rest of Puerto Escondido.

Down the beach is the town’s main party drag, Zicatela, where there is a lively night scene and a long stretch of bars and restaurants situated on nice beach, but the surf is too strong so the water is often closed. The Adoquin is further still, where you’ll find the town’s principal beach bustling with families of the fisherman buzzing their skiffs to and from the shore. The road along this beach is closed daily for the local market booths, and at night it is where the wild local party rages. Behind this is El Centro, which is the main commercial area. Its night scene is all dive bars and a mysterious place called “Sixty Nine” that advertises promises of chicas.

La Punta, on the other hand, is protected by a cove so the swimming is good. It’s got decent surfing, particularly for people who are just learning, and best-in-show sunsets. As a result, it’s where everyone goes or lives when they want to chill out. That means a lot of hippies. A smattering of families and retired English speakers, but mostly hippies, of all nationalities.

The food and night scene in La Punta are festive but low-key compared to the party going on in the rest of town. There’s a youthful vibrance about – street art and the smells of a few dozen restaurants and surf shops and music and young, good-looking, dirty, carefree travelers – and it’s all planted on top of the sand. At night everyone goes to the beach to watch the sunset, and they applaud as it takes its final plunge into the Pacific.

La Punta’s biggest strength – its laid-back isolation – is also its biggest drawback. But taxis to the center are only forty-five pesos (around $2.40), and they are plentiful, so getting around is easy. And you can always walk down the beach to Zicatela. It only takes twenty, maybe thirty minutes, but it has been suggested that it is trek safe in the daytime only.

As far as I’m concerned, I’m staying in Paradise.

After a day of working I’ll often buzz down to the gym at Zicatela (maybe followed by a bite), then when I get back I’ll go for a run along the water’s edge and swim when I need to cool off. I’ll wade around the point through a series of geological miracles to the deserted beach on the other side, where I’ll climb and swim and walk and whatever. Watch another sunset outdo the last. Then maybe I’ll amble to some restaurant over streets of sand and have a few beers and tequilas and fish tacos. Finally, I’ll return home to a tranquil setting where I have a clean, comfortable space.

Really, what more can one ask for?