For the longest time since quarantine, we could only see the ocean from a distance. Here's Santa Cruz from the lookout point.
Santa Cruz was spooky. Even construction had taken a break.
This strange empty place is Santa Cruz.
From an early morning bicycle ride up to the other Santa Cruz lookout, this is a so far undeveloped cul de sac that splits off from the main street of hotels and upscale homes.
And there is a welcome socially distanced peek at the ocean again.
I rode the scooter one afternoon down the oceanfront cul de sac that offers a view of Playa Chahue. There wasn't a soul to be seen except for the lone policeman in the lifeguard chair, whose job was to keep people away from the beach. He got on his megaphone and announced "Quedate en su casa!" I think he meant me. I didn't stick around to confirm that.
In the morning, there are so few people there. It feels safe.
Open or not, they kept the banner banning access up for a few more weeks. No sense in encouraging everyone.
In the evening, it's a bit more popular. After all, what is better after a long hot day? Nothing. It's not exactly like the beaches of Florida we've seen in the news but I counted too many heads in the water for my comfort zone and I turned around to go home.
Just as with other places that emerged from lock-down, it wasn't long before some people seemed to think the crisis is over and acted accordingly. Yikes. I decided to upgrade my personal security.
Opening the beaches was the best thing to happen to me. I had a new routine of swimming early in the morning when there were fewer people splashing about.
I had just returned from the beach and gotten comfortable with a coffee and a comic in my front patio when the earthquake hit. There is no good place to be in an earthquake but I couldn't have been in a better place. The plastic sun roof over my head would at least have deflected and delayed any crumbling chunks of concrete shaken loose. Generally, people like to get out of their homes in an earthquake but the narrow street I live on wouldn't have offered much safety. I would be worried of power cables falling on me.
Texting back and forth began immediately. There wasn't a lot of damage to the house I live in but a lot more things hit the floor than the last big one in 2017. A friend assured me that 7.4 was bigger than the last time we all thought we were going to die. The evidence was about two liters of cooking oil spilled all over my floor.
Another friend told me the precise location of where the earthquake began was about a 5 minute ride by scooter from where we live. It really couldn't have been closer.
Naturally, all my neighbors were upset. Most of us were still shaking even after we had reached some inner calm.
I had to ride my bicycle away from my street because I wanted a cigarette more than anything else and you could smell propane from at least one broken gas line. When I returned, the firemen had it all under control. These pictures can't convey how severe that earthquake was. Huatulco in general didn't receive that much damage. Mostly it was the terracotta roof tiles and I think everyone had a new crack in the wall somewhere. I think that's a testament to how well these buildings are constructed.
Although the quake began in Huatulco, not every town was as lucky as we were. Some small mountain towns were absolutely demolished. Here's Berenice and two of her friends who helped organize a collection of emergency supplies for one of the hardest hit towns.
It's not over yet. Stay cool, be patient and be careful.
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