While at first it seemed like the entire Coronavirus frenzy would be way past by the time Mazunte even noticed what was going on, over the last week things took on a surprisingly speedy development, one which you would hardly think possible in this laid-back beach town. Most of the early stages of this you'll find in my entry from only a week ago, but since then things took a different turn, which I feel compelled to share here.
Lies, Lies, Lies
I shouldn't have to point out how the government is bound to lie, even when asking a question. And this is certainly true for a tiny municipal administration as much as for the top tiers of a major world power. First they instated prohibition, with the promise that beer for take away would still be allowed. LIE!!! For the last two weeks the sale of any alcoholic beverage has been made illegal, not only in Mazunte but the entire vicinity.
Then they said that with our registration cards (a poorly done photocopy of our passport with our phone number, current address, and an emergency contact) we would be re-admitted into the town again, if we had to leave. LIE!!! We never even got to see our cards, being brushed off by lame excuses of broken printers, and the ubiquitous mañana. In the end they closed the town for everyone, with or without a card.
Finally, they told us that if they had to close the town, we could move about freely inside, going through quarantine together. BLOODY LIE!!! Even though no-one can enter the town, at least not officially, the beach has been closed, and people forced to "stay inside". Never mind if you don't have an "inside" to stay in.
The Law in Theory and Practice
As we soon found out, there is a pretty wide gap in phrasing the law and applying / interpreting it. And when it comes to Mazunte, this is true at such an extreme, that I'm still wondering if I like it or not.
Although we are officially under prohibition, the little shops have never suspended selling off their stock. Rummaging through their fridge cabinets you're always likely to find a few cans of beer, even if the guy before you seemed to have scored the last ones. The prices are of course more on par with what you'd pay in a restaurant, but that's the extra charge for doing something "illegal". And yes, you're expected to hide it in your backpack before leaving the store.
Also the fact that no-one comes in and out of town is highly dependent on where you're talking about: sure, the only road running through Mazunte is certainly closed to towards the neighboring villages, guarded by checkpoints. But what about the uncharted mountain trails winding their way through the forested hills around the town? Interestingly, the "street" (more precisely a river wash) running right by our site had suddenly become very busy right after the road was closed down. A coincidence? Hardly. These people here know their way about, and a simple lock-down would hardly stop anyone from coming and going.
Then, there is the issue of the beach. The last time it was announced that it would be closed, my friend and I actually wanted to see the cops, so we took a walk down to the shore. We came too late. All we saw were people telling us that the police had cleared the beach of people. Since there were no barriers, let alone officers to turn us around, we continued all the way to ocean, only to see ... the local kids being engaged in a game of football, and others taking advantage of the very surfable waves. So we sat down, cracked a few beers open, and toasted to the highly malleable laws of Mazunte.
The Other End of the Stick
At the same time, I kept hearing gossip about the flexibility the officials themselves take in applying the lock-down laws. There is, for example, the story of a girl who was celebrating her birthday with a small group of friends and family when the police raided them.
They had to spend two nights in jail before being given a penalty of community service hours - 8 days by 8 hours - of picking up trash in the sun. Wow! Another case talks about a foreigner being fined 5,000 Euros for some similar crime. Talking about excessive! But then again, that's when greed comes into the equation.
Officially we were told that anyone who's caught on the beach or at a party will be given a warning the first time, and expelled from the village after the second one. Banishment! I could see that: being told to pack your things and leave. But go where? Since the neighboring towns have a similar lock-down policy, you wouldn't get very far. In the end you'd be stuck in limbo on a hill bordering the two villages.
What I personally find most upsetting, is the story of how Mazunte got its first (and so far only) Coronavirus case: It was some dude from Mexico City, who somehow made it to the checkpoint after lock-down had been instated. But he paid the taxi driver the handsome fee he charged for driving around locked-down roads, and he also knew someone from the administration, so he was admitted in, both eyes closed. It wasn't long till the symptoms became apparent, and he was put in a "special quarantine," whatever that means.
Back to the Beach
So this simply means, the law ain't worth jack doo-doo, and nobody has our best (or any) interest in mind. - No shit, Sherlock! However, it also means that as long as we're not caught, we can do whatever we want. Smoke weed, swim naked, or just take a stroll down the middle of the road while sipping on a tequila bottle. The recent development has turned us all into criminals, or looking at it from the other side, innocent victims who may get hit any time by arbitrary executives.
For this reason, I have completely stopped worrying about things. I may be back on the beach today, and I'm also sure there may be some beer in store for me (pun intended!).