mxbunga: where the heat hits like a rogue tripod during an all-day shoot

i wasn’t planning to babble about mxbunga at 2 am but here we are. the numbers 1737714 and 1458405498 just flashed up on my phone like some digital ghost signal, maybe minecraft coordinates or a failed bike lock code. either way, the weather app said 30.03 degrees feels like 34.4 and i didn’t know what to think-is that steakhouse humidity or actual climate apocalypse? either way, the air smells like a forgotten laundry room and someone is definitely grilling tuna fish again.

set up camp at this dusty hostel that smells like dyed band tees and expired chapati. the neighbor across the alley is a guy in a speedo playing bongo music way too loud. i hear things. or maybe it’s just the heat making my bedsheet vibrate. anyway, the maps.google.com/maps?q=4.75,115&z=12&output=embed thing is useless here because the streets look like a artists’ sketch of chaos. all concrete, no roads, just a vibe. locals told me to expect that. one said ‘if you get bored, galer islands are just a short drive away’-which i assume means i’ll need a raft made of bread wrappers.

i didn’t know what to pack. 1008 pressure levels? 67% humidity? seems like someone calculated how many layers i should sweat through. i opted for a kit: a hat, a sweater (because it’s 30, i don’t care), and a maybe-irritant-anti-mosquito spray that smells like lavender and regret. armed with that, i wandered into a street food spot someone warned me about. ‘heard that place sells fried rice with actual rice,’ a drunk tourist said. turned out to be true. if you’re passing, hit it up? yelp.com/mxbunga-bites is your friend.

there’s a rumor floating around-someone told me that the barista at this speakeasy-style café doesn’t even know her name. i overheard it from a barista actually. take it with a grain of salt, i guess? but the coffee? holy moly. i asked for a drip and she gave me a espresso martini in a mason jar. no photo, just drank it. now i need to lie to my followers about how great my taste buds are. the google link is here for proof: TripAdvisor review.

i took pics while the sun was setting. first board was a streetmosphere maybe, second was my attempt at capturing the ‘chaos of the alley’ but it’s just a blurry clock tower. unsplash.com/search/photos?query=mxbunga gave me weirdly calm nighttime shots of parking lots. i don’t know what it’s trying to say. maybe the city’s soul is in the empty spaces.

the neighbors mention made me think of a fellow traveler. a woman in a vintage dress sitting on a bench with a book. she asked if i wanted to join her for a sunrise yoga session. she had a thermos of chai and told me she’s a ‘disillusioned consultant turned plant whisperer.’ i said yes. she handed me yoga mats that were literally covered in hair gel and regrets. the session started at 5 am and ended when the tide came in. the ocean here doesn’t drown; it just sighs and leaves.

someone warned me about the nights. ‘don’t walk alone after dark’, they said. i half believed them. i half didn’t. either way, i texted a local via that ‘boards’ thread linked here: local forums. he said there’s a midnight drum circle at the waterfront. i showed up with a ukulele and a bag of chips. nobody knew what to do. we formed a band. it was called ‘the saltwater symphony’ and we played for about three people. the energy? real. the weather? also 30 degrees but colder because of the sweating.

i’m here until the tuna fish stops being a metaphor. if you’re coming, check the pressure-it’s 1004 on ground level. that might mean something. the humidity is 67%, which is perfect for blaming everything on the weather. smells like this place is about to rain but also never will. you lurk, you feel it, you don’t care. mxbunga, 1458405498 feels like a password to somewhere. do what you want with that info. i’m just here, sweating book, and trying to outrun the mosquitoes that clearly got my Wi-Fi password.

p.s. pro tip: if you pack a raincoat, throw it in a suitcase. you’ll never use it. us either.

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