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Mexico

You know who you are Cancun.

I know who you are.

You need no introduction.

But hey Cancun… we really need to talk.

It’s not even so much that we need to talk, Cancun. It’s a lot more like, you need to listen.

You’ve stifled my creativity. You’ve left me uninspired and adrift in a sea (albeit a beautifully warm turquoise sea) of stubborn complacency. You’ve thrown me a curveball. You’ve done various other cliched things to me because that’s what you are… one big, fat, greasy, loud, Americanized, bright, tacky, overpriced and underaged cliche.

I loathe you.

I know it’s not the first time that we’ve met and perhaps I’m being a tad harsh but you and I are simply not suited to be in each others company.

This time I thought that trying a different angle could produce a different result. A different set of experiences and the formation of new positive connections in the brain. Let’s do everything opposite.

Last time I was with a girlfriend. This time I am with my mate. Last time I was on my way home after a long trip. This time I am just at the beginning. Last time I stayed in a hostel…

This time we go all out and splurge on an all inclusive 5 star resort.

Big Pimpin'

Hell yeah.

Last time I was with you it was mid August 2007. This time we came smack bang in the middle of SPRING BREAK 2012!

This perhaps proved to have been a slight error in judgement on our part.

I think of Spring Break as thousands of pretty, young, drunk American girls partying hard before heading back to their prestigious universities and colleges and resuming their academic journey. I envisage them as educated and cultured people who, after toiling away for much of the year, heads buried in books, get to let their hair down and party for a few short weeks. Fun, I thought. Interesting, I thought. An experience, I thought.

Well, an experience, yes. The other things? Nooooooooooo.

You see how many superfluous O’s I used there? Yeah. They actually aren’t superfluous. They are necessary to convey how serious that ‘NO’ is. I don’t want you thinking “oh, he’s probably just saying that”. No. Nooooooooo. I’m not.

Perhaps the first clue lies in the name of the establishment: ‘Krystal’ with a K. It screams tacky. Then it probably screams SPRING BREAK, chugs a light beer, high fives Chad and Taylor before promptly crushing a beer can on it’s head. We coined the term ‘Man-cun’ after realizing that the cute, cultured and educated girls that I spoke of above must have thought better than to waste their time in the disgrace town of an otherwise impeccably cool country, Mexico. 10:1 ratio of stupid, young American guys to stupid, young American female counterparts.

The ‘famous’ nightclubs were a shitshow to say the least. Sardines would burst into fits of laughter if they were to view how packed these ridiculous nightclubs are. All drinks included in the price of entry sounds great until you try to get a drink and can’t get served unless you are willing to wait half an hour with your face pressed against the sweaty back of a stranger who looks like an extra out of Jersey Shore and then tip the barmen some ludicrous amount of money, in US Dollars no less, for a watered down drink because American kids can’t hold their alcohol and don’t notice the difference anyway because they can’t even legally drink in their own backwards country.

It made me want to shoot myself in the face repeatedly.

BANG! BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG!

I did meet a couple of cool people though, I guess…

In reality I did meet some really cool people and it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge that. Not all Americans are idiots, nor are they all the stereotypical dropkicks that we are all guilty of imagining. It wasn’t all Americans either. Brazilians, Kiwis and a cool German guy were also in the mix to party with, along with a couple more Aussies scattered about the place for good measure.

I don’t want to rag on the whole Cancun experience that you offer either, because if it were truly as bad as I paint it then it wouldn’t be so popular each and every year. It just isn’t for me. I look at the cool places I’ve seen and I just can’t put you in the same sentence without cheapening them.

Maybe I’m just asking for trouble every time I come to visit you? Last time I was saying goodbye to a girl and then returning home with mixed emotions, and this time I’m saying goodbye to my mate and commencing the ‘by myself’ portion of my trip. It’s a lot to deal with!

Plus I broke my sunnies.

(that means ‘sunglasses’ for anybody who is Australian-language challenged)

I know it’s irrational and unfair, but I wholeheartedy blame you for that. And yes, I do have awesome orange and black striped backup sunnies, but it’s besides the point. You got me drunk and made me stand on my sunnies and it’s your fault.

Everything is your fault, whether it’s your fault or not. That’s why we can never be together.

And you know what else? I wasn’t going to mention this but it’s been really bugging me. Here is a picture of Nicko with a snake –

You know what I didn’t take a photo of? The tranq’d out baby lion cubs. You can pay to have your photo taken with a giant snake and it doesn’t really seem to bother the animal too much. Or you can manhandle a heavily sedated rag-doll child of the ‘king of the jungle’. Yeah, let’s dope up Simba and hoar him out to tourists to make some cash off him. And you know the worst part is? People actually loved it. People lined up to have their picture taken. I haven’t sworn in any of my letters to date but you really have a knack for bringing out the worst in me…

FUCK THAT SHIT CANCUN!

These horrible people would probably eat baby lion if it was offered to them – ‘makes you feel like a big man’.

Spring Break in Cancun. Tick. Scribble that off my bucket list with vigorous maniacal strokes that leave deep marks in the wooden table beneath.

Beat a bunch of American marines at beer pong. Twice. Tick that off the old bucket list too while I’m there.

Adios Cancun… I probably speak better Spanish than you at this point, so just in case you don’t understand that, I said goodbye.

I’m not gonna be here when you read this, but I hope that you do read it. No hard feelings.

TLH

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Hey San Christobal… we need to talk

It’s been great catching up with you again. I feel as though I’ve changed a lot since we were last together, but I must admit that I’m happy to see that you haven’t changed a bit. I’ve enjoyed growing as a person over the last 5 years, but upon my arrival I happily appreciate the history of your town and am comforted by the familiar feel of your streets.

As for your mountain air… I’m still not sure whether I love it or hate it. I mean, I enjoy getting wasted after 3 beers. That is a welcome unfamiliarity AND it helps my budget. But, as it is with everything in this crazy world, mountain air is a double edged sword. Mountain Hangovers suck (and yes I realize that ‘Hangovers’ probably doesn’t require a capital letter grammatically speaking, but if you’ve felt a mountain Hangover then you’d capitalize that bad boy too).

You know what I didn’t do last time I was with you?

Culture.

Welcome to the new me, San Christobal. I do culture these days. I learned this in Oaxaca. Last time I was here I went to the tourist market. This time I went to the local market. Much, much, much cooler. Instead of jewelry hand made by hippies, leather bags and hand woven rugs and clothes, the local market has crazy foods and everything else required for everyday life as a local in San Christobal.

 

I do culture these days.

I went to your Mayan medicine museum (which in reality was a few plastic figurines in the back of some blokes house). But I did it.

I do culture these days.

I went to your amber museum. That was cool. I like the amber that has bugs caught inside it. Totally reminded me of Jurassic Park. Sadly there were no dinosaurs.

Hey, I didn’t say I’d grown up…

All I said was that I do culture these days.

I climbed up to your lookout.

I got a question: why do you have a really high lookout when you’re already up on a mountain? It seems a little curious, but I’ll admit that the view up there was pretty nice.

Another question: why do you have a gym at the top of the lookout? The air is already thin and then you climb a million steps to get even higher and the air is even thinner and then you expect people to exercise? High altitude training?

I am not, nor do I ever want to be, a Collingwood footballer.

(You probably won’t understand that reference. It’s an Aussie thing. Sorry about that)

So I’ve changed a little. I’m a little older that I was the last time we met. I’m a little more mature (perhaps). A little more cultured (definitely). I am still me though, and my problem lies with climate. I don’t do cold weather San Christobal, and we both knew that this was the case. It was great to visit you again, but my other friends are waiting. I have to leave early in the morning so that I can catch a bus to Guatemala (they don’t run at nighttime to avoid carjackings (or busjackings?).

So, Lago de Atitlan is my next destination and I can’t wait to see her again. She was only a one night stand last time, but I feel as though this time I might get a little more involved.

We know where we stand with each other so I don’t feel as though I’m out of line by saying such things to you.

But since I have to leave early in the morning, by the time you read this I’ll probably already be gone.

TLH

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Hey Oaxaca… we need to talk

I would have thought your name was pronounced oaks-ah-kah but no, as usual there is a massive curve ball. As you know, your name is pronounced wah-ha-kah.

So, Oaxaca City is the capital of Oaxaca state, kinda like New York City is the capital of New York state? That’s cool. I like that. Although if I lived here I bet people would always ask me “where are you from?” and I’d be like “Oaxaca” and they’d be like “oh cool, where abouts?” and I’d be like “Oaxaca“. I can see that becoming a little annoying.

The local townsfolk are, on the most part, lovely. I say ‘on the most part’ because I found one particular group to be quite strange. Congregating around the largest of the local churches, these funny looking fellows did not offer much in the way of conversation. Sure, my Spanish is rubbish, but I literally got nothing from these guys. Nothing.

          

I would have been better off asking a priest where to find a good nightclub. Or a homeless person where to find an IKEA. Or showing a dog a card trick. Or taking a blind person to a museum. Seriously, I got nothing from them. Not even a response. I just wanted directions. They’re like statues.

Then, of course, I sobered up and looked at them in the clear light of day only to realize that they ARE in fact statues.

Typical.

But this isn’t really all that surprising when you look at the rest of your streets, Oaxaca. You are rich in art. Even you’re graffiti deserves to be in a gallery. Every token, touristy shop that looks predictable from the street seems to be hiding the fact that in a back room or down a corridor is a subtle exhibition, antique shop, art studio, tapas bar… etc…

We spent arguably the most romantic day of the year together–Valentines Day. And how romantic was it? Very. Salsa dancing until the wee hours of the morning. Trying to anyway. For a dance that only has  four steps (forward, together, back, together) it was deceptively hard.

Let’s talk food, Oaxaca. You’re gonna make me fat. I don’t even know where to start. Let’s start at the bottom and work our way up. Street food is nuts. Not literal nuts, like peanuts and stuff, although I guess you do have them too. No, I mean nuts as in completely bonkers. Even a simple quesadilla is not just a simple quesadilla. What extra ingredients did I feel like? Oh you know, just you’re standard squash blossom (flowers). No worries. Extremely good.

Shall we go up a level? Tapas bars. Nuts. Complete with house cured leg of ham hanging from the rafters. No biggie. Home made chorizo. Yeah. Best olives I’ve ever had in my life (because Mexico is famous for olives all of a sudden? Me thinks not.. but maybe it should be). Nuts.

Top tear? I’ll admit, this was not an intentional experience. Kinda stumbled into the fanciest place I’ve ever eaten (bare foot and shirtless of course) and was too embarrassed to acknowledge my mistake and walk out. Didn’t understand the menu because it was proper fancy and in spanish. Ordered tacos because I figured that it was a safe bet. What could you possibly do to fancy up a taco? Maybe risotto had a little more scope to be made fancy. The food was… wait for it… nuts. The food was nuts.

Gelatin taco shells, seafood cerviche filling, flowers and leaves as garnish and the obligatory swipes of chili powder and paste. Perfect seafood risotto needs no explanation, but the square gelatin sheet perched on top of it was a nice touch, as were the flowers as a final garnish. Ridiculous. How much, you ask? Less than $20 including 2 beers and tip.

Forgetting something? Fast food. Yeah, I ate at your Burger King. In my country they say the burgers are better at Hungry Jacks. Whilst that may be true, the burgers are certainly bigger at Burger King. Accompanied by a litre of coke and a stupid amount to fries. I mean, fast food is fast food is fast food is fast food, but sometimes it’s required and it’s nice to know that you have it. Well played Oaxaca.

I went from getting ruined in beach towns to visiting ancient ruins on the outskirts of your town. It has been a happy change and one that I needed to have. The ruins of Monte Albán were amazing. I enjoyed them immensely. Thanks for that.

Now, I know that this has nothing to do with you but sometimes when bad things happen to me I attach bad memories to places and it alters my perception of the place. So I don’t blame you for what happened to me but I am finding it difficult to separate the incident from the place.

I got toothpaste in my eye.

Not a big deal? Try it and get back to me.

Where is the warning on my goddam Colgate that dental hygiene and alcohol do not mix? Where?

I’m trying my hardest to find faults with your lovely city but I’m having limited success. This is what I came up with so far.

The roads are bumpy. But this is because they’re cobble stone, which really just adds to the vibe of the city in a positive way and is much better than the speed bumps that seem to litter so many of the other streets in Mexico. I can’t really use bumpy roads as a negative thing.

I got toothpaste in my eye. Again, not technically your fault.

To be entirely honest, I am clutching at straws to find even minor faults with you. I love you Oaxaca. I know it’s early for me to be saying that, but it’s true. You’re amazing. You’re beautiful, both aesthetically and the people who call you home. You’re rich in culture, you’re streets lined in colonial churches, art galleries, street art and installations. You have amazing food; both modern and traditional. Your nightlife is enough to have a good time but not so crazy that I hate myself every morning/afternoon when I wake up.

So why am I writing to you like this?

It’s not you, Oaxaca, it’s me. I’m just not quite ready yet. I feel as though I could quite happily put my bag down, burn my passport and grow fat and content suckling on the ample bosom of your sophisticated city. But that would be rash. Especially the ‘burning my passport’ part. That’s just completely unnecessary. I guess love makes you want to do crazy things.

It’s true that I’ve been town hopping since I left Melbourne, sleeping in a different bed every few days, and no, I’m not proud of that fact. But at this point in time, right now, I’m not ready for anything serious and I feel as though I will start to get too attached if I stay any longer.

I really hope I can come back soon to visit, and if I still feel the way that I feel now then I will certainly stay for longer. Who knows, maybe forever, if you’ll have me.

I’ve decided to go and visit some old friends that I met 5 years ago whilst traveling. The first friend is San Cristóbal de las Casas high in the mountains. After that I will head into Guatemala, Belize and then back into Mexico. Most of the towns I will visit, I have been to before. I’m not looking to find any new places while I still have you fresh in my mind.

It’s been real Oaxaca. It’s kinda been unreal too.

By the time you read this I’ll probably already be gone.

TLH

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Hey Puerto Escondido… we need to talk

You have a bit of a reputation. Yeah Puerto Escondido, I’ll admit it… you’re name proceeds you.

Was I a little intimidated when I came to meet you? Yes, I was.

Were my expectations high when I arrived on your shore? Yes, they were.

Were my expectations met and surpassed?

Yes. Yes, they were.

You are a wild one. Wild surf, wild people, wild parties. Just flat out wild.

If I’m going to be entirely honest with you, I think that you’re a bit too wild for me. The routine of mojitos for breakfast, a sleep for lunch, beers and rum for dinner, party until sunrise and repeat is not easy to maintain.

I know you’re thinking that I’m the wild one but I’m not. It’s not me… it’s you. And you wanna know how I know? Because I can’t keep up and I’m leaving, while your crazyness will continue long after my visit becomes a distant (and blurry) memory.

The party lifestyle that you promote only became evident to me when I looked back at my photos. I always seem to be just grabbing a quick drink. Or having a couple of beers. Or a cocktail.

Or an eye-opener in the morning and nightcap before bed. Or breaky beers, a liquid lunch, dinner drinks. Or shots at the bar.

Or playing a drinking game.

Or hungover.

Enough about me though. Let’s talk about you.

Some of your locals are… how shall I put it? Industrious? Yeah, that’ll do. Industrious. Everybody seems to have more than one job. Everyone seems to be in the middle of advertising one of their services when they interrupt themselves by advertising another.

Example: Tour guide.

He wears a polo shirt to advertize his tour company. He offers surfing lessons, fishing trips, whale watching excursions, snorkeling, scuba diving etc. Straight forward, yes? No.

“No thank you mate”.

All of a sudden he produces a menu from a back pocket and he’s claiming to be a waiter and trying to drag you into his restaurant. Confused? Keep listening.

“No thank you mate”

“Smoke weed?”

“No”

“Cocaine?”

“No”

“Like girls?”

“Well, yes but…”

“I get you nice girls”

“No mate”

Drug dealer and pimp are added to the growing list of services offered. Finished yet? Not even close.

“So you like to party?”

“…” *holding 2 beers at 11am, it is difficult to deny this.

“I’m a DJ at a club in La Punta, I can get you in for free, no cover charge”

At this point I walk away but I have no doubt that if I hung around I would be offered to have my house painted, laser eye surgery performed, fortune told, stock advice given, shoes shined, trip to the moon, unicorn rides, nuclear weapons supplied…

Let’s just call it being industrious.

And hey, why must you do things just to prove me wrong? It makes me look silly. This is an area in which I require no help.

No sooner do I finish telling Zihuatanejo that I am a big tough Aussie who isn’t phased by big surf, rip tides and strong currents and you come along and call my bluff.

When I saw the rescue jet ski, complete with trailer, looking like it was on loan from the set of Bondi Rescue or something, I was concerned. Nobody was swimming because the waves were pretty big but luckily I had been drinking all morning so my confidence was sky high. There were a handful of surfers getting tossed around by the waves and my logic was that surfers would be surfing in the safest spot and therefore that is where I should swim.

Unfortunately my logic is about as reliable as my spanish.

So, thankfully I didn’t need to be rescued but it was a close call. Like, very close. I did receive a pretty stern lecture from the lifeguard when I eventually washed up on the shore. Well… I think I did. I certainly deserved one. But I guess for all I know he could have been asking me directions to the bus station or offering me unicorn rides.

Don’t get me wrong, Puerto Escondido, I had a blast! I’m simply telling you my reasons for leaving so that you know. From what I can gather, you aren’t the type of town to care. You’re just out for a good time. You gave me a good time. I thank you for that. But it’s time to get real and start looking for a serious town. A town that can offer me more than just a good time and cirrhosis of the liver. After all, that is what I’m looking for isn’t it?

I’m heading to a bigger city that doesn’t have the distraction of beautiful beaches. I’m heading to Oaxaca, arguably the cultural capital of Mexico. I’m ready to swap bars for art galleries, coronas for coffee, surf beaches for ancient ruins, sand paths for cobblestone roads and nightclubs for colonial churches. It’s a big step, Puerto Escondido, and I thank you for nudging me in the right direction (and throwing me one hell of a send off).

If you get around to reading this, in between drinks, I will almost certainly be gone.

Stay cool Escondido.

TLH

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Hey Zihuatanejo… we need to talk

Zihuatanejo – pronounced zee-wah-tah-nay-ho

Pronounced with great difficulty.

Pronounced wrongly more often than not.

A pronounced elderly American community who pronounce things in an annoying way.

Ah Zihua, our time together has been brief and thus, my parting words to you will also be brief.

I’ve always been of the opinion that the single most important asset of a beach is palm trees lining the shore. I am delighted to see that your beaches tick this box. They tick this box in spades. After this I rate location as the next most important factor. Secluded beaches have their place, sure, but for me proximity is the key. I like the ocean to be close to where I sleep so that the waves can rock me to sleep at night, and I like to be able to wander off the beach to get a bite to eat and a beer. Tick, tick, tick.

And then maybe another beer.

Unfortunately it appears that I’ve overlooked a pretty important feature, or rather, I’ve taken it for granted over the years.

The most important asset of a beach is—swimability.

I’m an Australian, Zihua, so I’m not talking about dangerous rip tides, strong currents or big waves. I’m talking about pollution.

Junk.

Rubbish.

Sewerage.

Human waste.

I seem to be harping on about toilets and drainage and toilet paper nonflushability and stuff an awful lot since I arrived in Mexico but I can’t let this one slide. Having such a beautiful, palm tree clad beach so close at hand and not be able to swim in it is like Chinese water torture… but in Mexico… so I guess, it’s like Mexican water torture.

Yeah. That’s pretty clever actually. I’m pretty happy with that. But really I’d rather not have to come up with witty wordplay to describe the appalling state of your water quality though.

Despite this, I can happily report that you are a lovely place. I enjoyed our time together immensely and I would be lying if I said that I was happy to be leaving. I have no schedule to keep, plane to catch or deadline to meet, but it isn’t fair to either of us to waste time getting attached when I know that we aren’t right for each other.

You provided me with some memorable… um.. memories? and the thought of them will surely remedy frowns if they ever chose to appear in my future. You gave me my first lobster since I left Melbourne. I called him Pinchy! And then I ate him. He was delicious.

My spanish, or lack thereof, did manage to get me into some sticky/stinky situations again.

I tried to ask one of your lovely locals if I could take a picture of him and the giant fish that he had caught. I’m not sure exactly where I went wrong but this was the result:

My hands still kinda smell like fish. I was a long way from my hotel. Or a tap. Or soap. Or perhaps sanity. I’m still not sure how to say “no thank you, I do not want to hold your giant fish” in spanish. Perhaps this is something I should look into. Cool photo though. Good memory.

I suggest that you clean yourself up a little bit (and I will clean my hands up a little bit too). You are genuinely beautiful and you are capable of making a lot of people very happy but it is important that you look after yourself as well. I really hope that you take my words to heart and work towards getting clean. You deserve happiness just as much as anyone or anywhere else.

I leave you tonight under the veil of darkness as I embark on a 12 hour bus ride to Puerto Escondido. I will go through Acapulco on my way but the memory of our time together will most likely prevent me from getting involved with her.

By the time you read this I’ll probably be gone.

Look after your self Zihuta.. Zihuatajeno…. DAMMIT!

ZIJUATANEJO!

Look after yourself Zihuatanejo.

TLH

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Hey Puerto Vallarta… we need to talk

Or should I say,

Hola Puerto Vallarta… necesitamos hablar

Seriously… Should I say that? Like, does that make any sense? At all? My spanish is so muddled up that for all I know I could have just said “Hello Puerto Vallarta… there are too many eels in my hovercraft”. Your english is a lot better than my español so maybe let’s just stick to that where possible.

Firstly I have to complement you on your temperature. You’re hot. I don’t know how hot you are but your temperature hasn’t fluctuated more than one degree, regardless of day or night, for the entire time I’ve been here. You. Are. Hot. Perfectly hot. Your water is the perfect temperature too. Cool enough to be refreshing but warm enough to encourage long swims that cause me to prune up.

I also love the fact that you have an ozone layer! I can walk around all day in your perfect sun and I don’t get burnt. Not even a little bit. Not even at all. You see, Melbourne doesn’t have an ozone layer. Well, she does, but it has a great big hole in it so is isn’t super effective. Kind of like a boat with a hole in it? Or a bucket with a hole in it? Or a condom with a hole in it? Or.. yeah.. you get the picture.

Sorry.. I seem to have become accustomed to explaining myself with examples a lot more since I got to Mexico because nobody talk englishes very goodly here.

I’m also sorry for going on and on about my ex.. It’s just that Melbourne and I were together for a long time and our break up in still kinda fresh. At least I was honest with you from the start though, Puerto Vallarta, so we both knew that this was only ever going to be a bit of fun.

As it turns out, it was a lot of fun.

You have heaps of awesome water sports and activities. This is a good thing. From the doorstep of my 2 story beachfront mansion (designed for 12 people and occupied by 3)

 

you gave me so many options to choose from — parasailing, jet skiing, banana boat rides, yacht cruises, fishing. Thank you for being so hospitable and proving me with such an impressive list.

I did not participate in any of these activities. This is a bad thing. This is your fault. I don’t mean to point the finger, Puerto Vallarta, but when every Tomás, Dick and Haraldo is dragging me into (albeit very impressive) clubs until the sun is well and truly up, and forcing beers and shots down my throat (albeit not a huge amount of force being required) it doesn’t inspire  me (or my stomach) to strap in and feel the G’s or rock back and forth or do anything associated with the smell of fish.

Ok Puerto Vallarta, I guess if I’m being completely honest with you then there’s something else that I need to mention.

What’s the deal with the toilets?

Seriously.

I understand that Mexico is a 3rd world country and I understand that the plumbing can’t cope with toilet paper and therefore you put used toilet paper into a wastepaper basket that sits next to the toilet. I get that. I’m not loving it, but I get it and I can deal with it. But riddle me this Puerto Vallarta… How come you can afford bathroom attendants to turn the tap on for me when I wash my hands and pass me a paper towel but you can’t afford decent plumbing? How come you can afford coin operated, revolving doors on your regularly cleaned public toilets but you can’t afford decent plumbing? How come you can afford crazy futuristic toilets that can sense when you sit on them and then automatically flush when you stand up but you still can’t afford decent plumbing?!

Prioritize, Puerto Vallarta.

Prioritize.

And I guess while I’m having a bit of a whinge I might as well mention your key demographic. You don’t seem to know who you’re aiming for. You have some cool night clubs, complete with girls dancing in cages (some would argue where they belong perhaps?), waiting staff to light ciggarettes, bring drinks and freshen ashtrays with ridiculous frequency. You have classy restaraunts and 20c taco stands — both providing excellent food. You have all of the aspects that people my age love… except you don’t have people my age. The average age of tourists is between 60 and 70. AND they’re all aremican. This is not a good thing. They have kids that are older than me, Puerto Vallarta. The technicolour luminecent dancefloors are not made for 70 year olds, no matter how hillarious it is when they give it a crack.

I understand that I’m being hypocritical by saying that not knowing what you want is a bad thing when I clearly have no idea what I want, but while I’m looking for a city that I can call my home I need some certainty and stability and I’m sorry to say that you do not provde this.

Like I said though, we both knew that this was only going to be a fling, and I enjoyed myself a lot. You delivered exactly what I needed to get me started on my journey but now it’s time to move on. You’re beautiful, warm and exciting but I have to remember that I’m still on the rebound and I’m just not ready to commit and be locked down in anything serious right now.

I’m heading to Puerto Escondido next and, who knows, I may even bump into a few other places along the way. I hope that we can stay in touch, even if it’s just as friends.

By the time you read this I’ll probably already be gone.

TLH

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