Paradise?

---

I woke up on Wednesday morning, cold as fuck.

I recently purchased a heater to heat my large uninsulated room. The heater successfully warms my toes when I place them right over the radiator.

My immediate thought was ¨I need to get out of town, fast.¨The last time I made such a drastic claim was when I was being bombarded with coconuts on the mean streets of Lagos, Portugal, true story (semi-true story.)

Pachuca was exactly 20º (celsius) colder than I like it. If it was this cold inside, I could only imagine how cold it would be outside. You guessed it, I imagined it would be COLDER.

My water also wasn´t working. Again. Boo.

I went to school, just about ready to quit my life in Mexico. When I realized I HAD OPTIONS. I decided that I would be sick for the rest of the week, and with a Jeff Spicoli-like ethos I said ¨Fuck it, I´m going to the beach.¨

Unfortunately I had to miss Liceo Anglo Frances´ Cultural Week, which consisted of a Ping Pong tournament, a chess match, and a presentation on making electronic music... I heard they had to cancel that one though, because it was to be taught by me.

I packed my bags, sent semi-braggy text messages (¨Have a great weekend, I´ll talk to you soon¨¨Where are you headed?¨¨OH I´m just going to the beach.¨), and turned off the ineffective heater.

I got into Mexico City, had lunch with my aunt, and took the 9pm bus from Mexico City to Zihuatanejo.

If you turn on TNT right now (or within the next twenty-four hours) you´ll probably see a movie called The Shawshank Redemption. No doubt you have seen it fifteen times before.
After spending twenty years in Prison and crossing five-hundred yards of a pipe full of shit Andy Dufresne made an escape to the warmth of the Pacific.

¨Do you remember the place?¨Andy asked in the letter underneath the oak tree at the corner of the property.
¨Zihuatanejo¨Red says aloud.

Now to ineffectually compare my life to a fictitious wrongfully convicted felon;

¨Yeah dude, it´s like, my living conditions were bad, I mean I didn´t have to suffer attempted rape or brutality by prison guards, but like... I didn´t have water for three days... and it was prettyc cold in my apartment. My escape was pretty intense too, I had to lie down in the cab, so nobody knew that I was leaving Pachuca. And just like that I knew I had to go to Zihuatanejo.¨

On the way to Zihuatanejo I met two Danes and three Germans. Skol. Proust. We had the stock conversation about how we all hated George Bush, as we sat back and watched a dubbed version of V for Vendetta, but the sound was really low, so I couldn´t even pretend that I understood.

We got to Zihuatanejo at 6;30 on Thursday morning, a triumphant twenty-four hours after I decided I needed to go some where twenty degrees warmer. We didn´t get off the bus in Zihuatanejo, we got off in Ixtapa, because nobody told us otherwise.

Ixtapa is fifteen minutes away and is basically forbidden for budget travellers, if only because the cheapest room is 150 US a night. We took a bus into Zihuatanejo, it was playing noteño music, it was seven am, but the party had just begun. (I wonder if that sentence sounds stupid or cliched, but I really felt impelled to write it).

In Zihuatanejo we put our stuff down at a hostel, and found breakfast on the beach. We didn´t find it hunter-gatherer style, I mean more like, there was a restaurant that served us chilaquiles and orange juice. The ocean water in that beautiful bay was warm. Like a little bit warmer than you´d want it to be, like four degrees above ´refreshing.´

Me and the Arayans walked around in search of sandals, sunscreen, and silly hats. I was able to find a brilliant silly hat. It´s a straw visor with a gigantic brim.

The Germans decided that they would head to a secluded surfer spot forty kilometers to the north for the weekend instead of staying in Zihua. I went with them for the day.

You have to take the highway past Ixtapa, down to Los Llanos, and then take a dirt road to the beach. At the beach there is a restaurant and some huts. We walked across the sand and found paradise. On this isolated beach you could camp for forty pesos a night, and if you told the owner before noon what you kind of fish you wanted he would catch it for you.

The Germans and I sat underneath a tree, smoked a joint, ate pistachios, and talked in awe of the beach This was totally the life. I imagined myself living there for fifteen years, as a lobster fisherman and coconut dealer with tanned skin and dreadlocks. I was disappointed that I wouldn´t be spending the night. Then we went into the ocean. Ooh, aah, ouch! There were rocks that hurt my feet on the ocean floor as far out as I could stand.

Paradise lost. I quickly decided that I was happy that I wasn´t even staying a full night. I couldn´t live there for fifteen years. My paradise includes sand.

I figured that I would have to walk from the beach to Los Llanos, several kilometers away, in order to find a ride back to Zihua. But along that dirt road a car stopped, and Juan picked me up.

He was a hammock salesman, who makes and sells and hammocks along the coast. He told me he´d drive me to Ixtapa. We talked about the weather, donkeys, and his village seven hours away (three days by donkey.) I honestly didn´t realize I was hitchiking until halfway to Ixtapa. When we got in, I offered him 100 pesos, which at first he declined, but then accepted. That guy totally wasn´t even expecting money, he was way cool. Now to reiterate my point; Hitchiking is always a good idea, especially if you are taking rides from creepy truck drivers named Large Marge (who end up being ghosts that do weird things with their faces.)

In Ixtapa I found a place to eat my beloved Thanksgiving meal. On a bulletined flier Frank outlined all the things that would be on his Thanksgiving dinner

·Turkey
·Stuffing
·Potatoes
·Gravy
·Cranberry Sauce
·Pumpkin Pie

It seemed like a lot, though I think he was hustling me, by counting Gravy and Cranberry Sauce. The meal was expensive, but fairly delicious, plus it was two for one Margaritas.

It was just like a legit Thanksgiving, only slightly more tropical, and this one was accompanied by a white-trashy family from Dallas screaming each time Terrel Owens moved.

I finished my Thanksgiving with a picturesque sunset along the Ixtapa coast. It was romantic. I´m a narcissist.

Last night I went out to the three bars next to my hostel. You can tell this town caters to white people, because at the bars they actually serve Gin and Tonics. There are also ten peso beers everywhere. Perhaps Zihuatanejo is paradise.

I woke up this morning ate a torta, found the bus schedule for Acapulco, and went to the Gigante... I think it´s Mexico´s Target. I bought a lemon-lime Icee, and sat in the food court. I honestly thought ¨this is paradise.¨But then I realized how ridiculous it is to say ¨paradise is the food court at the Target.¨

I spent the rest of the day wearing sleeveless shirts, floating in the water, and lying in a hammock. Today was a good day (I didn´t even have to use my AK.)

When I go back to Pachuca. I will have to pretend that I was sick, which might be hard if I am sunburnt or if my superiors learn English and read this article. I figure I´ll tell them, it was so cold in my house, that I had to leave and spend the weekend with my aunt who lives in another city. She cooked my chicken soup or something, and I was all better by Saturday. I went outside on Saturday, and I lost my key, so I got sunburnt.

It might work.

PEACE.

---