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Published: August 9th 2017
Well, free tequila on a plane: that's a thing. It completely makes up for having to run around the Mexico City airport for several hours trying to figure out where my backpack was. I wasn't allowed enough time between connecting flights, due to customs and such, and I had to ensure that my backpack would arrive with me in Puerto Vallarta. But here I am! Typing words into this magical machine, suspended above Mexico in the clouds by another magnificent machine. I'm so fucking excited to return.
Yesterday, my last night in Ohio, filled me with such strange conflicting emotions. I was so eager to continue this adventure in a country I've rapidly grown to love so dearly. And simultaneously, I was so grateful that I was able to reconnect with my family and so many beautiful friends who occupy my home country, which I of course have always loved. Many people would ask me when they'd be able to see me again; I had no answer for them. This is equally as heartbreaking as it is exhilirating. It's that damn bipolar exacting its force upon me.
I've had some dizzying primordial reflections lately, of what we used to
be and what we now are, as a human race. It's hard to understand ourselves as a species, as a collective. How do I know how to aim my trajectory through this life-jungle? It can be difficult to contextualize your life, to know what your next or final destination is. But I do understand that spicy Mexican food is fucking amazing. So that's a nice thing.
My exercise routine consists solely of snorkeling and walking on the beach. I found a place through word of mouth called Punta Negra, an isolated spot that most people don't seem to know about. The snorkeling isn't terribly remarkable (there's some coral and tropicals, saw a couple sting rays) but the location is a deserted paradise. You'll find almost no people on the beach.
This general area (Bucerias, Sayulita, San Pancho, surrounding Bahia de Banderas) is not very populated overall. It's shockingly easy to reunite with people. I ran into Marco, a guy I met in Puerto Vallarta, randomly on the beach. I bump into the countless friends I've made every day. It's impossible not to meet and re-meet lovely people with the same attitude, the same latitude.
"Machitos" is a word that, in Tabasco, means a tiny little hot pepper that grows wild. I mean, hot as shit. If you eat a whole one, which is about the size of a pinky nail, it will knock your tits off. It will burn a hole in your face. But apparently, here it means what we midwesterners would call "rocky mountain oysters." You Ohio people know what I'm talking about. I'm constantly entertained by colloquialisms.
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