Either I have finally found myself or I have found my place in the world, either way I have not been this happy since I was about 8 years old. I arrive at Huatulco airport on a typical hot afternoon. Welcomed by palm trees on the walkway into the airport I feel like I have arrived at the right destination for this trip. My content is burst moments later by fellow northerners (from Prince George!) who tell me their horror story car rental experience the last time they were here. “That’s why we reserved our taxi!” they exclaim as they finish their story. “Good luck!” Other than the fact that the $75 insurance I purchased online through my car rental booking being ‘no good’ and I have to buy another insurance so that I can rent the car it’s fine. 

The drive to Puerto Escondido is windy through the hills not along the coast. At the junction to Puerto Angel, where I was going to stay before rearranging my trip to go to Oaxaca and Mexico City, I decide to take a little detour as I can go through the town and back on the highway. I’m here to see what this place is like. The town is so tiny it doesn’t even have a gas station or a bank. There is a tiny grocery store that has a little of everything and a church. The car I rented has gone from 3/4 of a tank to down one notch on its markers already and this is when I realize that I am in the middle of nowhere with no extra cash other than 50 pesos I had left over from last year’s vacation and with the heat here I need water, gas, and cash. At the little grocery store they tell me the closest gas station is on the highway, where this road meets it and there’s a bank somewhere nearby the gas station. My Spanish is okay for conversations like how are you and where are you from, not how do I find the bank at the next town that I don’t know. 

The gas station is right beside the junction on the highway and while they do not have an ATM they will take my credit card. Now the highway is a real highway with double lanes going both directions. The only thing is though the highway has gigantic speed bumps at all the intersections for all the little roads that join it. This is their version of traffic lights and really it works quite well as you have to come to almost a complete stop to get over the bump without feeling like your head is going to hit the car roof. It doesn’t make for a lovely country drive in a standard vehicle for an hour and a half. There goes my idea of touring back through Huatulco further south to the other port towns I was interested in checking out. I don’t really want to spend that much time in a car shifting up, shifting down, shifting up. 

Puerto Escondido at first glance is nothing special. It has the typical Mexican buildings made of brick or cement, clay tile rooftops, and a certain amount of abandoned half destructed buildings that contrast the beautifully kept hotels and shops. Coconut trees are rampant throughout the streets and yards. Cars, taxis, trucks, motorcyclists and scooters some intent on their destination, others a little less concerned at how soon they will arrive fill the highway. I have arrived at rush hour. 

My hotel takes cash payment only. The bank is just across the river. I’m tired after flying all night and waiting in an airport half the day, before the drive here. I want something to drink, something to eat but first I need to get things settled with the hotel. In my tired fog, I realize the next day, after getting my cash and receipt from the ATM I don’t push the final exit button to retrieve my bank card. The next evening, in a panic I realize I no longer have it and can’t remember what I did with it after the ATM machine. When I go back and use my credit card to get a little more cash I realize that at the last step I stopped paying attention. My tired mind had the cash I needed and I began to focus on the next need food. 

My hotel is run by a family. The matriarch is so kind and happy she says everything smiling. Her son runs the laundry service next door. My room is nothing to write home about. The beds, including the linen look like they were new in 1970. It’s clean, there’s an AC and a ceiling fan, a shower and a toilet. What more could I need from a place I’m only going to sleep in. 

I find vendors further up the street from the bank selling everything from tacos to swimsuits. A good meal only costs $5-6 CAD including a glass of my favourite drink, agua de jamaica. The vendors are kind and helpful as I bumble my way through ordering food but it isn’t until the next day that I really experience the kindness and curiosity of the people that live here. Everyone I encounter wants to know me. What’s your name, where are you visiting from, oh Canada is so cold right now and they hold their arms in mock shiver. If our conversation goes longer none of them are shy about asking my age, if I have children, where my family is and why I am traveling alone. The repetition of questions is good for learning my Spanish, both hearing the same questions and giving the same responses. 

All I do for my first full day here is swim in the beautiful ocean, organize my very first surf lesson for the following morning with the very friendly and helpful lifeguard, eat lots of delicious fruit covered in chili, and try out a few traditional dishes from Oaxaca, from the women selling food from their little carts on the street. At the end of the day I decide to drive to where my surf lesson will be in the morning to get my bearings. It’s at Punta Zicatela and I arrive just in time for the sunset. I watch the waves fold and crash as they come in and then zip down the shore. As I sit on the beach in the fine white sand I think, what if every day could end like this.