After parting ways with my new friends Paola, Marina and Moshe, I headed my way to my last destination, Puerto Escondido. Around an hour drive by bus, which a kind old lady guided me to, I went on in search of a hostel Paola had told me about. This was another in a group of run-down, worn-out, dirty, sandy, quaint hostels to scratch off of my bucket list of “living life while hippie”.
Next stop was Mazunte, probably my favorite town out of all of them. Arriving there with a colectivo and no knowledge of where to stay, I bumped into this sandy hostel owned by an Argentinian couple whom on a whim to leave there jobs down in Argentina and live in Mexico, had bought it blindly 3 months earlier through a website.
If you need somewhere to lay low, get away from civilization and rest your mind, anywhere in Oaxaca is a safe bet. Being that Oaxaca is a very large state though, let’s focus on the coastal region. Beach, sun, surf, huts, Australians, what more could you want?
When I went there, I went just for that. The escape. I needed time for myself and with myself, and being as short on cash as I was, having started a new job with very little pay; I bought a bus ticket to San Pedro Pochutla, rather than flying. Have in mind that that’s a 13-hour bumpy drive, against a 45-minute trip. But, what was I going to do? With my backpack, wannabe Go-Pro camera, and no laptop with me, I traveled on.
Traveling is part of my DNA.
Born in New York City, grew up in Mexico City, raised by a Greek Mother and a Spanish Father. In a nutshell, I’m from all over the place so as you can understand, being thrust from one place to another, my identity was not only formed by the never-ending question “who am I?” but by asking, “where to next?”