Part One: The Turning Tide IX

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 A sense of melancholy hung over me on our final day in Puerto Escondido. The adventure was over, and the inevitable return to "normal life" loomed. With our flight scheduled for noon, we had to start early. I skipped my run that morning, concerned I might forget something important—like a misplaced passport, a mishap that actually occurred on later trips to this very destination.

We packed our bags and headed downstairs, where we encountered our host. He looked dejected, having slept the night beneath the open sky. We paid him the remainder of our stay, which brought a smile to his "hazy" face. I shared a sarcastic grin with Jorge, who was looking at me with a similar expression.

Grabbing our bags, we descended the hill toward the beach. We slipped off our flip-flops to walk on the sand one final time, feeling the wetness beneath our bare feet. We inhaled the crisp, fresh air brought in by the tide, let the ocean breeze gently caress our faces, and shouted, "Farewell Puerto—you've been great!"




We walked along the beach until we reached El Cafecito at Zicatela. Crossing the main road, we immediately spotted a place offering a stunning view of the Zicatela beach landscape. Back then, there wasn't a massive, hour-long queue just to be seated. Puerto Escondido, as its name suggests, was once the perfect beach getaway, a calm haven still undiscovered by the floods of tourists that would later spoil its tranquility.

Breakfast was simple: scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee—just enough to last until we reached the airport. We ate in relative silence. My mind was racing, full of thoughts, and Jorge seemed to be in a similar state. The familiar vacation fantasy had taken hold: "This would be a wonderful place to live"—calm, seemingly worry-free, and unlike other parts of Mexico, it felt safe. The people appeared welcoming, kind, and stress-free—everything I had always longed for.

I've never handled stress well, especially when it’s caused by incompetent authorities whose demands you must simply accept because of their position. Back then, I believed this "heaven" would be different, but I was, of course, viewing everything through the rose-tinted glasses of a tourist!

I will always return to Puerto as a tourist, or perhaps to live there for a few months, but knowing the underlying harsh realities of local life that lurk beneath the beautiful ocean views, I realize I couldn't live there permanently. Experiencing reality firsthand is the only way to truly understand it; looking back, I sometimes wish I had simply remained a perpetual tourist, forever shielded by rose-tinted glasses.





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