From the age of 3 until I was 17, the beach has been something easily accessible, where I spent a lot of time and didn't think all that much of. 20 minutes from my house and 5 from my school, I was easily able to dip my toes in the water and frolic in the (50cm high) waves whenever I pleased as I grew up. Moving away from home though, where the beach is no longer an afternoon adventure, I find myself missing finding sand in every crack and crevice and mad chafing that comes only from a trip to the beach. And although Brisbane is only an hour away from a (real) beach (sorry southbank), the ocean in itself has become somewhat of a novelty. Brisbane isn't the furthest from the beach I have ever lived however, living in the central mountains of Mexico where the air is thin and the climate is definitely not even remotely beachy and tropical, a trip to the Pacific is a BIG novelty.
And it wasn't without its sacrifices, after almost 12 hours of bus travel (fresa-ing it up and taking the nice direct bus) I arrived with my very last minute travel buddy to an EXPENSIVE but delicious gringo breakfast favourite. And with the stress, annoyance and cold melted away the money too, with costs being substantially higher than I imagined. 15 years ago Sayulita was a small fishing village with a population of surfing hippies who camped on the beach and did hippie things when they weren't out in the ocean. Fast forward to now and the secret is out, English speaking drug dealers, bagels and insane prices roam the beach and the streets and just a simple camp site is equal to a dorm room in any other part of Mexico. A combination of opportunistic locals and entrepreneurial foreigners looking for a sea change have turned this into a slice of Mexico costlier than Cabo, Cancun or even its close neighbour: Puerto Vallarta.
Before anyone denounces this for being a bitch blog or a long winded whinge, hear me out. Despite its touristiness, not all week long, gringo vacationers are bad. Sayulita, despite a burgeoning tourist trade, is not a location with its own airport, package tours or revolting high rise buildings. It is not flogged mercilessly by American tourism conglomerates, nor is it flashy trashy or over the top. Hippie surfers, old rich fogies and Mexicans alike ride the public transport for $1 to arrive and thatched rooves adorn the houses. Yeah prices are higher than they should be but at least for the most part it hasn't sold it's soul to crass developers or retirees.
In fact, despite having only a week in the country, not giving a shit about the culture nor speaking a word of the local language, for the most part the tourists there were incredibly cool. There were burners, travelling artisans and writers with generally just a wonderful feeling of karma floating around. Even amongst the surfer crowd there was substantially less localism as one would find in other surf spots and people seemed happy to talk to one another like it was one big hostel. Oh, and how many squares do you know who would bring their own Northern California weed on holiday with them?
All in all, despite having an urchin stuck in my foot, mild sunburn and substantially less money in my wallet, a weekend on the coast was just what I needed to revitalise, relax and inspire me. 2 days in Sayulita felt like a week and my skin is now happy and glowing because of it. Apparently I arrived 2 or 3 years too late for the low key, chilled out, hippie surf camp on the beach that I was promised, but by all means I walked away satisfied, happy and yearning for some more beach time. Next weekend anyone?
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