The weary traveler...

It´s all come back to me now.
The hardest part of traveling, I´ve been reminded, is the actual traveling. The long plane rides, and the lack of sleep, the contorted airport naps, and the overcoming feelings of utter loneliness are almost unbearable. Then, just when you think you might crack, you arrive at your destination and all is well.
I spent the weekend in NYC, immersed in rampant consumerism, materialism, and pollution - the eye of the storm, so to speak. It only made the contrast to where I am now so much more apparent. I flew out of New York early Tuesday morning, and I didn´t arrive here in Puerto Escondido until 3pm Wednesday. In order for me to get the cheapest possible plane ticket I had to spend one night In Cancun - the last place in Mexico I wanted to go. I took the bus from the airport into Cancun Centro, the only other option being to go to the hotel zone. There´s not much to see or do in the Centro except watch everyday Mexicans live their everyday lives, which can be interesting enough. The tourists don´t really wander into the Centro very often, but when they do its funny to observe them. As interesting as Mexican culture can be, even in Cancun, I think its as equally interesting to watch the all-inclusive tourists interact with them. It makes me wonder if I look and sound as ridiculous them.
So I checked into the first hostel I came across near the bus station, tired and feeling dirty from sitting beside a large girl on the plane who would look guiltily at me everytime she passed gas. Coincidentally, the hostel was called ¨The Weary Traveler¨. I checked into a dorm room and had a rinse off, and as I walked back into the room there was a fellow standing there, rather weary looking. I asked him how he was doing and he said not so well. He was an Israeli, and as it turned out, him and his two army pals had been arrested the night before for refusing to pay for a meal that had apparently been raised in price halfway through the meal. I felt bad for him and all, but I couldn´t help but think about how this was the first conversation I had with another foreigner in Mexico, and this was the story I was being told. I made sure to ask him what restaurant it was and then went out to grab a bite.
I flew out of there early the next morning, and after a stop over in Mexico City flew to Puerto Esconidido. I wasn´t feeling to great at this point, but as the dark and magnificent expanse of the Pacific ocean came into view from my little plane window, a feeling of calm and euphoria came over me. And now, I´m sitting in a little cafe across from the beach with the smell of salt in the air and the sound of waves crashing in the distance. Tommorow I will find my board...