MEXICO: ZIPOLITE BEACH – DON’T ROCK MY HAMMOCK, DUDE

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THE ROUTES TO ZIPOLITE AS PAINTED ON THE DOOR OF A BEACH BAR.

2nd September:┬áIt’s 10 o’clock in the morning when the two youngsters trudge down the wooden steps from their beach-side cabin at Cabana La Havana. They pause at the bottom to huddle over a reefer the size of a Cuban cigar. When the guy lights it he tips back his head and a cloud of marijuana carries on the sea breeze. I watch their progress as they chug up the beach like a couple of small locomotives, heading in the direction of Playa del Amor, a bay where the nudists are said to hang out. What a great place this is, the kind of place, if you ever felt the need, where you could nab yourself a bunch of weird tattoos, grow a thick beard, smoke a joint or three, drink a lot of beer, sleep way too much and, in a very short time, gently slip off the radar. Continue reading “MEXICO: ZIPOLITE BEACH – DON’T ROCK MY HAMMOCK, DUDE”

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