The joy of doing nothing (while travelling)

A dispatch from Mexico, pt. ii.

This newsletter will be a short one. I’m writing this in mid-afternoon, Mexican time, at a villa-style boutique hotel in the beach town of Puerto Escondido – Mexico’s answer to Bali. In a couple of hours I’ll be in my happy place: watching the sunset at the ocean with friends I’ve met travelling, a chilled supermarket beer (my preferred Mexican brand is Victoria) in tow. We did the same thing yesterday, and as the sun slipped finally over the horizon, everyone began clapping – as if we were at the finale of a theatre performance. You did it again, sun. Bravo.

After the cacophonous chaos of Mexico City last week, it’s been a welcome change of pace. There’s a palm tree swaying directly in front of me, slow jazz playing in the background (the all-day, everyday soundtrack at this hotel), and in truth I’m finding it hard to accelerate. Here, the breakneck speed of London life feels as senseless, as does the whirlwind of last week in Mexico City, as I rushed from my morning Spanish lessons to museum to dinner. I am happily-institutionalised to beach life.

Seize the day. It’s an impulse you feel twofold on holiday, when you’re paying however much a night to stay somewhere that’s not your home. That’s true whether you’ve flown two or 12 hours to be in that place. You’re acutely aware you have to make the most of it.

And yet my plan for the rest of my trip is, more or less, to do nothing. Less ‘seize the day’, more luxuriate in the right now. Drunk on the feeling of sun on bare skin, the not-knowing-what-time-it-is, the contentedness in remaining within a half-mile radius for the next three and a bit days.

It’s another respect in which this is a welcome contrast to Mexico City: the lack of anything to ‘tick off’ my list. I loved Mexico City, and yet it possessed an inconvenient amount of must-see places: architectural hotspots like Casa Luis Barragan, artistic must-sees like Frida Kahlo’s house; vibrant markets where you can buy everything from a traditional Tetuana dress to a raw chicken; incredible greenery like the magical forest of Chapulepec; and the surprise joy that was a freestyle Mexican wrestling (Lucha Libre) night. Eventually, I had to make a deal with myself that I’d return someday for my extensive ‘B-list’ of places.

The botanical gardens, Oaxaca.

Oaxaca, the magical city I visited afterwards, was the same: the most astounding botanical gardens, full of giant cacti and agave plants; yet more architectural delights and even better street food than Mexico City. And so I made the same deal with myself: I’ll be back, I reassured myself, as I sat in a cafe drinking Oaxacan chocolate con aqua (a very strong hot chocolate) – resolving to enjoy it, not rush off to one of the city’s too-many, too-fabulous museums and galleries, of which I visited precisely one.

Sunset in Puerto Escondido.

Here, there’s no such rush. Over the next few days, I’ll be processing all the wonderful things I’ve experienced during my time in Mexico City and Oaxaca – letting my subconscious take over while I rest. Soon, I’ll be on the beach, clapping as the sun goes down, witnessing something that is in no way extraordinary and yet, at the same time, extraordinary. Doing nothing, and yet – in that quietness – feeling everything.