We’ve arrived at Sayulita, a hippy town just an hour from Puerto Vallarta, a town nestled on Mexico’s pacific side.  The window is slightly open to allow the refreshing breeze to seep through, the sun bellows onto my salty skin and the radio sits silently as we arrive at the hipster town.  The delicate pastel coloured bunting hangs over the palm trees that line the market streets.  We pay the taxi man the fare in Mexican peso’s and leave the ample coolness of the taxi to the sweltering pavements.  The bunting flutters in the wind flaunting the colours of magenta, marmalade and iris. I slowly walk down the incline cobbled path towards the bustling market stalls, the tables of beads, handmade crafts and scarfs line the colourful street. The houses and shops are painted in rich colours of bright teal, gypsy red and canary yellow.  I wander down the sloping path towards the beach and eager marketers, “massage” they call to me, “tours, tours” they shout in my direction.  I quickly shake my head and hurry to the shoreline, hopping on each foot as the sand’s burning heat consumes the feeling in my feet.

I lay my towel down on the silky sand and sank my hands beneath the golden grains. After refusing several umbrellas and massage services, I relax and gaze at the man-made view ahead.  The overpopulated range of green foliage surrounds the eco-tourist hotels, the sun loungers are half dug in the sand and the beach seller’s do their rounds. After a few hours under the glowing sun, we walk back through the streets passing obscure stores which are painted brightly coloured with caricature day of the dead drawings. Each shop exuberates the surfing ambience of this little town, with beaded jewellery, surfboards and tie dye garments.  The smell of freshly cooked fish tickles my nostrils and the taste of the salty wind is all I can taste. We convene at a pizzeria, overlooking Sayulita’s beach, the flies swarm around our moist foreheads, unfazed by our slow swatting reaction.  The pizza arrives roughly the size of a large plate, the stringy cheese hangs over the base and the taste of rich tomatoes is magic to my taste buds.  Sayulita exults the feeling of serenity and composure, the laid-back surfer’s attitude is clear as we pass by the last of the market stalls and make our way back to a taxi towards the main square.


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