Sayulita: el Pueblo Magico
It's been dubbed the curse of the Hunter S. Thompson wannabe - being sucked back to the adventure in Jalisco, hunting for the spirit of gonzo journalism and hoping for an experience that can qualitatively surpass a legend who considered fear a sort of adversarial ally. Mind you, I had been dealt a glut of bad luck during my previous few weeks, although most of it might have been due to devices beyond my control.
Yet, any hack journalist isn't worth his salt if he doesn't harbor an undying spirit of optimistic adventurism. So, when fate, and by fate I imply my thirst for a refreshing cervesa or two that day, led me to sit next to a bloke at the bar during the Super Bowl party at Captain Don’s, who introduced himself as Joseph Mitchell which is the name of my late uncle I never got a chance to say goodbye to, my interest was piqued enough to listen to his words.
So we got to talking, and Uncle Joe fueled by more than just nachos and excitement, shared some wisdom wrapped in mezcal magic and tortilla metaphors. He told me that my hysterical escapades in Mexico were half-cooked. “Don’t drink hard alcohol, don’t drink any days other than Friday and Saturday; you must change your rhythms to live longer,” he announced like an oracle of uncles past. He mentioned a mystical place about an hour north called Sayulita, a “Pueblo Magico.” According to Joe, it was a young, relaxed, surf community which was less commercialized though the ominous 'vultures of business' circled it. And so, like a toddler lured by a candy trail, my journalistic curiosity led me back to the fray, lured by the tales of Sayulita.
History will remember this moment as I decided, almost impulsively, to once again try my luck in Mexico, a rematch that perhaps based on my history, mimicked David's audacity while he walked towards Goliath. Armed with only a location as my journalistic slingshot bestowed by the pseudo Uncle Joe, and the group of freshly found Amigos de Casa Azul at my newest hotel in Puerto Vallarta where the colour blue represented the chill vibrations, I found myself compelled to the land of surfing and authenticity.
Sayulita, true to Uncle Joe’s words, was not just a place, but a living, breathing vibe, a youthful energy permanent in its air—a surf community living life to the rhythm of the waves. It is in Nayarit, officially the Estado Libre y Soberano de Nayarit, which is one of the 31 states that comprise the Federal Entities of Mexico. The fact that it is a Pueblo Mágico, a Mexican designated magical town, was in accordance with the enchantment it arose in my soul.
The following day was filled with playful endeavors - beach lounging with Amigos de Casa Azul (Silver, Tambo, Patty & Rocco), exploring the nooks and crannies of the town, basking in the unhurried ebb of life that flowed around Sayulita. Meals were savored in quaint hideaways, conversations sparkled with the local brews, and as dusk descended, our hunt for entertainment led us to a brewery named YamBak. Back in Puerto Vallarta at The Smoking Gecko shop, a quaint institution selling paraphernalia and giving advice for free, a lovely young local woman had recommended this smoke bar. This made me realize that perhaps the best places were nearby, and it's often wise to butterfly from the metropolis's cacophony and explore lesser-known territories.
I found myself at a bar that was friendly to the herb, its appeal being fairy obvious. Awash with ideas, I later became locked in a mild intellectual duel with a non-descript tourist from the north, who had turned out to be a philosophy major. The debate started about the best local dish but somehow morphed into an impassioned discussion about Emmanuel Kant’s metaphysical ideologies. The philosophers at the local smoke bar might have been high on more than just theories, but the salubrious debate added a tasteful mix to the blend of laughter, music and dancing that lofted from the smoke-den.
I argued about Kant while my head swam with the potent cocktail of alcohol, herb, peace, and thrill, completing an experience that couldn't possibly be fabricated. Dancing untamed, letting the rhythm lead my body, and the night lead my mind. Louder laughs, echoed conversations, making memories. As the night descended into a blur, a little dizzy from the margaritas and the dancing, we made the wise decision to Uber back to Casa Azul, while the moon shown brightly on the surf town.
Returning to Casa Azul, the silent whispering of the ocean was lost to the slightly louder hum of tipsy conversations on the terrace that I shared with Silver, an unexpected amigo from Canada who only spoke in Spanish, and a bottle of rum. Life seemed to take a deep breath as I looked over the younger vibe of Sayulita, digesting the beauty of the day, the pristine beach, the charming town, the vibrant community, and the lurking threat of commercialization that Uncle Joe had spoken about. Even in peace and beauty, there lay a dark shadow of predatory business, ready to devour the authenticity of the place for profit.
This taught me a deeper lesson of life and travel - always venture beyond where you are comfortable, beyond the mapped roads, and more into the routes less explored… because places change, and what they are now, is not what they will be tomorrow. Traveling to nearby places can bring more enrichment and tranquility than epicenters. Home base and friendships formed along the causeway of this tour provided a sense of security and made a significant difference in having to either split the costs, or bear it all alone while having a lesser quality experience.
Relaxing with the rhythmic lullaby of the waves, French accented Spanish with laughter, and the numbing pleasure of the rum, it dawned upon me that the world beyond known alleys holds magic that is best left upon travelers to stumble upon. Mexico, a place I ventured on round two unknowing of what was yet to unfold, left me with memories dipped in laughter, intellectual musings, newfound friendships, warmth of a vibrant town, battle scars, and lessons etched in the heart forever. If traveling is the true essence of a heart seeking adventure, then sometimes a second chance might indeed be a charm.
As the sun woke up from its slumber, painting the rainy sky afresh with the promise of a new day, Snowbirdstoner ended his wild episode, knowing his lessons were learned, and his rhythm of life was slowly metamorphizing. And somehow, somewhere, he knew that Sayulita the pueblo magico was only the beginning of a boldly rewritten travel manifesto.