Oaxaca, Mexico is a full eight-hour drive from the nearest coast. What the hell, am I right?
We didn’t pick Mazatlán for its deep-sea fishing, sailing, or any of the other things you can reportedly do there. We picked it for all the things you don’t do there. Namely, put on shoes or pants. This was our “sit around drinking beer while reading People Magazine” vacation. But I still managed to find things to write about: Iguanas, mostly.
We hadn’t originally planned our two-week vacation to Mexico for its affordability but — when weeks later I found myself unemployed (like the rest of the planet) — it seemed like a prescient choice. Regardless of its favorable exchange rate, Mexico was nonetheless a country with fascinating archeological sites and a rich history that would allow us to slip in a bit of culture between Marghitas.
If you don’t fish, golf or drink there is literally nothing to do in Cabo. And since we rarely golf and almost never fish, drinking was the only option left open to us. Cabo is like Las Vegas only without gold-plated toilets and casinos (but that will be rectified soon). Sure there’s stuff like wave-runners and para-sailing to placate the ugly American tourists, but there are no hiking trails, museums or anything historical/cultural (i.e. interesting) to speak of. As a result, Cabo exists solely to offer foreigners fishing, golf, liver-damage and skin cancer.
Amy and I brilliantly decided to blow five vacation days in Mexico this year.