People ask me how I manage to travel the way I have been. I’ll let you in on my secret – I just go. I make it my No. 1 priority for my discretionary income and I get all kinds of travel emails telling me where the promotional fares are. Also, I travel cheap. Really cheap. That cute house with the private pool? I’ve traded the owner for photography services to update his images in exchange for an incredibly low nightly rate. In a few days, my mom and I will check into a 5-star resort that miraculously had a room show up for exchange through my Mom’s timeshare company. I try to eat in local restaurants and I try to drink in local cantinas, and you would be amazed how reasonable travel becomes when you think outside of the tourism box like that. You would also be amazed how much richer the whole experience becomes.
I walked into the cantina by my house and it generated one of those music-screeching-to-a-stop moments in which ever single person turned around and thought, “Oops, that girl is lost.” Haha. Nope, amigos. I just want a beer. These cantinas are like the heartbeat of a neighborhood and I can hear it every day from the house. Yeah, I have to suck up a little courage to just march in by myself, but we all need more of those moments, don’t we? Sometimes I haven’t been sure if they minded that I was in their sacred space or if they respect me for it. I’ve decided that I think it depends, but I come in with a friendly and humble attitude and try my best to speak their language, and I’ve found the reception always turns warm. Always. As I sit here in the cantina by myself, a beer just showed up from some people at the bar. Nobody is trying to Mack on me or anything- they just sent me a beer. Now what if we turn that reception around and think about the US? Do we welcome people of other cultures into our sacred neighborhood spaces? I think, by and large, we don’t. America could learn something from the people in this cantina.
Yesterday, I had an hour deep-tissue massage at my house for $25 from a lady named Monica (thanks Charlie Monter). I made sure to specify “deep tissue” and said I was a tough nut. Have you ever cried out in pain during a massage? I have. And she didn’t lighten up one bit – in fact I think she pressed harder – with her elbows, no less – as in “yup, that’s exactly how that is supposed to feel.” I lost my ability to see at one point. I’ve never paid anyone to hurt me that much. Today I feel like I lost a brawl, but I sure am a lot looser. Good thing, because I’m going to dive tomorrow – my whole reason for choosing Cozumel (ok, that’s not 100% true), and I need this neck loosened up.
So far this week I’ve learned that if a meat in a free appetizer looks like liver, it probably is, if you say you want a deep tissue massage, you’d better mean it, and cats will find me, no matter where I am.
Uh oh. Another beer just showed up from the guys at the bar. I am going to need to say hello now. Adios for now amigos 😊
