August 13, 2024, México. I left Mazatlan and headed south for my next desertion, Sayulita in Nayarit. I’d been encouraged to visit the quaint surfer town by a writer friend who’d driven there with her son over Christmas break. She had painted a vivid portrait of the journey and was confident I’d be okay driving in Mexico. I took her word for it.

I hit a refreshing thunderstorm in the late morning when I arrived in Tepic. From there I got off the freeway, also called cuota because of tolls, and got on a small libramiento, surface street. I crawled through small towns in heavy traffic, and eventually got to a very comfortable newly constructed highway through virgin forest and jungle towards the ocean. That concerned me, as a biologist and environmentalist. The Mexican government had attempted to seize huge swaths of land in Oaxaca and Chiapas for large transportation projects. I imagine that the same might have happened here in Nayarit.

I continued driving toward Sayulita, admiring the beautiful jungle I passed as I descended from Tepic toward the ocean. The cooler air was also a welcome change. I stopped at a small town on the coast and found a very authentic place to eat. This was not a tourist destination, pretty clearly. I walked the dirt streets and had an interesting conversation with a European man who’d lived here for many years. He concurred that it wasn’t on the gringo trail. Seemed like an advantage to me.

Finally, I arrived in Sayulita mid afternoon. I’d booked a place called Tabachinis Co-Work Patio, and the host had said I could park in front. That was a big deal, as the town was a tangle of narrow lanes and pedestrian walkways. I managed to park but found the gate locked and couldn’t find anyone to help me.

I literally asked people on the street, and finally a young man was able to open the lock. It required tremendous force. I met a man who was running a newly created cafe and juice bar at the accommodation. After a few days here, I discovered that the owner was trying hard to repurpose the place.

I unloaded my car and decided to make a smoothie. It was excited to have access to a blender, especially with all the tropical fruit at hand. As I sat for the first time today and sipped my mango pineapple, Anastacia practically ran up to me and started talking a mile a minute. I found out she was the owner. She told me that the building was her boyfriend’s childhood home, that they had just broken up, and she was trying to decide what to do with it.

I wasn’t clear who owned what, but over the course of my stay, only five days, she had interviewed several people about buying the place, set up a kambucha/bakery/coffee bar near the entrance, repurposed the courtyard as a garden rather than storage, and had started a few other projects. My head spun.

This was her description of the place: a unique bed & breakfast solution for digital nomads to work, play and rest in one of Sayulita, MX’s most centrally located, lush and historic properties for special events. Our residence offers a super secure full service boutique hotel experience inside a co-work, restaurant and event space with three adjoining restaurants so you can order room service while you work from your room, the co-work dining rooms or one from our lush gardens.

Maybe not, but it was quaint and funky. I liked it. After finishing my smoothie, I bid her goodbye and wandered through the small streets, finding a trail through the jungle to the north side of the beach. It was not a big place, but it had charm and authenticity. And had clearly become a tourist hot spot.

August 14 – 18. I would have stayed longer, but was on a mission to visit a few friends and hopefully see Chiapas. I was only there 5 days, but It was a wonderful time. At the end of my second day, I had wandered onto the beach at the south end of town, and was enjoying the darkening sky of an approaching storm.

As I walked, I noticed two guys looking out over the beach at a viewpoint, and there was something about them that triggered my curiosity. I struck up a conversation and they seemed friendly and open. We ended up hanging out for a few hours, getting drenched in the rain, and having deep conversations as we took in the storm.

What I didn’t know was that they were on a journey and had partaken in mind-altering substances. I’d experienced a similar situation in Vancouver’s Stanley Park. I’d happened upon a group of 4 friends, and ended up hanging out with them for hours. Over time I understood that they were high on acid. Their mind-state seemed contagious. By the end of the evening I felt as if I had ingested a tab or two.

It turned out that one of the guys owned an amazing espresso bar, Café Don Pancho. I went there the next day and we talked a bit about the night before. He shared some of his frustrations. He wanted to be closer to his son, who lived in Campestre with his ex-wife. He wanted to move back and open Café Don Pancho in his hometown.

Over the next few days, he told his regulars that he’d be leaving. Apparently he also runs the family coffee farm near Campestre, which he learned to work from his father. He tends the plants, picks the berries, processes them, and sells the coffee. Quite an exhausting process. I hoped we could stay in touch, but it was a turbulent time in his life, and he had a lot to do.

One hot afternoon I was hiking up as steep road, trying to find a viewpoint that had been recommended. The road kept getting narrower and steeper. At one point I spied some gringos heading in the same direction and asked if they knew where the overlook was. They were amiable and said that while they didn’t know, I’d be welcome to check out the view from their rental home. I was surprised, since Americans I meet don’t seem very trusting.

I happily accepted their invitation and followed them to their place. They had a palatial house near the top of the hill, and the view from there was stunning. And they had an infinity pool to boot, and a huge spread. Over the course of a few hours, I spoke with several of the family members, and they invited me to use the pool and join them for dinner.

Audrey, the matriarch who’d invited me, lives in SoCal and is involved in the legal profession. I felt so appreciative of her open-hearted kindness. It was a special moment. The next day I met a Sandra while picking up trash on the beach. She built a beautiful house in Sayulita she named Casa Lupita in honor of her grandmother. She invited me to check out her home. I was struck by her artistic eye and attention to detail. The place looked like something out of Sunset Gardens for Spanish Colonial Revival.

I was struck by the kindness of locals and expats who made Sayulita their home. I spent my remaining days exploring the neighboring jungle and communities, and walking Sayulita’s narrow streets filled with crafts and tasty treats. This place was a magnet for travelers and artists. I hoped I would be able to return one day. As I left the small village, I wondered whether Don Pancho would open a cafe in Campestre near his coffee farm.