No Fish Heads or Dirt Tracks—It’s Margarita Time!

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My email inbox is filling with a familiar buildup of hotel reservations, travel insurance quotations, and flight itineraries. It’s a welcome return.

I have a sentimental attachment to a travel-battered backpack that I like to call “wee gray.” Well, it’s time I got my sewing kit out again, to see if I can coax a little more life out of the poor thing—I’m back on the road.

By the time you read this, I expect to be on Mexico’s Riviera Maya.
Purists will say that the coastline from Cancún to Tulum is not “real” Mexico, and that unless I’m bouncing along the dirt roads of Oaxaca in the back of a flatbed truck, I’m not getting the authentic deal.

They’re welcome to their opinion. I heard similar claims when I went to Thailand last year: “Oh, Koh Samui’s so developed now. Thirty years ago, it was pristine.”

Yeah. And 30 years ago you had to sleep in a pillowless bamboo hut, eat fish heads, and get airlifted home if a reef cut got infected. No thanks. Some say they hate progress—but I have no dislike for decent hospitals, ATMs, or the confident energy that comes with a steady economy. I’ve found that locals welcome that sort of progress, too.

I won’t be pioneering any undiscovered routes or secret expat idylls on this trip, but that’s not my mission. There’s a big difference between the places you want to see someday, and the places you want to live.

I’ll be looking for the latter, and I know from experience that a reliable electricity supply and decent WiFi will sustain you longer than bragging rights to some isolated mudhut in the boonies. Just like Samui, the Riviera Maya is popular for good reason— pure white shores, swaying palms, affordable property, permanent sunshine—and I’m off to get a true feel for it. I’ll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, turn the page for this month’s adventures.