. . . But This Is A _Different_ Beach Cliche Pic . . .

I went to Huatulco--the resort town about two and half hours from Salina Cruz--last weekend for a little change of scenery. Banish the cabaña boy fantasies. We (my friends and I) slept in hammocks on the beach and stuck to a Puritan-esque one tequila-per-day regime. (Alright, I was feeling a little delicate after a Friday Night Bad Idea experimentation with mezcal, but still; no piña coladas this trip.) A bit crowded for my spoiled sensibilities but the water was crystal clear and fish are pretty so it was a successful trip.

















Above: My friend's kid playing "Torture the Crabs" and the obligatory, "Pretty Beach!" shot.

It wasn't all snorkeling and harassingng the wildlife, of course. As we sat down for cactus-juice nightcap, a dude dressed in the country dude uniform of torn jeans, t-shirt, baseball cap and a machete came weaving up to our table. He asked if we would take his money to buy beer from the patroness who apparently doesn't like him. He offered the guy in the group a hit of his home-made mezcal from a scuffed plastic Coke bottle, but he politely refused--I find it easier to remember manners when the person you're talking to is holding a foot and half of sharpened steel.

Oh, and I ate an iguana tamale. Pretty tasty. But they told me once you eat iguana you can't leave Oaxaca--so start sending letters to Sephora to open a branch down here as an act of global charity.