After a 16 hour bus trip in which I didn’t spew once (thanks Kwells! Where were you my entire childhood?), I landed in Puerto Escondido and immediately began traipsing about looking for a place to stay. I spent my first night in the Hotel Virginia in a room that smelled strongly of poo (and not in a good way), listening to the children screaming next door. The next morning, frazzled to say the least, I went on a mission to find somewhere less harrowing to sleep. Down a cobbled alley on Zicatela, I stumbled upon the Tabachin del Puerto, a decadent establishment run by a Willy Wonka-esque man named Paul Cleaver. His toy poodle (sporting a pearl necklace) yapped at my ankles as he informed me he too was was booked out. Nonetheless, he sat me down, offered me a cup of tea and sent a waiter off to make some calls on my behalf. I soon realised his kindness had made me his captive as he began regaling me with ye olde stories while his poodle humped a stray kitten under the table. I was most grateful when the waiter returned to say he’d found me somewhere quiet and lovely to stay around the corner. As I walked away from Mr. Cleaver, I wondered whether the whole episode had been a dream. When at last I arrived at my new hotel I almost cried with relief - it was beautiful.
The Flor de Maria was bliss. The couple who run it are divine, my room was enormous, and there was a library, restaurant, and my favourite spot - the rooftop. I spent delicious stretches of time up there - swimming, hammocking, downing cocktails and watching the sun set.
The Flor also has a secret ‘no children under 12’ rule. Ha!
The beach out front is Bahía Principal, and these are my 2 favourite pics of said beach:
What respectable truck or semi-trailer would be seen without an elaborate strap-on shrine?
This sunburned old lizard reminded me of Donatella Versace. I stalked him and his leathery little ass crack until he became suspicious.