Trip Report: Puerto Escondido, Mexico 📍
We brave street dealers, off-brand prescription drugs, shoulder-dislocating waves, and bodysurfing on LSD— only to discover that Mexico’s jungle oasis might be the most heavenly rehabilitation center in the world.
Is this blog post legal?
“Another travel blog?” you might be thinking to yourself.
Relax.
This is not your ‘Travel on less than $50 a day’ blog.
I spend more on that on narcotics per day.
This is not your Top 10 Places to Live and CoWork in Mexico.
I hate hostels with a passion and I stayed in mansions the entire time.
I assure you, you won’t find anything useful here in terms of a travel guide.
That’s what Lonely Planet is for.
And this most definitely is not one of those blogs where a mummy blogger carts her two kids, a dog, and a dreamcatcher in a van, and has an 'authentic' Mexican adventure while somehow raking in more dough than a cartel boss.
No. These travelogues are for the more…
Brutal truths of travel.
The raw, outrageous, disturbing, and sometimes hilarious moments that too often go unpublished.
Tall tales that would trigger heart palpitations in over-enthusiastic Tripadvisor writers.
Now, at the risk of building too much suspense, here is ‘Trip Report: Puerto Escondido 📍’
Buckle your seatbelts, we are taking a bumpy (likely illegal) ride into the jungle.
Trip Report: Puerto Escondido 📍
The empty tray of Xanax on the table was crucial evidence in a night forever lost to my memory.
Broken fragments of a puzzle lay scattered in my brain.
I tried to piece together last nights acid-fueled marathon and reveal the full picture, but it was useless.
The Xanax made sure of that.
All I remember was very kindly placing myself in a Xanax-induced coma at 6 AM and erasing the next 12 hours.
I needed that Xanax.
The Acid wouldn’t turn off.
I know. I know. It’s my fault for buying acid from a dodgy Mexican bartender. There was no one to blame but myself.
I looked around the rooftop I’d just woken up on.
The sun was setting over the dark Pacific Ocean. The last glow of light disappeared over the horizon to the west, and the day ended.
How was it nighttime already?
Xanax will do that to you.
I sat in the creeping darkness feeling raw and vulnerable.
I needed something to be grateful for.
The fact that I could pull in fresh oxygen through my nasal cavities was a good start.
London’s thick lines of Ketamine and Cocaine had turned my nostrils into an old concrete mixer that a landscaper had left too long in the sun.
It took weeks till they functioned normally again and I’d only just regained my sense of smell.
An aroma of grilled fish wafted through the air. One of our neighbors was having a Fiesta.
My sensitive stomach did not want a bar of that.
Before I chundered up whatever toxins were left in my body, I covered my nose, walked downstairs, and jumped straight off the deep-end of the pool.
The perfect place to wash away my sins.
I lay in the water and a wave of peace washed through my jittery soul.
I felt grateful for the sunset. The infinity pool. The ocean views.
Okay, I guess it’s not so bad coming down here...
But that’s the thing…
I wasn’t supposed to be coming down.
I was supposed to be rehabbing.
Cold turkey.
More sober than a Mormon.
What the fuck went wrong?
I came to Mexico for recovery.
Rehab.
A pause.
But who was I kidding?
In a land run by the cartel, where one can find an abundance of cheap hits and over-the-counter prescription drugs, I was as far from rehab as one could be.
How We Ended Up In Puerto Escondido
The plane touched down and I felt like Tom Cruise in American Made ready to pick up pounds of cocaine.
Minus the charm, the cash, and the plane…
And the airstrip we’d landed on was not giving me the Tulum or Cancun vibes I’d dreamed of when I booked a trip to Mexico.
So…. just what the fuck were we doing here in the Mexican Jungle?
We had heard whispers of a tropical paradise on the Southwestern coast of Mexico. A rapidly developing village with the best surf break in the country.
Recently, this little fisherman’s village was sniffed out by property developers and they’d started building mansions along the coast. The relentless cacophonies of construction marked their growing presence from sun up to sun down.
But still, a relaxed, laid-back charm remains in the town. This place is still two decades away from becoming anything like Cancun. Hell, most of the roads aren’t even paved. Most of the villas are vacant or unfinished. The wifi is patchy and the locals are on Puerto time.
And other people we met on our travels told us we had to go.
“You’ve got to go before it’s overrun by tourists bro.”
“Seriously bro, you haven’t been to Mexico if you haven’t been to Puerto Escondido.”
I’d heard enough.
It couldn’t be that good. Could it?
I had to see for myself.
Thankfully, the timing worked out perfectly.
My friend, Moz, was heading down to Puerto Escondido in November.
It didn’t take much convincing to get me to book a two-week trip with him, bringing my girlfriend along in tow.
What we were going to do in Puerto Escondido…
Many tourists make the trip to Puerto Escondido For:
Cheap mansions.
Barreling waves.
A cheaper version of California.
To start a career as a yoga instructor/influencer.
Tacos y Cervezas.
Postcard sunsets.
Prescription pills.
Easily attainable drugs.
To see an abundance of sexy people.
But I was here for different reasons.
After fifteen months of circumnavigating the globe, I was exhausted.
I needed a place to base up for a while. To recover and rest my soul.
Puerto Escondido was the perfect place for that.
Aren’t you a nomad?
Yes, but visiting twenty countries in fifteen months is enough to drive any traveler or nomad to a fixed location.
I’d touched sand, snow, dirt, or grass on five of the seven continents.
It was time for a rest.
This next statement will sound ridiculous coming from a full time traveler, but…
I wanted a stereotypical holiday.
You know - the retiree holiday where you walk the beaches for hours, read in a hammock by the pool, play cards with your pals, and forget all about work - or partying for that matter.
Yes, that was what I needed.
That’s why I was here.
A Rubber Arm
Now, when I say I need rehab. I’m not an alcoholic.
In fact, I’m not much of a booze man at all.
I don’t see the point. Skull liters of poison to numb yourself from the world, or reach a level of intoxication that I get with one snort, puff, swallow, or injection…
Don’t get me wrong, each to their own. But the bottles not for Ben.
Weed is my plant.
It agrees with me on a molecular level.
Cannabis, Nicotine, and Caffeine are God’s gift to a morning. Though, I do not believe in God. Psychedelics (another favorite) reveal that. I just think if he were real, that is the saucy little treat he would give humans. Green and Double Brown.
As the WDNG CRSHRS would say - that’s a combination.
If I just smoked weed I wouldn’t have any issues.
Alas, the last 6 months got a little out of hand for young Ben.
A lot, actually.
You see, when it comes to drugs, my arm is as rubbery as a 60-year-old cougar’s nipples.
Twist it and I’ll do whatever you tell me to.
Ket, Coke, Truffles, Pressies, Hash, MDMA, and who knows what else….
If my goddamn memory wasn’t so blurry, I could tell you more.
I do, however, recall a few highlights from my European adventures. These may help you understand why it was time for a Mexican holiday (rehab):
I stayed in London for two weeks and did not see one famous site because I was stuck in a perpetual K Hole.
I nearly overdosed on a street dealer’s pink cocaine at Rolling Loud in Portugal.
I swallowed pressed pills I bought from behind the bar in Lagos and partied till 7am.
I smoked tobacco and marijuana from sun up to sun down in every almost country - including Moroccan Hash, Californian Flower, Spanish Sativa, and almost every strain known to stoners.
I bought 15g of truffles from a prostitute in Amsterdam and the universe hugged me.
Not to mention the countless other European cities, bars, boat parties, and clubs.
This chemically enhanced adventure left me strung out and scattered.
My gas tank had dipped below empty weeks ago and I was well overdue for a re-fill.
Self-control?
You won’t find any of that here.
I was tired.
My brain hurt.
I needed to catch my breath. Regrow some brain cells. Rest my liver, my kidneys, and my lungs.
And stop putting unknown chemicals in my meat suit.
Mexico is the place to heal, right?
Yes sir. Just what the doctor ordered.
Put my carcass in a hammock by the beach.
Give me a fresh coconut, a fish taco, and a book.
Do not sell me drugs.
I’m here for rehab.
That was the plan anyway….
Until we met Eddie….
The Naughiest Little Bar in Puerto Escondido
We walked into Cactus Beach Club, a quiet little bar on the golden sands of Playa Zicatella.A local man with tattoos all over his arms and bare chest stood behind the bar, grinning like he knew a secret.
"Hola amigos! I’m Eddie. You want food? Drinks?”
“Hola Eddie! Si, Si. What do you have?” I replied.
“Tacos; Carne, Pollo, Fish. Coco, Cervezas.” He paused for a moment and lowered his voice. “And Weed, Cocaina, Acid… you name it amigo."
His English was rough, but his message clear.
Wait what the fuck did he just say…
I looked over at Jeorgia and Moz to confirm I didn’t just make that up.. Jeorgia's eyes were wide with excitement.
"Aren’t we on a detox?" she asked, half-joking, half-serious.
"Weeds natural… It’ll help the detox. Right?” I looked at Moz. He nodded back. That was all the convincing I needed.
Like me, Jeorgia and Moz were absolute fiends.
My two best friends may be some of the worst people to travel with if you do not want to enter an altered state.
Sure, I was usually the instigator. But they would never hesitate to join.
Huge smiles plastered their faces. Simultaneously they nodded at me with wide eyes.
I turned back to Eddie.
"Okay, let's go with six fish tacos, a coco, a few beers, and... yeah, throw in the weed and acid."
"So much for detox." Jeorgia said with a cheeky smirk.
The more I ordered from Eddie's ‘menu’, the more my 'rehab' plan seemed like a distant, foolish idea.
Eddie reached behind the bar and grabbed his stash.
He passed us a bag of weed that smelled more like lawn clippings than the bud we had become used to in California and Amsterdam.
"Straight from the bush," Moz laughed, eyeing the weed skeptically.
“Good stuff bro. Bueno bueno.” Eddie replied.
Jeorgia picked up a tab, examining it closely.
"At least these look legit."
“Very strong. Be careful hermana.”
The three of us exchanged excited glances. This was the kind of risk that brought us together in the first place – chasing highs and adventures.
Ones not usually found while sitting in the comfort of your own home, or the confines of your sober mind.
"Alright, let's not get ahead of ourselves," I said, trying to sound more responsible than I felt.
"We'll start slow, test the waters."
"Since when did you start playing it safe?" Jeorgia said.
"Yeah, live a little virgin.” Moz chimed in.
Any lingering hesitation I had melted away fast. We were in this together – for better or worse.
"Okay, let's do it," I said with a grin. "Eddie, we'll take it."
A Trip To The Beach…
The beach was different under the influence of Eddie's acid.
Colors were brighter, sounds were clearer, and every sensation was amplified.
We kicked off our jandals and raced towards the water, the sand hot under our feet.
"Look at those waves!" Moz shouted, pointing at the rolling giants that crashed onto the shore.
"I’m going in!" Jeorgia laughed, her voice full of excitement.
We plunged into the ocean and the warm tropical water enveloped us.
I tried bodysurfing, and the liquid mountains just rag-dolled my body. My legs twisted and contorted behind me, and then I was picked up and slammed against the sand.
"Man, these are huge!" I yelled over the roar of the whitewash.
"Web, watch that rip!" Moz called out, but his warning was lost in the sound of the crashing waves.
Suddenly, I felt it – the pull of the ocean dragging me out.
Panic set in as I struggled against the current.
I looked across the waves and saw Jeorgia being sucked out faster than me.
"Guys, I'm caught in a rip!" Jeorgia managed to shout.
Moz was the first to react. He’s a true waterman, you see. He is most in his element when salt water surrounds his meat suit.
He swam towards Jeorgia and me with strong, determined strokes.
"Relax. Lay on your back. I'm coming!"
I did as he said and Jeorgia followed suit, her eyes wide with concern.
I looked up at the blue sky and all of a sudden, the fractals began to dance above me. This was not the time to start feeling the rising frenzy of an LSD peak.
I felt my heart rate rise as another wave crashed down on top of me.
It dumped me onto the bottom where I was able to kick up to the surface.
I looked around, gulping in lungfuls of air.
My eyes darted left and right in terror.
No sign of Jeorgia or Moz.
Fuck. I always knew drowning would be the way I go out.
Suddenly, there was a break in the waves. I saw Moz and Jeorgia fighting the rip as a team. They reached me and we finally broke free of the current. We caught another giant shorebreaker and let it wash our exhausted bodies onto the sand like Orcas chasing a stingray.
Gravity.
Solid ground.
The golden sands of Playa Zicatella welcomed us back, a stark contrast to the ocean's untamed ferocity.
I collapsed on the hot beach.
My mind was rattled by the near-death experience and the strengthening grip that the LSD w on my brain.
I looked around, trying to center myself.
Where the fuck am I?
The stretch of golden sand that I sat on was a sight to rival any beach in California.
Looking out over the blue Pacific, watching the waves roll in (safely out of their reach), I felt a profound gratitude for being alive. Never have I ever felt more relaxed than I did in Puerto Escondido at that moment, it was as if someone had played hide and go seek inside my ass with a Xanax bar.
I was so chill and so relaxed, that I began to question if I had ever REALLY felt relaxed before.
My entire existence before Mexico felt like stress.
I did not need to be anywhere.
It was the Corona Ad come to life.
I was where you would rather be.
I glanced around, taking in the sights of La Punta. The Point was where the beach ended in a rocky outcrop known for its Instagram-worthy sunsets and bodysurfing spectacles. Rookie surfers collided in the left-hand breakers below.
Near the beach, the heart of Puerto Escondido throbbed with life. You’ll find vegan cafes, taco shops, and yoga studios nestled among cabañas, hammocks, and overgrown jungle.
As I sat there, the acid began to weave its magic more intensely. The sky transformed into a canvas of swirling colors, the sunset bled into hues of fiery orange and passionate pink.
Before long, the sun surrendered to the night and we knew it was time to head back to our mansion.
Somehow amidst the chaos and the swirling fractals, we found our scooters.
A Kaleidoscopic dash through Puerto's streets
Moz got on his scooter, Jeorgia jumped on behind me.
We zoomed off into the night and the world around us took on a fantastical hue.
All of a sudden, a profound realization hit me…
I came to understand that the simulation makers decided to fuck with us the moment we sat on the scooters.
They grabbed their little controls and turned the game difficulty mode to expert.
This would not be an easy run.
Lights blurred, fractals twisted, stray dogs bit at our ankles, reality warped at the edges.
The sandy path under my tires seemed intent on eating the scooter. Around each corner, the scooter tire was sucked into the deep sand and jerked sideways, trying to buck us off.
"This is insaaaane," Moz shouted into the night.
Laughter burst out of us, echoing through the streets as we swerved around cars, dodged stoned locals, and overtook other mopeds, all moving in surreal slow motion.
Every turn was a dice roll. Every straight a race against the fractals. .
After a few wrong turns and a few more close calls, we made it back to the mansion. The building perched on the coast like a castle in a fairy tale. We parked the scooters and paused for a moment, the adrenaline still coursing through us.
"Home sweet trippy home," I muttered, as the mansion’s entrance loomed over us.
These walls would tell stories of tonight's adventures for years to come.
Back to the Mansion
We stumbled through the grand doors of our mansion, a palace of excess in this Mexican wonderland.
The acid charged through us and made reality seem like a TV show we'd watched long ago.
Our laughter echoed off the walls as we plopped down onto the plush sofas.
Like kings and queens of our own absurd kingdom, each of us vied for the crown of 'Most Nonsensical'.
Moz’s eyes flickered between Ritalin-precision and Acid-fantasy. He launched into a spiel about ancient aliens, AI, and GPTs that could've convinced a house cat to believe in UFOs.
Jeorgia’s words were a rapid-fire stream, shot at us in such a logical way that for a moment, I wondered if 'The Real Housewives of LA' was actually the best show on television and if 'SIMS 2' did truly hold the secrets to the universe.
Our lounge morphed into a strange think tank. Where every muddled thought was an epiphany and every terrible joke was a masterpiece.
For hours, our minds were perfectly tuned into each other's wavelengths.
We yarned, argued, and solved (or so we thought) the mysteries of life. Ritalin had our brains sharper than a samurai sword while acid splashed our thoughts with all the colors of a hippie's tie-dye shirt.
Did we make any sense that night?
I have no idea. There is a high chance that we did not.
But it was the most intensely focused discussion I've ever experienced. We tuned into each other's thoughts, articulated complex ideas (a Herculean task on acid), and listened with every fiber of our being.
As the night wore on, we found ourselves lost in a maze of conversation, each turn more unexpected than the last.
Eventually, Moz popped a couple of Xans, and sloth mode was activated.
Every time his eyelids went on a downward journey, Jeorgia and I were there, cheerleading him back to consciousness.
"Don’t let the Xans win, Moz! The party ain't over!" we'd shout.
And like a true trooper, he'd slowly come back to life, a grin plastered on his face.
He would murmur something about Xans and virgins before rolling back over to sleep.
Goodbye Puerto Escondido
All of a sudden, dawn peeked in. All pink and shy, like a nervous pig.
I found myself alone on the rooftop, overlooking the dark ocean.
I'd reached the edge of the world.
Or at least the edge of sanity.
I had pushed this boat out as far as it would go.
As I stared at the wire of gold on the horizon, I knew it was finally time for rehab…
In the quiet of the early morning, I gently placed myself in a Xanax-induced coma and said adios to Puerto Escondido.
I sank back into the couch and with a grin on my face, I handed alprazolam the reins. I was done chasing the dragon – for now.
An important warning about Puerto Escondido….
After a fortnight of juggling acid, weed, Ritalin, and Xanax like a circus clown, it’s time to leave Mexico...
For you, dear reader, i leave you with this disclaimer:
Housewives with avoidant husbands, teens with anxiety, recovering addicts, overly ‘caffeinated’ CEO’s, gym buffs, guys with erectile dysfunction, or anyone with a tendency to abuse substances (be it uppers, downers, greeners, or browners) - please heed this warning…
I highly suggest avoiding Puerto Escondido. Or any Mexican town with a bar, pharmacy, supermarket, hospital, doctor, or chemist…
The ease of access to drugs in these places is too tempting. Drugs that are known to tranqualize horses, kill rappers, zonk housewives, hack the productivity of CEOs, coders, and founders, or help college students learn an entire semesters course in 12 hours…
However, if you have a big project - Ritalin (Tradea/Metilfenidato/Methylphenidate) makes you feel like Bradley Cooper on Limitless (when he is in supply…).
And if you want to feel relaxed, well a 1mg bar of Xanax (Pharmapram/Alprazolam) will ensure you feel as if you have never had a problem in your life. In fact you start to think there has never been a problem in the history of the world. It is unfathomable, you are too relaxed. Just beware the XWA (Xan Withdrawal Anxiety).
One Final Thought:
If you aren’t a fiend, addict or junkie, or just have a shred of self respect and control, then Puerto Escondido will be one one of the best holiday destinations you will ever find.
AND if you are a fiend, addict or junkie, or just enjoy dabbling in substances occasionally, you will have an even better time…
The Best Spots to Visit In Puerto Escondido
or get drugs in Puerto Escondido. Whatever you prefer…
Now, I know I said this blog wouldn’t have any helpful travel resources. That is still true, however, below you will find a list of some of the places mentioned in this tale and some of the best places to check out in Puerto Escondido:
Savanna Cafe - A cafe near Zicatella with amazing food and coffee. Favorite spot to work at outside of the mansion. Amazing view of beach. Plus, they let you smoke weed here.
Casa Pelicano - Our favorite place to stay. Incredible two bedroom mansion with a rooftop view of Pacific, Pool and front yard.
Pharma Puerto (farmacia) - for Pharmpram (xanax) and Tradea (ritalin) in Puerto Escondido, this is the spot.
Dulce Tierra Bakery and Coffee - Pan Au Chocolat and Cold Brew espressos for those productive mornig sessions.
Cactus Beach Club - just got ask Eddie for his menu….
See you soon, Puerto Escondido 📍
Puerto Escondido, you'll see me again when my illegally smuggled supply of Ritalin runs out
Authour’s Note: Please keep in mind that this is a satirical and fictional article about Puerto Escondido and a highly-exaggerated account of my experience. No illegal substances were ingested and I do not recommend taking any substances mentioned in this article. It is primarily for humour, and is not necessarily an accurate reflection of the realities of Puerto, its visitors, or the locals.
We brave street dealers, off-brand prescription drugs, shoulder-dislocating waves, and bodysurfing on LSD— only to discover that Mexico’s jungle oasis might be the most heavenly rehabilitation centre in the world.