Calm down. No, not margaritas or drugs.
But there's only so much vacation you can stand. I've had it with 70-something-year-old ladies with platinum blond pony tails, leather tans, and pink hot pants. I've had it with everyone smoking. I've had it with fat, old Canadian and Mexican men wearing Speedos. They give a whole new meaning to "hang-over." That and hairy backs. Cover 'em up, boys.
I've had it with street touts standing in front of every restaurant and shop hustling, "Hi amigos, good cheap tequila...Come in take a look quick..." I reply, "no, gracias. I'm Quaker." That shuts 'em up right away. I'm sick of finding sand in shoes and pants and other places it should never be.
I've O.D.'ed on tourists passed out on the beach and on stuff that's three times more expensive than it ought to be. It's cynically referred to as the "gringo tax." Enough with the lines down the block in front of the most popular restaurants (if I wanted to do that, I'd have stayed in Chicago).
Guess it's time to move on. And that's just what I'll do tomorrow morning. Off to Guadalajara. It's up in the mountains, so it will be a lot cooler. Also, Guadalajara is NOT a tourist town (thank goodness), but a real, honest-to-gosh Mexican city. Number 3 in size, I believe. It's a university town with a historic town square. I'm excited and ready to be on the road. PV is a wonderful place to visit. A good vacation town, but...
