cuernavaca: where my succulent rebelled and the coffee shop ignored my face

i didn’t plan to write this when i left the hotel room at 3am, but the sun was already bleeding through the curtains like it was judging my life choices. 3988462 widgets? who cares. 1484697777 seconds since i last watered my cactus? more like 1484697778. the weather here is that 22.34 degree thing you’d associate with a sauna left on overnight. i just checked and it’s…there right now, hope you like that kind of thing. neighbors? if you get bored, the mountains are just a short drive away. i heard that from a guy selling tacos at noon. he might’ve been high. who knows.

last night, i tried to find a place that didn’t smell like old socks and engine oil. ended up at this café called cafecito libre. their coffee was cold, their music was a 90s mp3 player playing la letra, and the owner kept asking if i wanted to buy his ‘organic’ soap. i bought one. it smells like regret. i put it in my bag. i regret it. the temperature didn’t change at all. temp_min and temp_max are both 22.34. why? why does this place act like it’s stuck in a time loop?

the people here are…unique. not in a bad way, just…different. one dude kept telling me the sea level was 1014, like he was reciting a prayer. another said the humidity was 24% and it was ‘refreshing.’ i’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a warning. either way, the grass isn’t greener. it’s just…different. or maybe it’s dead. i took a_photo of a cactus that looked like it was crying. it’s on unsplash.

i asked a local about the reviews. not the google ones, the ones you hear at 2am from someone who’s seen too much. she said, ‘don’t trust the ones that say this city is peaceful. they’re either drunk or lying.’ i’m not sure which. i overheard a couple arguing about whether the street food was ‘authentic’ or ‘a tourist trap.’ i didn’t care. i ate a taco that tasted like it was made from mystery meat and regret. the pressure was 1014, which felt like someone was breathing on my ear. i asked if that was normal. she said, ‘yes. the city breathes.’ i’m still not sure if that’s metaphorical or literal.

there’s this abandoned factory on the edge of town. some people call it a ‘graveyard for dreams.’ i took a_photo of it too.

. the locals say it’s haunted. i asked the guard at the gate. he said, ‘if you hear whispers, tell them i sent you.’ i’m not sure if he was joking. maybe he was. maybe he wasn’t. either way, i left. i didn’t want to add to my list of things that might come back to haunt me.

so here’s the deal. if you come here, bring oil. bring extra shoes. bring a sense of humor. the weather is fine, the neighbors are weird, and the reviews are a mix of lies and half-truths. i posted a map so you can find me. or maybe not.

. if you want to find the coffee shop, search ‘cafecito libre’ on yelp. if you want to avoid tragedy, check tripadvisor for ‘best tacos in cuernavaca.’ i heard that one from a drunk at a bar.

the numbers? 3988462 and 1484697777? who knows. maybe they’re a secret code. maybe they’re just the number of times i said ‘i don’t know’ today. either way, this place is messy. like me. like the weather. like the way the light hits the cactus at 3am.

. if you’re a tourist, you’ll find it boring. if you’re a traveler, you’ll find it…relatable. i added a link to a local blog about ‘oil in cuernavaca’s history’ because i’m a theory person. tripadvisor.com/.../cuernavaca-oil-thing. yelp.com/.../cafecito-libre. and then there’s that abandoned factory page. i didn’t look it up. i just typed it in. weird.

i left with a ruined cactus, a useless soap, and a feeling that this city is trying to tell me something. maybe it’s the weather. maybe it’s the neighbors. maybe it’s the fact that 22.34 degrees is the only temperature that matters here. or maybe it’s nothing at all. either way, i’m writing this on a cheap laptop in a hostel bathroom. the wifi is bad. the lighting is worse. but the story? that’s gold. or maybe it’s just a mess. like everything else.

ps: if you’re a botanist, don’t come here. the air is a vibe killer.

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