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A fantasically reasonable metro ride ($2 each, that's less than 15p, and trains every couple of minutes) took us to the bus station where we were hoping to catch an early bus to Acapulco. The only available one left at midday - we'd overlooked the Mexican start to the Easter holiday and hundreds of families were heading to the coast for a week or so. So two hours later we were settled on a reasonably luxurious air-conditioned bus with about three feet of legroom and nicely-reclining seats for a six-hour drive to the sea. Travelling 370km through deserted mountains, we only saw two settlements, one of which was a grey concrete box shanty town covering the hills as far as I could see. There were also plenty of eagles and some scenery that reminded me quite a lot of Hartlebury Common. With palm trees.
The weather in Mexico City had been a cool 21-24 degrees, with a wind that made it feel fresher (cold, to me) so the humidity in Acapulco hit us as we left the bus. At 6pm it was still in the 30s, and unpleasantly sticky. After asking four people where he needed to go, our taxi driver dropped us off at the hostel (big, bland, but with a view of the sea, very welcome air conditioning and the tiniest room I've ever seen anyone get a bed - let alone two - into!) and we headed up the main road to buy bus tickets to tomorrow's destination, Oaxaca, and find some food.
As luck would have it, there is no bus from Acapulco to Oxaca, so we settled for an early-morning trip back to Mexico City, and decided to play on the beach until the sun set. Which we did. Very nice it was too. And I had a mango on a stick, weirdly, but not unpeasantly, smothered with hot chilli powder.
We had supper in the most rustic-looking restaurant we could find in the blaring, garish main strip, and my gamble (cebolla - onion or fishing bait?) paid off: we shared a large platter of tortillas, unidentified meat, guacamole and the obligatory chilli sauce.
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