Whether it’s because they feel alienated by traditional family commitments, avoiding being alone, or just to get away to relax, people head to the bus stations and airports to get away from the city.
And in a country with more than 9,000 kilometres of coastline who could blame them, they are spoiled for choice.
Some go to Veracruz, the old city in the Gulf, while others opt for Puerto Vallarta. But for me, arriving at an enormous bus station in the east of the city, it was to be Zipolite, in the southern region of Oaxaca.
Eighteen hours later we arrived, somewhat bedraggled in a small town in Oaxaca. It was a relief to leave the bus after enduring iFrankenstein, a film which in English is possibly the worst ever made, but in Spanish plumbs new depths of pointlessness.
The heat was intense, and the three of us made the rest of the short distance in a form of public transport, a pick-up van covered in a green tarpaulin, where people clambered on the back to hitch a ride.
We were joined a blonde Californian surfer type dude who seemed aloof to all around him, and eventually got off in Zipolite.
The resort is about a mile long, with golden beaches which are largely unspoiled by the mass tourism of places such as Cancun. There are no large hotel complexes with sprawling buffets and fat Americans. Instead there is the calm allure of blue seas, golden sands, and green hillsides.
Zipolite has been spared the awful tourist saturation, largely due to uncompromising seas. The powerful waves knock you down, while currents pull you out to see. It has a reputation for people losing their lives, and is certainly not the ideal spot for children to be safe.
Indeed the waters may be so strong that you don’t see any fishing boats along the shore, just the small hotels and hostels which are like beach shacks made with palm tree leaves for the roof.
Our hostel was much the same. There were a couple of handsome men working there which added to the allure, one of whom had a devilish smile.
Added to the hostels are a maze of small restaurants and hotels which can be explored on the paths around the resort. Each tending to specialise at breakfast/ brunch, lunches, and evening meals.
Given the non-family friendly nature of the beach it is therefore little surprise to learn that it has instead been colonised by gay men looking for a nice getaway.
Most were from North America, particularly Canadians. But there others too. We met a Belgian couple looking to let their hair down, likewise a couple from San Francisco.
Atop the hill a Canadian couple had recently purchased a bar which overlooked the cove and the main stretch of beach.
When asked by the local tourism board: “Are you going to be gay friendly?”
They replied: “No… we’re going to be straight friendly!”
One of the main hosts added: “It took a little while for them to catch on as to what I meant!”
On the north western edge of the beach is where the gay guys go during the day to sunbathe. Not quite as secluded as the cove, it nonetheless provides an area of shade where iguanas catch the rays of the sun. It was the perfect spot for a beer.
We spoke with a German guy who got into a heated debate about global geo-politics, and was insistent on inviting us back to his room for the night- for a meal.
At first I thought he was a little distant, which was disappointing to me. But I was to discover the opposite later.
At sunset, the gays switch to the opposite side of the beach, where in a cove there is a small beach in which to view the fiery red sky.
There is only one path up and down the hillside to reach it, and it’s a steep climb which is tricky in daylight, but harder still in the darkness after the sunset.
It is without doubt a romantic spot, and the place where the fun is had after hours, with the bar perched on the rock overhead also a convenient venue for socialising.
In the end, on the final night, I decided to go for a skinny dip. It was not quite the liberation I had hoped to feel. I was far more preoccupied with staying on my feet as powerful waves bashed into me and strong currents then pulled me back into the swell.
It is definitely not something to attempt if you’re drunk.
Having spoken to the Belgian couple again we found ourselves at a beachside bar called Bang Bang, which I agree, lacks a little subtlety.
Enrique was chatting to two cute boys from Mexico City who worked for in television production. The conversation drifted me by, and instead I was lucky to make eye contact with Elyel, who seemed as bored as I was.
When I went for a stroll to look at the myriad starry sky, drizzled with light, he followed. So he who seemed to be distant turned out to be just like the stars I was gazing out, burning brightly and passionately.
It was nice to spend time with him, and along with many others I feel I met a new friend, and it is nice to be able to say the starlight is what will help me remember him.