Birthday in Yelapa: Chasing Waterfalls

Yesterday was my birthday — and this year, I spent it in Yelapa, Mexico: a beach town so remote you have to catch a water taxi just to find it on a map. No roads. No cars. Just jungle, cobblestone footpaths, and the promise of doing absolutely nothing — perfectly.

To mark the occasion, we set off on what was supposed to be a simple hike to the famous Yelapa waterfall. According to local legend (and several half-confident directions we got from a guy selling tamales), it was just a casual stroll through town and into the hills.

So we walked.

And walked.

And kept walking.

The trail twisted through the jungle, past houses, dogs, a few confused chickens, and a group of other tourists who looked just as lost as we were. We were deep in it — sweaty, squinting into the green abyss, hearts full of hope and legs full of lactic acid.

Every bend felt like the bend. Every sound in the brush? Probably the waterfall. But instead, it was just more brush. More jungle. More walking.

Eventually, we admitted defeat. No glorious cascade. No refreshing dip. Just a slow, humid trudge back to town and the creeping suspicion we had — at some point — walked right past it.

Still, I can’t complain. I turned a year older, a little more sunburned, and with a story that’s already more entertaining than if we’d actually found the thing.

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Footnote:
The moral of the story? When you’re in the jungle and the air is thick and your sense of direction has been compromised by tacos and birthday beers… maybe don’t trust your internal GPS. We wandered haplessly for hours — four explorers driven by optimism, mosquito bites, and the false confidence of “it’s probably just around the next corner.” Spoiler: it wasn’t.