What I have to say about hippies

I don't really know much about hippies. I think I met a few once, in Mexico. When you go to exotic places, there are generally a lot of hippies. Except that in that context, they're usually Travelers with the capital T.

I consider myself something of a traveler, but not a hippie. I've seen a handful of continents and have had a handful of cockroaches scurry over me in the night. I've played guitar outside for strangers and showered infrequently. But the hippie Travelers have longer hair than I, and they do not shave. They are either way too tan, so that their faces turn all pruny, or way too pale. They smoke a whole bushel of pot and play in bongo circles on the beach. When Lonely Planet says that a town has "a lively traveler's scene," they are saying it is infested with hippies. I did eat fried grasshoppers once or twice, but I think that's more gross than hippie.

Female hippie Travelers are people you want to stay away from.

On the Zipolite, a famous occasionally nude beach in Mexico, I met this Traveler I knew was a hippie because he had long hair, didn't shave, and smoked a lot of pot. He also happened to be quadriplegic. He liked to romp in the serf with a buddy of his. His friend would stand him up on his stubs, and he would see how long he could weather the buffeting waves. You're not really supposed to swim at the Zipolite, because the rip tides are ferocious. The little limbless hippie was eventually knocked over, like a bowling pin. He would paddle with his nubs to try to keep his head above water, with about as much success as a bowling pin would have. Eventually a crashing wave would throw him, long-haired and short-limbed, onto the sand, where he would lie like a washed-up baby walrus. A hippie walrus.