In Mexico babies take daytime naps wrapped up in hammocks, sleeping soundly in their little cocoon. Over half a century later those very same people grow old doing the exact same thing. You'd be hard pressed to find a home in this country that doesn't have the shadow of a half crescent moon painted somewhere across the ground. 

For whatever reason I was never a real fan of hammocks. It may have something to do with my inability to stay still for any length of time. I remember once, many years ago in Brazil, I elected to sleep on hard concrete over the comfort of a hammock because I just couldn't figure the damn thing out.

The last six months in Mexico has changed my ways. I have grown to love this simple yet wonderful invention for its comfort and practicality. A friend once told me he rolled into a town in Michocan on the coast of Mexico to be greeted by two surfers swinging back and forth in their hammocks, engrossed in a tense game of chess as the board sat between the two. 

I used to watch little Jesué snooze in the white hammock placed in the garden where I lived in Puerto Escondido. Any of the numerous family members would gently swing the hammock as they moved back and forth running errands or preparing la comida. I've observed colectivo drivers on the highway awaiting passengers chat amongst each other on the roadside as their hammocks swing together in unison. And every single time I go to the local tienda in Barra de la Cruz I can be assured of one thing — that the old man that lives next door will be there, watching the world go by from the comfort of his purple hammock.