In Pesos We Trust
Issue #41 · Big bills, small favors.
For the past few weeks, I’ve had 60 Mexican pesos — a gold-rimmed $10 coin and a vibrant purple $50 banknote — sitting loose on a bookshelf near my front door, patiently waiting to be returned to its rightful owner. For my fellow Americans keeping score at home, that’s just under $3 USD. Though the real value behind this little pile of pesos goes far beyond its monetary worth.
One morning last month while on my way home from the lavandería, a water delivery truck serendipitously crossed my path. “Compro tres!” I yelled to flag the driver down, knowing that the large blue garrafón jugs in my apartment were running dangerously low. Wow — clean undies and a full supply of water? I was cruising through my morning to-do list.
It was only after the nice man had lugged each extremely heavy jug all the way into my apartment that I panicked, realizing that I had just spent every last bit of small change on my laundry. All I had left was a stack of $500 bills straight from the ATM — notoriously difficult to break, particularly in this cash-forward, locally-run little beach town where I live. Imagine stopping into your local NYC bodega and trying to pay for a $1 bottle of water with a crisp Benjamin — that’s essentially what I was trying to pull off.
“Hiiiiijole… pues, vives aquí? Vuelvo mañana. Tranqui,” the man muttered, which roughly translates to “Enjoy your water silly gringa. I’ll come back tomorrow, just pay me then.”
This large-denomination dilemma is a familiar problem in Puerto Escondido. In fact, on my very first ever morning here a few years back, I decided to take a stroll around town to check out my new digs. Naturally, I stopped for coffee, this time armed with an easier-but-still-kind-of-a-bitch-to-break $200 bill. The friendly barista who was on shift at 7am laughed, and handed me back the $200 bill in-tact along with my latte. “I’ll see you around, just pay me next time.”
Was it my trusting face? A stroke of beginner's luck? Hold on — was he flirting with me?! (He was not.)
As it turns out, it’s just a neighborly mindset of “I have faith that this complete stranger will eventually pay me back,” a sentiment that’s more prevalent in Mexico than anywhere else I’ve traveled. It’s a big part of what makes the culture here feel so warm and welcoming, and a shining example of how a tight-knit community should function. No contracts, no IOUs, no slinging the same twenty bucks back and forth on Venmo. Just mutual respect and a quiet reassurance that even if no one is specifically keeping track, the favor will always come back around — generosity is the default setting. It’s a refreshing contrast to the often tip-driven, pay-upfront, transactional relationships back in the States. After all, I guess it’s pretty hard to nickel and dime someone when nickels and dimes don’t exist.
Initially, living life in a different currency was jarring, especially the first time the ATM spat out Monopoly money instead of legal tender. But I’ve learned to appreciate how a currency can carry the personality of a place. That’s why in the shoebox full of funky coins and misshapen bills I’ve collected from nearly all of the three dozen countries I’ve visited — neon Hong Kong dollars, volcanic Nicaraguan córdoba and lucky Japanese 5-yen coins included — the Mexican peso remains my favorite.
It’s the informal running tab I often rely on at my corner fruit and veggie stand. It’s the friends who would rather go out to dinner a second time than be paid back. It’s the owner of my guesthouse asking for payment only after I’ve stayed a few nights to make sure everything is to my liking. And most importantly, it’s the unspoken agreement that, even though it’s been over a month and the water delivery man still hasn’t come back, those 60 pesos will remain sitting on my bookshelf and won’t be spent on anything else.
* * *
Random tangent disguised as a footnote:
*The latest version of the $50 MXN bill features the beloved ajolote, a salamander-like endangered species native to Mexico and symbol of the country’s biodiversity. When the bill first entered circulation in 2021, it was so popular that many people began hoarding them as souvenirs. It won the International Bank Note Society’s annual Banknote of the Year award and even inspired “50 ajolopesos” merch. The ajolote is also known as the Aztec god of fire, lightning, and the underworld, which I find absolutely hilarious because it looks like this.
Recommended related posts:
No Hay Luz — No power, no WiFi, no cell service. Bienvenidos a Puerto Escondido.
Deep Chats with Strangers in Airport Bars — A front-row seat to the comedic chaos of humanity in transit. Pull up a chair!
Jetlag Diaries — The beauty of inviting chaos, rejecting comfort zones and blindly putting your trust in strangers.
PS: I’d love to hear what you thought about this issue. Email me directly at hello@emilyannhill.com and I pinky promise I’ll reply back.
Do you have a guestroom?
Sounds like there's a high level of social capital, great post Emily!