There’s big city Mexico and touristy Mexico. There’s dangerous drug cartel Mexico. There’s off-the-beaten path Mexico. And then there’s wherever we are, tucked away near a hidden beach town called Telchac Puerto. It’s beyond secluded. And quiet. I haven’t seen a single soul since we got here — other than some guy named Beachcomber Benicio. (Picture a cross between a millennial frat boy and Tom Hanks’ character in “Castaway.”)

I’ve visited Mexico half a dozen times, usually wherever my cruise ship dropped anchor. It was always a crush of humanity where boozy ex-patriots would try to get their delusional groove on. This time I’m smack-dab in the hinterlands, an oasis on the outskirts.

It’s a perpetual Siestaland with no worries and no hurries.

Three days in and I’m actually considering about chucking it all and moving down here. But apparently, I’ve got a lot to learn.

Here’s what I’ve gleaned in no particular order.

*Unless you find “the lady” in the village, you’re doomed. If you need anything done, there’s one particular woman skilled in that arena. The laundry lady, the gal who cleans fish, the woman who makes cookies and cakes. Today we were on a mission to find some fresh chicken. It took a while, but we finally found the two women who team up to pluck a chicken out of their backyard, behead it, clean it and send you on your way.

*Mexican coffee isn’t like regular coffee. It has a black tar heroin-esque quality, one that will enable you to lose 4 – 6lbs after swilling it. While I like coffee as much as the next person, I was not ready for a near-religious el bano experience.

*Save for a few pesky ants and one lone pelican, I haven’t seen (or heard) another living creature. Almost no birds chirping. No dogs barking. No geckos geckoing. Maybe I have reached the end of the earth? I mean, I know we’re out here in the sticks, but I’d kill to spy a lizard or pink flamingo standing tall.

*The never-ending crash of waves and surf has a lulling effect on my psyche. For someone who enjoys relaxing/sleeping to white noise, it’s like my body now rejects any kind of productivity. It took 12 hours to write this, you know, between naps. (Also, I looked up if the area has ever had a tsunami nearby and what precautions to take. Safety first. You know what they say … never turn your back on the ocean.)

*Our Airbnb host has never rented out her place before. That was incredibly lucky find for us. Once it’s discovered, it will never be available again. Besides being 50 yards from the Caribbean Sea, it’s got every amenity known to man, except for water pressure. The bed is ridiculously comfy, but I’ve had to shower under a trickle for a few days now. I’d even swap out slower wifi for a power blast of scalding hot aqua.

Sightseeing is bountiful. (Those Mayans were a busy lot.) Restaurants near the village are plentiful. (The seafood is the catch of the day, which could be less than 30 minutes from sea to table.) But I’ll be damned if I can be bothered to do much of anything else but be as Zen as humanly possible. I think Beachcomber Benicio has the right idea … and then some.

Who’s with me?