Be careful: Veracruz is intoxicating. Scantily clad, she adorns herself in sea shells, permeates car exhaust and casually testifies her sordid colonial past.
She’ll gladly share her last taco with you and just as gladly take your last peso. Usually you’ll find her swiveling to salsa, boozing, or laughing at her own joke.
She gives her inhabitants, the ever-proud and doggedly faithful jarochos, a place to fall in love on her sweltering shores saturated with mariachis, seaside cafés, trova, and explosive sunsets.
And for the broken-hearted, she offers miles of coastline boulevard for solitary rambling – save during her raucous Carnaval, which rocks Mexico.
Whatever the case may be,
Veracruz, both regal and trashy, could make even the most stoic bloke wax poetic.
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