It takes seven-and-a-half grueling and winding hours to arrive at my favorite hotel in the mountains on the outskirts of Oaxaca City. It’s worth it, though. I kiss the owner on the cheek and somehow muster the strength to crack a smile. He hands me a joint, filled with cannabis almost as thick as my thumb. It’s a ritual we have developed over the years, and I’m grateful to be in Zipolite for the third Annual Nudist Festival, where there is no need to hide.