To Pay or Not to Pay (in Pesos): That Is the Question

With high season in Puerto Vallarta fast approaching, it seems high time to address one of the great philosophical dilemmas of modern travel. One that rivals Hamlet’s own existential musings.

To pay, or not to pay (in pesos).

That is the question.

Whether ’tis nobler to reach for the crisp U.S. twenty lurking in one’s wallet, or to suffer the minor inconvenience of withdrawing local currency from an ATM.

Aye! There’s the rub.

Because while Shakespeare’s tragic Dane may have wrestled with life and death, the average beachside traveller wrestles with exchange rates and cocktail tabs.

Yet both, in their own way, reveal the human condition.

And though our stage today is Mexico, this small moral play performs itself in every corner of the globe. The same rule applies wherever you roam. Pay in the local currency. It’s simple respect in paper form. But as we’re in Mexico, let’s use that as our guide.

Every high season along the coasts of Mexico, the scene repeats itself. Sunburnt travellers order fish tacos and icy cervezas, then, when the bill arrives, they pull out U.S. (or another country’s) bills as though they’re a universal key to commerce and goodwill.

And sure, the server smiles politely. The bartender nods graciously. The shopkeeper shrugs and accepts. But beneath those smiles lies a truth as salty as the sea breeze.

They do mind. They just won’t tell you that, because they’d rather get something than nothing.

Let’s gently dismantle the comforting fiction that “they don’t mind.” They mind. Oh, how they mind.

They mind because when you pay in dollars, they have to do the mental gymnastics of conversion, often at a disadvantage. They mind because when they take your $20 bill, they know the bank will shave off a few pesos when they exchange it. They mind because the pesos they get back might not even cover the full cost of what you’ve just bought.

It’s not personal. It’s maths.

The only reason they don’t say anything is because tourism is their livelihood, and politeness is their professional armour. Hospitality often means swallowing small frustrations with a smile and a “no problemo,” which really translates to a gentle, unspoken, “It’s fine… this time.”

There’s a hidden hassle that travellers rarely see. Those crumpled U.S. bills don’t simply vanish into a till and magically transform into pesos. Someone. often the waiter, shop owner, or market vendor, has to take time off work to carry them to an exchange office, wait in line, and pay a fee. Banks don’t always accept small amounts, and exchange houses give less than the official rate.

Imagine having to do that after every shift, just to get the money you’ve earned into a form you can actually spend.

And remember, Mexico’s economy runs on pesos. Rent, groceries, utilities, school fees, it’s all in pesos. So when you pay in dollars, you’re giving them extra work and less value.

And when you flip the sombrero, you’d mind too.

Imagine you own a coffee shop in, say, Manchester or Milwaukee or Manitoba. A cheerful tourist strolls in, orders a latte, and then proudly hands you 200 pesos. “That’s enough, right?” they say.

Would you smile, nod, and figure out the day’s exchange rate later? No, you wouldn’t. You’d laugh, apologise, and (hopefully) kindly say, “Sorry, we only take local currency.”

So why do we expect Mexican shopkeepers to deal with that same awkwardness every single day? If it wouldn’t fly at your neighbourhood café, why should it fly at someone’s taquería by the beach?

“But my dollars are worth more!!”

Ah yes, the classic defence. The valiant cry of the holidaymaker clutching greenbacks like buried treasure.

That may be true when your currency is strong, but it’s also beside the point.

Local prices aren’t based on the dollar or the currency of any other country. They’re based on the peso. When you hand over foreign cash, you’re transferring the burden of conversion (and the loss) onto the person serving you.

And those “better rates” you think you’re getting? Rarely so. Most businesses that accept dollars use a conservative exchange rate, often several pesos less per dollar than the official rate, to protect themselves from fluctuation and fees.

So you might think you’re being generous with that twenty, but by the time it’s converted, it may only be worth sixteen. A little generosity, it turns out, can be quite the bargain. But only for you.

One of the best parts of travel is participating in local life. So when in Mexico, do as the Mexicans do! Learn how things work, embrace new rhythms, and step (at least briefly) into someone else’s world. Using pesos is part of that experience.

It’s not just about economics, it’s also a gesture of respect. It says, “I’ve taken the time to be here properly.” And that, in turn, makes every interaction smoother, fairer, and more human.

Plus, you’ll start to think in pesos, which is a small but satisfying victory for any traveller. You’ll begin to understand what things really cost, to see what’s reasonable, and to appreciate when something’s a genuine bargain.

That kind of awareness deepens your trip far more than any discount ever could.

It’s easier than you think to get pesos while here. Mexico has ATMs everywhere, from airports to banks to Oxxo convenience stores (although I’d stick with the banks), and they generally offer better rates than exchange kiosks back home.

The trick? Decline the ATM’s offer to “convert to USD.” That’s a sneaky way to charge extra. Always choose “withdraw in pesos,” and let your home bank handle the conversion.

And stock up on small notes, as they’re handy for taxis, tips, and markets. Do this once at the start of your trip and you’ll avoid countless awkward “Sorry, I only have a twenty” moments later.

Behind every smiling vendor, every waiter balancing a tray of drinks, and every artisan at a market stall, there’s someone working hard to support a family.

They don’t want to haggle over exchange rates. They just want to sell you something wonderful and get on with their day. Paying in pesos honours their time, their effort, and their system. It keeps things fair, simple, and local.

And that matters, because the pesos you spend ripple outward to the baker who makes the pan dulce, to the taxi driver who’s up before dawn, and to the families who keep this beautiful country humming.

So, dear traveller, as you prepare for your winter escape to Puerto Vallarta, tuck this one truth into your beach bag along with your sunscreen.

Always pay in pesos, because it’s the right thing to do.

Because every time you hand over pesos instead of dollars, you’re saying, “I respect where I am.” You’re joining the rhythm of the place instead of standing just outside it.

And while this little tale unfolds in Mexico, the moral is global. Whether you find yourself in Marrakesh, Madrid, or Manila, the principle holds. Pay as the locals pay, and you’ll be welcomed as more than just a visitor.

In the grand play of travel, the market haggles, the seaside meals, the laughter, and the learning, that’s what it’s all about.

So when the cheque arrives and your hand hovers over your wallet, remember our opening question.

To pay, or not to pay (in pesos)?

The answer is as clear as a Vallarta sunset.

Pesos. Always in pesos.