The last night on Isla Mujeres was balmy and blessedly calmer than all of the preceding week. Spring-breakers are gone and now the island prepares for the onslaught of local tourists on Easter break. Young travelers – gypsy musicians who sleep on the beach and finance their stay with their music add to the mix of sounds and a little mystery. I’ve been told Guadalajara and Mexico City essentially experience an Exodus as people head out for vacation spots: i.e. the beach. The bottom line for beach communities is there is essentially no LOW season, so it is erroneous thinking to believe one can get a deal down here before the end of April or May and even then only June seems slow – or so I’m told. But last night evidenced a brief lull in activity and it was nice to wander the streets in relative calm.
For all its tourism and amenities, Mexico also experiences its challenges with infrastructure and resources: water goes out in hotels, as does power, but it’s all part of the mas-o-menos, manana vibe. If you’re on a tight schedule, you probably you probably don’t need to be here. Or wait! Maybe you DO need to be here -it’ll definitely readjust your internal clock. I’ll not get too comfortable with expecting things and it’s good to stay in a state of gratitude for what’s there.
Have had a very nice week: lots of walking from one end of the island to the other with a new friend, seeing rich and poor alike, the disparity stunning. Visited a turtle nursery where turtles are hatched and raised in tanks until they are big enough to be released to the ocean. Not sure that’s a good model, since I’ve met a group of turtle researchers and conservationists along the way. Turtles raised this way don’t have the opportunity to learn, imprint and reinforce instinct to know where to breed, feed, etc. Kind of like raising any wild animal in captivity then releasing them to fend for themselves in the wild.
In my usual pre-travel sleeplessness, I awoke at 4:40 AM remembering I needed to find my Sea-Bands (magical wrist bands that work on an acupressure point) to keep from tossing-my-cookies from motion sickness. Knowing I’d put them in a safe place, the challenge was to find the hiding place again! After unpacking every piece of clothing, books, cosmetics etc. – knowing I put them in a safe place because they are my travel lifeline – I couldn’t find the damn things. Hoping they would manifest before getting on the ferry, I went to breakfast and discovered I’d put them in the hidden pocket of my purse purchased for that very reason – the pocket was SO secrete even I forgot about it! Always being on the move, packing, unpacking, planning for the next contingency has a downside, but never fails to bring on a lesson or a gift: non-attachment, kindness to self, recognition that I have an inner personal-assistant (PA) who has usually taken care of something when I wasn’t looking. I don’t know why she puts up with me. This is why I need to stop moving around – the inner bitch (IB) and the personal assistant are getting a little testy and they need to go to separate rooms. Headed to Tulum next and had a hard time finding a place to stay. This doesn’t bode well for being a calm place… or for the IB and the PA to have some down time.
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| Tulum resident |
Hostel Sheck, my anticipated new home away from home, was another matter entirely and except for the obvious downside of marketing should have been named Hostel Shock. When I’d booked a private room with a shared bath, I had no idea I’d be sharing one toilet and three curtain-less showers with 15 other people. The receptionist must have registered the look of horror on my face, because the manager showed up within moments and volunteered to give me my deposit back and help me find another place. That is seldom done here – yet another stroke of luck. Luggage in tow, I checked into a place aptly called The Weary Traveler and didn’t give the extra cost any thought because it offered AC and a p-o-o-l. Never mind no hot water and barely a drip of a shower.
Almost instantly met a group of young people involved in turtle conservation and they invited me along on a trip to the ruins the next morning! This was worth the trip to Tulum, which otherwise is basically a town that grew up around tourism and has none of the charm of most of the cities I’ve visited. It doesn’t help that that it was 90+ degrees with 90% humidity, but the wind at the ruins and the spectacular views created a good distraction. The setting was truly breathtaking. The wind really whipped up the surf so I opted out of snorkeling later and regret not going. The next day was an exercise in frustration, waiting to leave, missing another snorkel opportunity – my own fault.
My love affair with blue water is almost directly proportional to my ability to walk along a beach with the surf tickling my toes, whether or not I actually get in the water. Thus far that has only happened once here – on Isla Mujeres. This experience is certainly different than it was being on a boat when I/we could just throw on some snorkel gear and slither of the side. Here one has to plan and pay for trips, get transport, intuit the system and endure heat that I didn’t seem to care about when I was twenty-something, thirty-something and surrounded by water. I still want to be near water, but it has to be a cooler coast. The roots of siesta are abundantly clear.
Spent the next day waiting for my turtle-friends (Courtney, Adam and Sam) to finish up with a meeting so I can go with them to find Bacalar. Since we delayed until almost 5 PM, it got too late for me to strike out on my own and have any hope of finding the hostel in the dark. We finally arrived at about 10 pm and I was thrilled to find my room waiting and the shared bathroom (only one other woman) clean, with a hot shower and great water pressure. Courtney cooked rice and veggies for the volunteers they collected in Tulum and invited me to join them. I hungrily accepted. Tomorrow we’ll see what Bacalar looks like in the daylight and check out the possibility of renting an apartment.
The place I’m staying is called Patas de Perro (legs of the dog), colloquial for someone who is always on the move. We were greeted by two resident Perros and there are dog-prints painted on the walls, leading the way to the rooms. I think I’ll like it here…