I arrived in Cancún, promptly bought an overnight bus ticket to Palenque, and accidentally left my watch in the bathroom where I changed out of the clothes in which I had spent the previous night at Logan Airport. In Palenque, I spent a day climbing over the ruins at the archeological site proper and another day on a tour of the absolutely striking waterfalls that dot the Chiapas landscape: Misol Ha, Agua Clara, and Agua Azul. Thanks to Pebbles for the tip!
That night, I boarded another bus and arrived in Mérida at 5 am the next day. I revised a draft of the third chapter of my dissertation in the UADY library and in one of my favorite coffee shops in the center (a tiny yellow cafe with 3 tables, right on the corner of 60 and ... maybe 51?).
After 2 days, I moved to Adán's house, my first CS host and the finest ambassador of the city. There I spent 4 days licking my wounds and drying my eyes; all the while, Adán graciously and hospitably entertained me with his hilarious friends, two couchsurfers deeply in love, and two ninja-dart-throwing, rowdy artists from his home state of Oaxaca. We said goodbye to the CSers after a few short hours of singing Lou Vega's bluesy remake of "I'm just a gigalo," in the honor of my last name, but the three Oaxacan boys kept me happily distracted. We cooked dinner for some old friends newly starting their university careers, went running in the park, and strolled the Malecón after touring the houses that Adán was selling in Progreso. At least my bad luck seems to have been his good financial stroke: he sold 3 houses and a car during the 4 days that I stayed with him, and he decided that I was a good luck charm. But my time in Mérida, the kindness of Adán and his friends notwithstanding, was not without a touch of sadness for me, as I had just the day before said goodbye to someone very dear to me. And so it was that I spent another couple of lovely, if bittersweet, weeks in Yucatán.
From Mérida, I took a day trip to Izamal, the "city of 3 cultures," and spent a quiet day in the main church, center of town, smaller capillas, and archeological sites. My bug-bitten self returned to Mérida newly sunburnt and looking like any other happy tourist. The next day I hopped a bus to Tulum, a once hippie beach turned eco-chic zone. They actually sell "maya clay" and charge for "sweat lodges." I was reminded of my YM classmate Mark Wright's comment from the summer: "If I had to describe myself in one word here, it would be 'moist.'" I laughed each time I passed the sign.
At Lobo Inn my first night, I met some súper fun, hard-drinking Aussie boys (doctors and scientists, the types to really know their poisons) who threw an impromptu dance party to the likes of Beyoncé and Pitbul when Crystal was asked by the management to put away her dj equipment for the night. I knew Mike, Nick, and Dan/Murphy were cool when they challenged each other to a chemistry trivia tournament.
The following day I lazily made my way to my next hostel, Maria Sabina & Happy Gecko, some 12 km away. I arrived covered in sweat and deeply appreciative of the delicious pizza margherita that I enjoyed on the beach that afternoon. That night, a bunch of us went to the beach to watch the stars. Upon returning to the hostel, we bathed in the cenote (no running water at the site) and sat around the campfire talking and drinking a deceptively strong concoction prepared by the owner, Gastón: aguardiente, Coca Cola, and something else that eludes me now. I went to bed early and slept like a rock.
On Saturday, I attached myself like a barnacle to Nadine from Boston and Tom from Baltimore, students presently at and recently graduated from Skidmore, my mom's alma mater. I earned my keep by doing the heavy lifting in Spanish. My English began to suffer after a few days, and by this point in the trip it was admittedly ugly. When Tom and Nadine also began to fudge our maternal tongue, I said I "contaigoned" them. And when none of us could properly say the word "contaminated," unfortunately without a trace of irony I uttered a sentence that I'll never live down: "Jaja -- y'all's English sucks, too!"
We spent the day in the Sian Ka'an biosphere reserve, taking in the sights at the mirador some 9 km into the site and bathing in the quick-moving currents of the inlet that leads to the Boca Paila lagoon. We had lunch on the bridge (the last of the previous day's pizza for me) before Tom changed a flat and we drove into town to have it repaired. The spare was touch and go to say the least, prompting the tire guys to laugh at us when we indicated that, undoubtedly like the previous driver, we were going to put air in it and return it to its resting place, pretending that we had never used it. We enjoyed some tasty licuados at la Michoacana (mango, banana, orange, and yogurt for me) before buying a whole chicken to eat back at Lobo Inn. Happy Gecko was great for camping, but the rain had knocked out the electricity, the running water had yet to be restored, and the bikes were all out of commission, so it was time to leave. That night we watched a football game so sad (Colts-Ravens, o sea New Colts vs. Old Colts) that not even a flaming banana could save it.
On Sunday, we parted ways: they, to Puerto Morelos to finish their dive course; me, on bicycle to Happy Gecko to pick up the clothes that I accidentally left behind and to drop off the tupperware container they accidentally took. I made an avocado sandwich and read more of Fernando Ortiz's study of la virgen de la caridad del cobre before returning home to shower. At night I ate my way into town, stopping for roadside tacos and sampling rose petal ice cream in the center. I ultimately collapsed into my bed having run 6 km in the morning, biked 25 km in the afternoon, and walked 7 km that night.
I had no real plans for my last day in Tulum, so I began with one last sunrise run to the ruins and the beach. When I returned to the hostel, I was greeted by a jolly group of guys smoking cigars. "¿Cómo amanecieron?" I saluted them. One asked me to explain the phrase, and from there we discovered that we had quite a bit in common. I was tipped off by his interest in my dissertation topic. Georg, an Austrian (Vienese) PhD student in philosophy, had recently spent a month in Cuba (wither the cigar). We spent the day on the beach and traveling to Cancún, as our flights were leaving the next morning within one hour of each other. Over tortas de atún (with black bean paste, avocado, lettuce, tomato and, in his case, cheese) and more ice cream (nuez for me), swimming in eyesight of the ruins and taking a lazy walk down the beach, we talked about romantic relationships, faith, doubt, the structure and tradition of organized religion, family, sexualities, gendered norms, Foucault, Hesse, university, teaching, his "A list" (things to do before he dies), brooding Europeans and happy New Worlders, what to take seriously and what to let go. Having just seen the end of yet another impossible relationship, I was happy to have the chance to ask all kinds of questions about men. Georg and I are very different people but we got along easily. It proved to be a fitting end, an appropriate encapsulation -- delightfully unexpected as it was -- to a trip whose near entirety could easily be classified as such.
I had spent a lot of time away from home of late, 4 months in Cuba and 2 in Mexico, but not a lot of it was dedicated to traveling proper. It was nice to be reminded of the moments both happy and sad, rich textures of experience all, that continue to grace my very fortunate life.
And here are some of the photos that I took.
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