*Cue heavenly bells*
We landed in Cancún early, which is only a blessing if a gate is ready for you. It's hard to sit still in anticipation of the paradise that awaits mere feet outside of the tin can that I flew in. As I write this, I'm recalling Michel Peissel's Lost World of Quintana Roo, and I wonder how he would have felt about this once lawless land overrun with tourists who got there in a mere three and a half hours.
I don't know about you, but I'm always nervous going through customs, even when I know I've done nothing wrong and have no contraband in me. My palms start to sweat a little, and I try to smile, but those muscles are weak from disuse, and I come off fairly suspicious instead.
I flew through two custom points, but the biggest challenge was up head: pushy taxi drivers.
Shouts of "Ay china!" and other attempts to stop me prove unfruitful for them, unnerving for me. Talk about personal space and breath mints man! My research told me that I had to catch the next bus into town, or else I'd miss my bus to Tulum. All the guides tell you to catch the ADO bus, but they neglect to tell you where! Pro tip: all the gates that say "Do Not Enter" outside of the terminal actually are in the way of the direction you are going, so you should go through them; no one is going to stop me.
It was like I hadn't gotten my land feet back yet, or worse, left my balls in my other bag. Where was fearless Vacation Kathy?
Pro Tip: as soon as you leave customs, in the room with all the rental and tour companies, there will be ADO bus kiosk directly in front of you. Don't be like me and breeze pass it, looking for a bathroom and then forget, and spend another 10 minutes feeling lost and looking like a total traveling noob.
I finally figured that I was at one end of the airport, and started walking towards the other side. My powers of speech and Spanish eventually came back and I dared asked one of the men with the rifles where I might find the bus. It was a bit anti-climatic when it rained on me after I got my ticket to town, but it was fine. 25 minute ride down, 2.5 hours left to go.
The Tulum ADO bus station at 4 PM, the day before New Year's Eve, is a total zoo. Again, my powers of deduction failed me as I got in the first line I saw. Luckily, my powers of observation slowly came back, and the first thing I noticed in my line was the distinct lack of backpacks.
I wear my pack with pride. For my two week trip, I packed all my clothes in a 40 L pack, with most of the space going to my snorkeling gear. I had 4, maybe 5 outfits, and looking back, I think I overpacked still. So when I see the line I should have been in, filled with people and their checked baggage only, I can't even begin to think what they have in there.
I realize now that a lot of my trip was spent at various ADO stations, trying to get a ticket, then waiting for the bus that might be early and leave without me. In this case, I had an hour to kill, and a stomach to fill. Sadly, Vacation Kathy still hadn't really shown up yet. I didn't venture more than a block, where I stupidly chose a quesadilla spot, and ended up ordering a quesadilla with no cheese, due to my pills being in the bottom of my big bag. WITH NO CHEESE!
The melodic yet fast paced cadence of the Spanish announcer who rattled off Mayan villages like they were for sale startled me with each dinging of the bell, until I just stood at the conductor's side, with my ticket angled towards him, so he could see "Tulum," and motion to me that yes, this was my bus.
My seat was partially taken over by a rotund beach ball of an abuela, who I had my first Yucatán history lesson from. My Spanish tongue floundered with disuse, but Abuela took me under her wing, and told me all about the lack of trains in the area, things to eat in Playa, and where I had to visit in Tulum. She made sure I had a place to stay for the night, and that I knew what direction I was going before she allowed us to part ways, with a hug and a kiss.
The bus had ended up being over an hour late. I had lied to Abuela in that I didn't know where I was going. I had a rough direction to what appeared to be the edge of town, and a barely working phone to contact my AirBnB host with. I figured I'd follow my stomach, get some dinner, and then maybe figure out a cab.
Serendipitously, my host was mere blocks from me. I didn't know what I was expecting, but a white haired Mayan woman in a baby blue VW bug from the 60's pulling up was not my expectation. I learned later that I wasn't either; I had texted her in Spanish that "Soy la chinita con dos mochilas." Apparently my nickname of "little Chinese girl" does not apply in Mexico, where "chinita" means curly haired one....
At the last row of houses in the last street of the last gated community at the very edge of Tulum was my AirBnb. That was going to be interesting. Warmed by a bowl of tortilla soup with fresh avocado, then chilled by the cold shower, I tucked myself under the sheet, before promptly throwing it off me in the sweltering heat. I fell into a vague sleep, my last thought of the snowfall that had just hit the Washington DC area that afternoon...
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