Yucatán Adventure: Akumal

I just finished reading the Lost World of Quintana Roo by explorer Michel Peissel. He wrote about walking for 40 days from Akumal to Belize. I remember nearly dying embarking on a 30 minute walk from Akumal to Yal-ku! Oh, but to see what he saw the way it was back then, completely wild... If you have ever been, or plan on going to Cancún, and have the slightest interest in history and travel books, this is a must read.

Kelsey and I made it to Akumal with no issues that morning. She had a very easygoing personality, and didn't mind that I took charge, due to my superior Spanish skills and my overall domineering attitude. To be fair, I do come with a warning label! It's a default setting now, for me to explain my morning bitch face (again, so sorry, Kara; I never knew that my face was like that in the morning). Then I mention the resting bitch face which is what my face is on the rest of the day, and my walking speed. And I'm pretty clear that if you can't keep up, I won't hesitate to leave you on the side of the road, stranger I just met!

One thing I dislike about heavily trafficked area is the people who are waiting to interact with us. Everyone just wants something from you: the time, your time, your money, your soul. The first person we met, who waited for us at the colectivo stop was an older white lady, dressed in a long sleeve shirt and skirt. As we walked by her she calls out to us, and I answer, thinking she's lost and just looking for her resort.

Nope. The only person who is lost is apparently me, but Jesus Christ can find me, if I would just let him in.

The second, third, fourth, and every other man we encountered in the short 5 minute walk into the bay entrance was trying to sell us a tour, rent us life jackets and snorkel gear. I thought I was adequately versed in sorting the scams and the bald faced lies, but it was easier to just give in versus argue. Plus, I didn't want to be dragged out of the water by one of the military guys with the big guns.

I rented the damn life jacket, we stored our items, and ran out into the bay. We made it there by 10 am, which was still later than I wanted, but there weren't too many large groups at that time, and the color of the sky didn't concern me; we were already going to be wet.

Ak in Mayan means turtle. They come to this beach to lay their eggs, though I'm not sure anymore; too many people sitting on that beach. The last thing I would what to do is leave my progeny on a beach with all those tourists.

So, yeah, I saw a few turtles.

There's no touching allowed. I assume the life jacket "law" was put in place because too many people who couldn't swim kept drowning, or people kept wanting to get close to them. The big one up top I didn't even use zoom on, because (I couldn't figure out how to do it underwater) they are that big!!

It was my first time snorkeling. The act itself, not that amazing. I do think water visibility had something to do with it. As much as I fancy myself to be a potential photographer (despite the lack of fancy camera or any education), I started leaving a lot of the photography to my travel companions, and just asked that they send it to me. I just wanted to focus on swimming with the turtles.

Turtle, turtle!

By the time we surfaced for a much needed fresh water rinse for our mouths, the beach crowd had doubled; a tour of 15 walked passed us every 30 seconds. I can't imagine there are that many turtles in the bay.

An energizing meal of shrimp tacos kicked off the second half of our day: Yal-Ku Lagoon. A mere 1.5 miles north of Akumal seems like a daunting length in the heat. Despite the rain storms that littered the morning, and a bit while we snorkeled, the humidity hung around us like a creepy dude at the bar: unwanted, made our skin crawl, and wouldn't go away despite the dirty glares and covering up our ta-tas...

Luckily for me, my accidental hitchhiking that morning left me feeling kinda ballsy. Not 5 minutes into our walk, I heard American English. It's so distinctively... loud. A man  in a golf cart pulled out of the driveway behind us, and as he passes us by, it just slips out: "Hey, can you give us a ride?"

With no hesitation, the man stopped, and we hopped on! Can't remember his name, but did connect with him over the fact that he's from Springfield, Virginia, and I know where that is! Oh, geography.

The amiable Virginian man was more than happy to drive us all the way to Yal-ku, a once hidden snorkeling spot filled with tropical fish, and was connected to a cenote. Sadly, since the rise of tourism, mainly Americans, caused a fence and a ticket booth to be built in front of it. I know it's the Americans, because everything was listed in USD. I guess they assume the travelers there are too lazy to bother with pesos?

The water was an interesting temperature where the fresh water mixed with the salty ocean. It also caused visibility issues as well. By then, my $11.99 universal underwater camera pouch was bugging me, and bugging out.

Our hunger had been sated, our skin was getting pruney, and both our batteries were dead. We decided on a slow swim back to the dock, when we were mesmerized by shiny things. Later, we would learn that these majestic creatures were rainbow parrotfish. We starred in wonder for what felt like hours, with the sunlight bouncing off their blue and green dental scales. They positively glowed when they tried to hide in the deep crevasses of the rocks.

I know, pictures or it didn't happen. But I'm almost glad I get to keep this memory to myself.

We slept on the beach for the rest of sunlight before heading back to Tulum to gear up for the evening. Despite our sheer exhaustion, it was still New Year's Eve. And, someone was turning 30 at midnight...

Yucatan Adventure: Getting in Cars with Strangers

I didn't sleep much my first night in Tulum. Some people, like my sister, love that oppressive heat layering on top of you like a hot summer night. Too bad the humidity feels more like a wet armpit hug, which happens to me far too often, being only 5'2". I tossed and turned and woke to the relentless tropical storm which had followed me. It's the curse of my birthday; no matter where I am, it will always rain on my birthday. I drifted in and and out, praying for a small reprieve in the morning, so that I could swim with turtles in Akumal Bay.

I thought a loud storm klaxonned me awake, but it was really just my señora making a smoothie. At 6:30 in the morning. But okay. I dressed for the beach, slung my snorkel gear over my head, and readied myself for morning politesse, only to be greeted by the small Mayan woman who has breakfast waiting for me at the table, and was in the process of squeezing fresh grapefruit juice for me.

Maria, my AirBnb hostess, was a short Mayan woman of indeterminable older age. She had a grown son who looked to be in his 40's, due to perhaps extreme sun and drugs, but also had a daughter who looked to be 13 (I find out later that she was 19).Her naturally tanned skin contrasted with her spotless all white outfits, which while reminiscent of the traditional huipiles of Mayan women, had more of the hippy beach vibe instead. Her startling bright white hair hung in a single plait down her back as she moved silently throughout the kitchen, bringing me two more beverages.

The blender had been going on for me. She roasts her own cacao, and makes a breakfast shake of cacao, oats, and almonds, sweetened with a piloncillo simple syrup she made, and has ready in a jar in the fridge. A bowl of cut guava and bananas, along with a stack of toasted homemade whole wheat bread, I received a cup of tea, the breakfast shake, and the aforementioned grapefruit juice.

As excited as I was to see this spread, my plans for breakfast tacos were dashed. It's okay, I wasn't too bummed, if you couldn't tell. I will say this, American grapefruits suck. We clearly have not been importing the right ones. This juice tasted like it smells, which is what always threw me off about grapefruits; intoxicating smell, disgusting bitter taste.

So if you've been to Tulum, and stayed in Tulum Pueblo, which is the village, and not the beach, you will know there's not much there. Where I chose to stay, well, let's just say it's still got a few more years before this part becomes a real part of town. Regardless, when I booked it, I thought, well, a 30 minute walk, isn't that bad. I forgot to add the 90 degree heat, the thunderstorms, the dark, and lack of street lights.

So in the Yucatán, there are collective mini-vans that go from A to B with certain stops. They either complement, or replace the local bus system. I understood the basics, that so long as I stood on the side of the road, any driver in a white van with room would slow down for and stop for you. You told the driver your destination, took your seat, and prayed that he would remember you and stop. At the stop, you pay the amount he said, and off you went.*

I can never get my lefts and rights down in any language, and despite having GPS on my phone, I couldn't make it the 200 feet to my colectivo stop that my señora told me was just outside her house at the roundabout. Soaked through after walking not 3 minutes out of the gates, I saw a white van round the corner from where I was coming from. Stupid me, thought I had already made the right and the left I needed to, and assumed this was the colectivo van. I steeled my nerves, and flagged the van down.

Let's just say this was not a colectivo van. This was just a white van. Who pulled over for me. And beckoned me to get in.

That's right, a man in a white van pulled up besides me and I got in.

I think I was too full from breakfast to ask him if he had any candy for me.

Juan was not a colectivo driver. I realized this when he turned left instead of right. I mean, after I replayed our conversation, and he waved me off when I asked how much was the fare into town was. And after he said he needed pick up his "friend" first.

Briefly, I heard my mother yelling in my head. "This is exactly what I thought would happen to you! I knew this was how you would get killed!!!"

But my spidey sense did not tingle. The rain had stopped, and he was driving slow enough that I was confident I could jump out of the moving van if I needed to. So, I just decided to go along for the ride.

We picked up the friend, who wasn't as taken aback that a random chinita was siting in the back as I still was that I'm in a random van with now two strange men. We finally made that right, into the direction that Google told me was the main road (oh thank goodness for Google and GPS), when Juan had to make a U-turn. Another slight heart palpitation occurred as he got out of the van, and opened my door to reach for me....

Well, reach for the bag of clothes on for floor by my feet, because we were at his laundry guy's place, and he wanted to drop off his clothes.

By this time, I know where we are, and I know he's heading in the direction I need to him to, and he just smiled so sweetly and apologetically about the minor pit stop to drop off his laundry, all fears had left me and I started to enjoy my first time accidentally hitchhiking.

I got out earlier than I intended, after seeing my bank on the main road. I thanked the kind man who picked me up on the side of the road with no questions, and wished him a happy new year.

The sun came out and I didn't get murdered after accidentally hitchhiking. But let's not tell my mom about the hitchhiking, okay?

I was early for my 9 AM meeting with another stranger, Kelsey. Kelsey the Canadian Couch Surfer, who also posted she was going to be Tulum on New Years' Eve, and was traveling by herself. Kelsey, who actually got stranded at Dulles, and was 20 minutes from my location in Virginia the day before, so it was almost like our paths were meant to cross. Kelsey, the girl I suspected was going to be late, who ended up being late, and whose lateness nearly gave me a heart attack 2 weeks later in Mérida. Yes, now you know Kelsey as well as I do.

There's not much more to our initial meeting other than the fact that yes, she was late, but my willingness to wait 15 minutes for me, and her ability to be ready in 15 minutes changed the course of my trip.

Boarding the actual colectivo was nowhere near as exciting the hour that lead up to it. I followed the advice on the road. I looked for a white van, which wouldn't you know, says "Colectivo" on it, waved my hand, and it magically stopped for us. And off we went to Akumal.

Here's a preview of one of my new friends. No, this isn't Kelsey.

Just keep swimming!

*Advice about fares, bargaining, and the whole system are abundant on the internet, and I'll blog a how-to once I commit the memories down. If you are curious though, from Tulum to Akumal was 35 pesos, which is about a 25 minute ride, and came out to $1.50 USD.