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Our entry from Belize into Mexico was stress free, if a little intimidating (so many big guns and frowns!).
My first taste of Mexico was a sugar-coated ham and cheese fried pastry. Yep, it's as deliciously repulsive as it sounds.
Our bus took us straight to Playa del Carmen. Stepping out of the taxi and into a plaza containing Starbucks, Tommy Hilfiger, Nine West, Guess, and Gap was like remembering a dream, in which everything is similar and recognisable - homey, even - but something is just a little bit off and alien. Kind of like when you dream you go to school/work/an important event and halfway through realise you're entirely nekid. It was as shocking and shudder-inducing as that.
The beaches are some of the most beautiful I've ever seen; powder soft, almost snow white sand, clear turquoise water, gentle swells and not invaded by hotel and bar sun loungers (it's illegal, thank God). But that's about it. I'm ashamed to admit that we ate at Subway a lot (Sub of the day = M$20, average restaurant meal = M$200), but due to the large(ish) Israeli population we also had some fantastic (and cheap!) falafel pittas and mint lemonade.
After 2 days, we were mindlessly bored with Playa tourist life. Plus, my tan had reached an acceptable level of brownness. We left for Cancun, intending to head straight to Holxbox (pronounced Hol-bosh) island and bypass the city entirely. On the bus to Chiquila, from where you get a ferry across to Holbox, my handbag was stolen. Every traveller's nightmare. Passport, phone, wallet, little camera, makeup bag (trust me, it's important - nobody deserves the horror of my eyeliner-less face) were, in a second, all gone.
We arrived in Chiquila with no money, and no way of getting money (no ATM and my backup card hadn't been activated for travel abroad). Luckily for us, a taxi driver was heading back to Cancun to go home and gave us a hugely discounted rate for the 3.5 hour journey. Not only that, he took us to the police station and tried to get them to help (turned out we had to go to the tourist police on the other side of town) and told us what bus to catch to get there (he had to get home otherwise his wife would be angry at him for being late to dinner). Not having eaten since breakfast that morning, and arriving in Chiquila at 5pm, Moseos, the taxi driver, gave us food and drink and told us to sleep, because we looked exhausted (my eyeliner had been washed away in the brief tears I shed for my lost photos and passport stamps).
To cut a long story short: we filled out a police report, bought eyeliner, ate some serious comfort food (McDonalds; this time, I'm not ashamed) and booked ourselves in until Monday at a cheap hostel in Downtown until the embassy opened on Monday.
And, actually, things worked out well, as they tend to. We saw a side to Cancun that we didn't expect in the Parque de las Palapas, where everybody hangs out in the evening to watch local dance or music groups perform on the big stage, or let their young children drive electric cars into unsuspecting ankles, or eat from any of the various food stalls which all served the same Mexican basics (tacos, quesadillas, tortas, tostados, etc) at M$12 (US$1) per item. It's a fantastically lively and communal atmosphere (if you ignore the sad-faced clowns) every night, and it was exactly what I needed to wipe away the anger and distress that the Mexican bus bandit had caused.
The Xylophone Guys - two, long-faced men in matching colours - also did a lot to put a smile on mine - and everyone else's - face. Without emotion, without aplomb, but with great skill and timing, they xylophoned away all night, playing what I can only assume are the great hits of Mexico. I tipped them every night, just to have them play to me and reluctantly shake their hips to the beat of their own making. Brilliant.
The beaches, too, are most definitely noteworthy. Strolling through a 5* hotel in broken flipflops, carrying a ratty rucksack and a well-thumbed guidebook is unnerving, but as soon as you get through the lobby and back outside again, it's instantly forgotten.
The beaches were perfect: spotless sand and water so clear you can see your feet even when you're standing shoulder-height in the sea. Not only that, but the beaches are empty; everyone in their fancy hotel is lounging by the pool, rather than splashing in the sea.
Speaking of… We took advantage of the embassy being situated in a fancy-pants hotel and partook of the hotel pool. Hundreds of people lying by the pools (that´s right, plural), or swimming up to the bar, or playing a spot of volleyball (that actually looked really fun); meanwhile, the beach 50m beyond sits enticingly empty.
Feeling naughty, we swam in the pool, contemplated trying to wrangle a free drink at the bar, chickened out, swam in the sea, washed ourselves clean of salt and sand in the hotel showers, then sunbathed ourselves dry on their sunloungers. Such rebels.
We also went to the aquarium, which is located in a massive outdoor mall. Depressing for that reason alone, it only got worse. No interesting species, no information, a creepy documentary about "domesticating" sharks, and 6 dolphins in small, dirty tanks. Cancun aquarium: I am unimpressed and more than a little horrified.
This marked the end of our Cancun and east coast experience (for now). We said goodbye to the cashiers at the nearby Oxxo, who now recognised us and gave us friendly smiles and asked us how we were. We got on the bus to Chiquila, and nothing got stolen.
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