Profile
Blog
Photos
Videos
Lots of people told us that Hopkins was paradise. A little slice of beachy heaven. I disagreed when I got there. It wasn't. Or, at least, it's a very subjective paradise.
Holbox, however, is a much more universal paradise. It has the long, clear beaches that Hopkins lacked, an active and communal vibe that started in our hostel and spread to the centre square and even to the posher hotels on the beach. There are whale sharks to be seen (although not now; it's out of season) and flamingoes (so many pink flamingoes!), as well as an army of fluffy dogs who lie in the middle of the streets until someone comes along and plays with them.
After an initial warning that there was a potential hurricane heading our way (it diverted and downgraded to a tropical depression, poor Jerry) and a burst of gale-force wind and torrential rain that lasted all night and flooded every clay street on the island, Holbox did what all tropical islands do; it sat there under a scorching sun with not even a breeze to ruffle the palm trees, and life carried on.
Ida y Vuelta was the name of our hostel, and it was made up of wooden cabins and hammocks, run by an Italian family (Sasha and her husband) who are lovelier than words can say, as well as an Italian cook, with fantastic taste in music (Judith Garland to jazz fusion to Tchaikovsky) and a Dutch couple who compete in triathlons throughout the world and just want to travel and meet new people and have fun. They came for a week and stayed for 9 months. After 4 days it felt genuinely difficult saying goodbye to people who had so quickly become like close friends.
4 days of relaxing in Holbox reinvigorated us, enough so that we planned our next 3 days as a torrent of activity and travel due to time restrictions caused by pesky bus theives and emergency passports.
We headed to Tulum. The ruins here are spectacular for a lot of reasons. Firstly, they're Mayan, so they're really old. Secondly, they're Mayan, so the architecture is fascinating and intricately designed, and even now, after hundreds of years, you can still discern patterns and features of gods and warriors and animals on the stones. Thirdly, the ruins are placed on the edge of a jungle clifftop overlooking the crystal blue sea, so the colours and the landscape are so unutterably awesome that it's hard to believe you're not looking at a very filtered photograph.
With only a day in Tulum, we quickly went to rent bicycles in the heat of the midday sun, as most sensible people are wont to do. A few kilometres later we found ourselves at one of the many cenotes in Tulum that we´d heard so much about. Disappointingly, this was a little one, in the backgarden of an overly-keen family man who charged us M$70 to swim in bat-ridden cave pool under the watchful eyes of his young children and a fluffy dog. I'm not going to lie, the bats were great. The water, though, was bordering on stagnant and, given the bats, probably riddled with disease. In retrospect, we should have downed a bottle of water each, an energy drink and some sugar, then carried on to the Gran Cenote a few km further on. After a day of walking and cycling in 30+ heat, however, we just couldn't be arsed.
It was in Tulum that we experienced the world's best Mexican food. Tostadas (toasted tortillas) con pastor (BBQ'd kebab meat, but good, not I'm-pished-and-need-something-greasy), topped with avocado, and then you help yourself to salsas, salads and lime. For me, tacos con tortillas de harina (these are flour tortillas; typically, tortillas are made from maize, and, in my opinion, it's a bit yucky) con pollo (chicken cooked in some kind of marinade), with the same self-service. Such simple, simple food, but so fantastic we kept going back for more, and cheap (hence the being able to go back for more).
Boarding a bus to Valladolid later that night, we looked forward to a cold shower, long sleep, and Chichen Itza the next day.
It is easy to understand why Chichen Itza is one of the 7 wonders of the modern world. Not only is it the impressive central pyramid that makes it world-renowned, but also the scale and cultural history of the ancient town. Ceremonial platforms, political temples for visiting dignitaries (I guess other Mayan tribal elites, and maybe the occasional conquistador), market squares, wells, cenotes, and even a Ball Game court combine to realise Chichen Itza as something understandable and perceivable. A lot of ancient history is so difficult to picture or imagine, yet walking around here you felt you were able to really see and feel what might have happened a millenium ago.
That is, until the hundreds of tour groups and school children arrive. Then the sounds of the jungle, the peace and stillness of the structures and surroundings, and any sense of history is eradicated in a multitude of voices and languages, pushy photographers, screaming kids, and hawkers yelling prices at you. Then, it's time to leave Chichen Itza and your imaginings behind.
After 3 days of rapid and intense travelling and sight-seeing, we decided to treat ourselves to a 16 hour night bus to San Cristobal.
Ha!
20 hours of loud trance music from the driver (keeping himself awake, as well as the rest of us), 5 films in Spanish, including Tinkerbell (much to the delight of Mike) and 5 hours of speeding up and down and up and down windy mountain roads, and we arrived in San Cristobal in the pouring rain.
Then, I left my bag in the taxi.
I know. I can hear you. "Oh, Emily!" my friends will exclaim sympathetically (or else). "That was moronic, wasn't it" my family will say. Yes. It was. We stood for 3 hours in alternating rain and sun at the taxi rank, chatting with incredibly helpful taxi drivers who took it upon themselves to ring around their colleagues, asking if anyone had left a bag in their car, as well as searching every taxi for the driver we'd described, writing down my details in the log book for the next shift of drivers to see, and telling all those who relieved them of their shift.
Something that I'll never get over when travelling, and which far outweighs the bad over the good (this is the first time in 6 years of travelling and dozens of countries that I've ever had anything stolen, or left anything valuable somewhere), is the kindness of strangers.
Sappy, I know. But true. And the next morning, at 8am, who knocked on our hostel door but the taxi driver with my rucksack in hand.
So our start to San Cristobal was less than ideal. Luckily, after a terrible night's sleep (stress and PTSD from the bus ride the night before) the cafe culture of San Cristobal perked us right up. That, and the fact that it's 10 degrees cooler. We explored the coffee museum (a few dodgy mannequins and some info cards) and chocolate museum (much more interesting), and sampled some of the local Chiapas chocolate drinks. Forget McDonald's for comfort food; endorphins and pura vida can be found at the very first sip of Mayan-style hot chocolate, fresh from the local cacao trees.
The colonial architecture of the city makes it perfect for roaming, and the fact that it's nestled in a valley and surrounded by densely green hills and mountains means that no matter what direction you walk in, you have a postcard view of the Mexican highlands.
There are also some big cathedrals and churches in San Cristobal, decorated up to the 9s on the outside, and probably on the inside too, but Mike and I aren't big church-goers, in any sense of the word, so we left them to our imagination and grabbed a coffee instead.
Amber is also a big product of Chiapas (cocoa and coffee being the other two), and the amber museum was brilliant, especially for a geophysicist and jewellery fiend (the first one is Mike, the second one is me. It should be obvious, but I've seen samples of Mike's singular style of accessorising).
We stayed in a fantastic hostel called Hostel Dakota. It's 3 bedrooms and run by a family, Arturo and Erika plus their 2 kids. There are giant colourful, patterned pigeons (you have to see them to believe them), jaguars, bright blankets and maps everywhere. They also called the taxi company and went down to the taxi rank themselves to help in the search for my bag, because they said they had a spare afternoon. Truly lovely people.
As unlucky as I've been in Mexico (read: stupid), our time here has certainly passed with a friendlier and safer feel than I originally anticipated. Whether it's sitting up front with taxi drivers while they let you butcher their native tongue in ramblings about rain and heat and English football, or getting shooed off a sun lounger we didn't pay for only to end up swapping life stories with the young waitress who actually only wanted to know our names, but was told to get money from us by her boss (understandably), the Mexico that we've seen has been welcoming and, as I mentioned, patient with our bumbling attempts at Spanish.
- comments