Cozumel, in all her glory

We left in the thick of the madrugada (daybreak). A bit tired and wiped out, but ready for sunshine and crashing blue waves.





I snapped this one from my view behind the wing. It's a volcano just outside of México City. Look at that smoke!









While Aaron was a bit under the weather, that didn't stop him maintaining his high level of travel fashion. You should have seen the crowd of slobbering women that surrounded him at the Cancún airport when they saw him in this outfit. It was all we could do to pack our things onto a bus leaving for Playa de Carmen, the port of exit to the island of Cozumel.




Ah Cozumel, island of sunshine and crystalline waters. Island of world-class snorkeling and diving. Island of...honestly, horrid wind, gray skies and really bad food. I should start by saying, it's not Cozumel's fault. It's not. It's not her fault that the worst weather of the year fell on the week that we would be there. It's not her fault that Hurricane Wilma virtually decimated the island in 2005, leaving in its wake a ruin of former luxury hotels and beaches strewn with sea refuse and tubing. It's not her fault that the high winds forced the harbor master to close down all boats leaving Cozumel, making snorkeling, swimming, or even just sitting out in what should have been sun, impossible. All boats were anchored; all boats were anchored, that is except for the island's ferry, shuttling people back and forth from the mainland daily.

Sarah, none to happy about the weather

This ferry deserves its own paragraph. Heck, it deserves its own novel, too--but I've got work to do; so the novel will have to wait. I've never, never been afraid of a boat before. In fact, I would venture to say that I've gone out of my way to ride ferries where available. Case in point, after 9/11 a ferry service opened between my distant Brooklyn neighborhood and the tip of Manhattan. It took me the same amount of time to get to work on the ferry as it did on the subway. I also added to that commute a brisk, and cold morning walk to the ferry slip. But I LOVED it. To ride above ground, dancing on the waves, watching the skyscrapers close in as the boat coasted north. It was grand! However, after 45 minutes on the ferry twixt Playa de Carmen and Cozumel, in 20 mph winds, I have to say I will take pause the next time a boat option is available for travel.

It's not that they preemptively pass out small, purple, barf bags at the start of the journey; it's not that the boat pitched on its side so severely that we appeared to be almost-capsized numerous times; it's not even that people are tossing their cookies all around you as you fiercely try to listen to your iPod, with eyes closed, thinking of the better times. It's that somewhere between the narrow gang plank we are forced to cross, set atop wheels, stretching and rolling between boat and dock, and the panicky guy yelling "GET US OUT OF HERE," that I felt my love for ferries change. Aaron, Sarah and I turn to each other, bags hoisted on our shoulders, a mother carrying her newborn baby across the narrow bridge, Aaron mumbling, "So first things first, when we get off this boat, let's look into flights directly off the island."

Once we realize that the weather is not bound to change, that there is little hope of swimming in aqua glass, our fingers flitting amongst the colorful fish and coral, a tan finally touching our pale skin--once we part from this fantasy, we decide to make arrangements to depart the island early, and whilst still there, to see a bit of the ruins that sit more inland.

Hopping into a beat-up Jeep Wrangler, we swerve and jut our way to the center of the island to a Mayan ruin called San Gervasio. Escaping the stuffy room, and the mediocre restaurant of our hotel, the moist air and wind revive our spirits. We trek down white Mayan roads, under crumbling arches, down into ancient wells where tree roots dip into the still present water source. We climb atop temples, we ponder on the mysteries of ancient rulers with names like Pakiloob Soorsoob (Aaron's favorite).

Once our tour of San Gervasio is complete, we pile pack into the Wrangler and take a spin around the island. The east side of the island is a long stretch of white beaches. It's open to the Caribbean Sea and its whims, so the waves tower above the heads of the few brave enough to stroll along the beach or its dark black coral. Periodically rain starts up, slowing our pace to a crawl. When we round the south end of the island, around Punta Celarain, each curve in the road opens to a private drive, leading to what we guess are various luxury, all-inclusive resorts where people need not leave the confines of their hotel for want of anything at all.

We discover a shuffle board-like game on the second floor of our hotel. Surrendering to our indoor fate, we play this and a myriad of card and dice games that Aaron has invented as a diversion. And on the morning of Day 3, we pack up our things and high-tail it to catch the tortuous ferry back to the mainland. Our next destination...Valladolid!