Haggle, Hunt, Sun, Sleep

We head out of Valladolid in the morning. Wandering over to the corner where collectivos taxis make their way for Cancún, we spot a group of taxistas popping a squat nearby. All six of them approach us about a ride. According to Sarah's guidebook the collectivo ride should cost us around 60 pesos apiece. They want to charge us 500. Yikes! We haggle a bit, but in the end only get them down to 450, with the promise to leave right away, and not pick up any other passengers.

I chat with our driver for a lot of the ride since I'm up front. He teaches me a bit of Mayan; I teach him the basic Triqui I know. We talk about the effects of hurricane Wilma on Valladolid and the surrounding areas. For several days there were no vehicles coming or going; all roads were flooded badly. The only way to receive food and potable water was through airdrops from helicopters. The driver then launches into a discussion on marriage--and why I am not married. LOVE this topic! I'm prepared, though, because almost everyone in México asks me this. It's quite a change though, since I just moved from NYC, where being single in your late 20s is utterly un-newsworthy.

As we depart the collectivo, I end up feeling a bit conned by our driver, who seemed very nice, but ultimately would not drive us directly into city center. Apparently there are zones in Cancún, and a taxi from one zone CANNOT enter another. I find that hard to believe. Though, perhaps it is a manner in which the city can employ more drivers, and bleed more money out of tourists. Who knows? So we cross a four-lane highway and flag down another taxi. Another thing we all notice is that it's much harder to haggle with people here. There is such an enormous demand (meaning, tourists with money and no judgement to ask for a lower price), that no driver need capitulate to a bunch of backpackers. He'll just driver four more blocks and pick up someone else from out of town more than happy to be overcharged.

Since my plane departs very early the following morning, I made arrangements from Cozumel to stay at a hotel in Cancún's downtown, with easy access to the airport. Sarah and Aaron jumped into the collectivo this morning with no plans, but an idea to stay in a resorty-type hotel in the Zona Hotelera, the thin strip of bright white sand that juts out from the coast. The major tourist season has just peaked. So we're banking that some rooms will have emptied up. My hotel, El Rey del Caribe, is cute and small ecological hotel. With solar-powered hot water, and electricity from wind power, it still manages to be the most comfortable bed I've slept in in months (including the one in my apartment in Oaxaca). Rooms ring the central fountains and pool that sit in the courtyards down below. The rooms are etched in Mayan on each door. So I learn the number 12 really fast out of necessity. I drop my bags in my room, change into beachwear, and follow Sarah and Aaron out the door.

We do a fairly quick hotel search on the strip. In the end, the pair decide on Hotel Lagunas Reina. Or was it Hotel Lagunas del Playa? No. It was Hotel Reina del Mar de Lagunas. Or something. I'm not sure we ever all knew the name of it. Aaron and Sarah rush to their room to drop their things and change clothes. Their hotel is on the lagoon side of the strip. Thus, we need to take a quick bus to a sister hotel that has ocean-side beach to get in some surf and sun.

I should also mention that our trip from Valladolid (2 hours), or trek to my hotel and our hunt for a hotel for Sarah and Aaron is all done on an empty stomach. So eating must be attended to first before any rolling-in-the-waves can happen. We eat from the all-inclusive resort's shitty buffet and then take the sands! So though the trek was long and somewhat-arduous we make it! Look crystal blue waters...!

...and my hair's wet from...SWIMMING!!!



And even though the sun was fading fast, I did get in a little of this...

So what's the verdict? 1) Playing in the surf is fun, even when the undertow is so severe that your suit gets ripped off sideways several times. 2) The drinks at an all-inclusive resort are not that watered down. 3) While many visitors go and return to Cancún and Cozumel...I don't think it's for me (or for Sarah and Aaron, I imagine). There's not much bang for your buck here. And the bang, frankly, isn't that interesting.

I say goodbye to my traveling mates, and leave them in their luxury hotel; you know how I know it was a luxury hotel? It had fancy wrapping on its toilets:

I hop a public bus for 6 pesos to my downtown pad. Crossing the street, I purchase my bus ticket to the airport; I've got to leave at 5:30a, so I purchase in advance in order to rise just a bit later tomorrow morning. I find my hotel all hushed up and quiet--just the trickle of a couple courtyard fountains, and the hum of distant traffic break the warm night air. I take a quick dip in the hotel pool. No on else is out, so I've got it all to myself. The inky blue pool glows from underwater lights, holding my floating self in the shadows. As I stare up at the night sky, I imagine from up above it must look like a human silhouette was cut out of the pool. It's unheated, so I have to break my float time to do some laps, and keep the circulation going. When I get out, my muscles are tired, my eyes still sting a bit from the ocean's salt. Time for a shower; gotta use that solar-powered hot water!

Tomorrow I will rise and board a plane for México City, and then on to Oaxaca. I'll fly in over Monte Albán, the late morning sun slanting over fields of corn. I'll be home. Oaxaca will feel like home; returning can transform a thing to become more familiar. Isn't that strange? It will feel good to be home.