Our First Yucatan Trip

[northern boy]

This is an old write up of our first trip to the Yucatan together (Dallas and Paul). It was first composed for a travel agent here in town who wanted other clients to hear first hand about winging it. Actually, I thought this file was long gone and just recently found it when looking through old backup disc I made when changing computers a few years ago.



Background

I am not what you would call well traveled but have been to a few out of country destinations: Florida, Mexico (twice), Cuba, Bahamas, Dominican Republic, Hawaii, Egypt. Five star accommodations were normal until Egypt. There, it was a small group, local hotels (sometimes) or sleeping under the stars in the eastern Sahara. I guess that is where I picked up the bug to see those sights that are off the beaten track. I wanted to try this on my own. Dallas had been to Florida, Hong Kong, Thailand and Australia twice but never to Mexico.

Canoeing has been my passion for many years so I am used to living out of a pack. Experience has taught me that even the smallest creature comfort can add pleasantness to bleak surroundings. Good quality gear and clothing I have in plenty.

As it turned out this trip was almost a no brainer. I think anyone with a bit of a sense of adventure could do this type of trip. My Spanish is limited but help is available almost everywhere. A few words, even hand signs will work. We never met an unfriendly person.

General

Get a good guidebook!! I cannot emphasize this enough. They may seem expensive but are well worth the price ($35C). We used Lets Go! but there are many others, the best known is probably Lonely Planet. There are more hints, places to see, cheap lodging and restaurants than could possibly be used.

Although these books are written primarily for students and others who want to travel “on the cheap”, that was not the purpose of this trip. We wanted to see and experience different things. It may not be suitable for everyone.

After reading in the guidebook about various places we decided on a rough itinerary. It was not cast in stone; we would make up our minds when we arrived. We photocopied the Yucatan peninsula area from a CAA road map of Mexico, enlarging until it fit an 8-1/2 x 11 piece of paper. The detail was very good. Two copies were plastic laminated to survive the trip. We used one and kept the other, as a spare, at the bottom of the larger pack.

All of our documents were copied. Front page of passport, drivers license, tickets, health insurance and more. These were folded inside a zip-lock bag and went with the spare map at the bottom of the pack. All of our original documentation was carried in a travel wallet in the small pack.

Packing

Note: Everything we took and wore is outdoor gear that we already had.

Two of my canoe packs, one small, one medium. That was it. If it didn’t fit in, it didn’t go. Quick dry nylon pants (one with zip off legs to make another pair of shorts), shorts, tee shirts, long sleeved shirt, bathing suit, lots of underwear and socks, fleece jacket, Tilley hat, running shoes and sandals. That was it for clothes. Dallas had a skirt and many more tops. She also brought a wrap type skirt that could quickly cover up shorts and bare legs. We didn’t know what would, or would not offend some of the locals in the smaller villages.

Most of the clothes and all the spare shoes went into the larger pack. The small one would be our “day pack” carrying anything we would need for that particular day. The exception was for the flight. The small one was also our only carry on luggage so we each crammed in an extra pair of shorts, socks and underwear. I have done this for years unnecessarily, until Egypt. My large pack was delayed in Paris so I had to live for two days with my carry on. We would repack as needed in Mexico. I find that everything usually ends up where it wants to anyway, no matter how carefully it is packed at home.

Plastic bags are handy. Heavy LCBO bags for the shoes inside the pack, grocery bags for dirty clothes and a few large green garbage bags to throw over the packs if we were caught outside in the rain.

Odds and Ends

Leatherman multi tool, collapsible candle lantern, two mini-mag flashlights, padlock, sunblock, insect repellent, reading glasses, journal, camera, film, toilet kit, lighters, package of wet wipes and five rolls of toilet paper.

First Aid Kit

Not knowing what to expect, I took along an abbreviated version of what I carry on canoe expeditions: Band aids, Q-tips, polysporin, Tums, gauze, adhesive tape, a few safety pins, Tylenol, Lomotil (anti-diarrhea) and a sewing kit.

Money

At the time of this trip, a Canadian dollar could be exchanged for 5.5 Mexican pesos. We took American dollars because they are accepted almost everywhere as tender. Travelers cheques can be cashed at most stores and all banks. The best rate of exchange is at banks. Kiosk exchanges and ATM’s are scattered about the larger centers. The guidebook had stated that ATM’s do not recognize PIN numbers over four digits or savings accounts. Unless specified otherwise, all recorded costs are in Mexican pesos.

Taxis

Ask what the fare will be before getting in the cab. If you feel it is too much, tell the driver and try a lower price.

Day One

Staying at the Travelodge on Dixon Road, we get our wakeup call at 3:30 AM and are at the front desk at 4:10, then shuttle to Terminal 3 for 5:00.
Note: As Dallas will be attending a conference after I leave, she has a large piece of luggage that we do not want to carry around for a week. What we are going to do with it is still undecided.
The luggage is checked; we get our boarding passes and head for security right away. Our corkscrew is confiscated at the X-ray machine. Unknown to us, it had a small folding blade (3/4” long) for cutting the cork wrapping.
We begin an uneventful flight, on time, at 6:30 AM. After a good breakfast, served with a very sharp and long bladed knife, Dallas and I meet in the aisle (we are not sitting together) and organize the small pack.
After landing and clearing customs we wander outside and get that first experience of a different land. The smell. Sub tropical jungle on three sides and the ocean on the other surround Cancun. The smell is not unpleasant; musty with ocean salt in the background. Weather is hot and sunny at 10:00 AM.
We still have that damn bag for Dallas’s conference and decide to take a shuttle to the Fiesta Americana Hotel and check it in. This was good fortune. The concierge who checked the bag spoke perfect English and went out of her way to help us. She told us what bus to wait for in front of the hotel (R1, $5), produced a map of the city and sketched in where the main bus station was located. Even the bus driver helped, waving his arm in the direction we needed and yelling “autoboos staatioon”.
Puerto Morelos (porto more-el-ose) was our first destination, about 40K south of Cancun. There was no time to eat lunch as the bus was leaving ten minutes after we bought the tickets ($12 each). It was surprising how many backpackers were at the bus station, mostly younger people.
The bus was old, clean and comfortable. Looking out the window we see many new, modern buildings with familiar North American signs: Pepsi, Ford, Mercedes Benz, Evian and more. Mexico has grown up since my last visit. Old, ramshackle buildings still abound. Dense green tropical forest lined both sides of the highway, encroaching on the meagre shoulders.
After only forty-five minutes we were at our stop, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, a collection of small buildings with the ever-present taxi stand across the street. A quick taxi ride ($15) brought us to the downtown of this small village.
A short walk and we find Hotel Inglettera. English is not spoken but we still barter for the room ($300), more than we wanted or expected to pay. It is a very casual check in; cash handed over, no sign in, no receipt. The room is simple but clean, with one chair, table, an attached bathroom with shower but no shower curtain. The windows do not have glass, only shutters and steel bars.
We wander and explore the town in twenty minutes then splash in the cool water. There are tourists everywhere, even a Dodge truck with Ontario plates.
Lunch is at a small restaurant at an outside table. Local fish, greens of some kind and good beer ($150). The guidebook claims there are no cheap restaurants in this town.

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=70

Back at our room, Dallas has a nap while I journal.
We clean up, change clothes and wander about the town seeing the sights. As there are only two main streets it doesn’t take long. Menus are displayed in front of the restaurants and we stroll about, deciding what we want for supper. El Pirata is a small cafe facing the town square, only four tables on the sidewalk and the kitchen visible across the counter. Supper is beef and fish, tacos, salad and Pepsi ($100). While we eat, we watch the police patrol in their new truck and the many stray dogs fight for territory and a few scraps of garbage.
On our way back to the hotel, we stop at a local store and buy cigarettes ($14) and bottled water ($4) to brush our teeth. To assist our limited Spanish, the sales girl at the counter keys in the amount on a calculator to indicate the total.
This is a nice little town but not exactly what we expected. We decide to leave tomorrow and go further south down the coast.
We have been up since 3:30 AM and are beat. In bed at 9:30 PM.

[northern boy]

Day Two

Wake up after a very good sleep at 7:00 AM to a rooster crowing in the next yard. Dallas is still sleepy so I go out and wander down to the beach and walk in the sand heading north.
New hotels face the ocean; tourists are about, walking in the surf like I am. It warms fast; the sun is still down on the horizon but powerful. I need shorts and a hat.
Dallas is up when I return and we go out together for breakfast at El Pirata. We have very spicy chicken something or other, eggs, lots of good coffee and juice ($140).

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=69

There is time to walk the few blocks and take pictures before we have to go back to the room to pack.
A quick taxi ride and we are back at the main road and see the bus at the local store, just getting ready to pull out. The taxi driver speeds through the intersection and brakes quickly in front of the bus, cutting him off. We scramble out, grab the packs and climb aboard.
It is almost new and air-conditioned. We are the only gringos. Tulum (too-loom) is where we want to stay tonight, no tickets, we pay the driver cash ($31 each).
After a one-hour bus ride, the drivers assistant stands up and yells “ruinas Tulum” meaning the ruins are the next stop. We know from the guidebook that there are three stops for Tulum but we do not know which one for the cabanas. We get out at the stop for the ruins and find out we are 1 K from where we should be. No big deal. We use the restroom ($5 which we do not pay) at a small hotel and have a beer with a couple from Toronto before starting our walk.
There is a small overgrown road paralleling the main hiway, which we use as a footpath to the next intersection. It is very hot and we warm quickly, I can feel sweat dripping down my back under the pack. A blister starts on my right foot.
At the intersection we take a cab down to the beach ($30) and the cabana zone. A road runs parallel with the beach, lined on both sides with a few shops and hotels in the centro, then only on the beach side further out of town.
Large diameter ropes from ocean going vessels are lying across the road to act as speed bumps.
All the hotels and cabanas seem to be booked. There are a few rooms available, ranging from $600 to $800 and up for one night. I would consider these to be four or five star accommodations.
We walk south on the road, stopping at each inn, checking for availability. Nothing. As we get out of town the road deteriorates to rough coral pavement, the sun is beating down on us and my foot hurts from the blister. We keep going. Still nothing. The guidebook does suggest getting here early or calling ahead. Either we are not frantic yet or just not showing it. The cabanas take on a more rustic appearance the further we get out of town.
A cab is waved down and Dallas and the packs go in while I hurriedly walk up each short path looking for vacant rooms. The cab inches along while I walk.
Only a short distance with the cab following and an empty cabana is found at La Flor. I don’t even ask how much, just that we’ll take it, then run back to the cab for Dallas and the gear. I try my best to bargain with the manager, writing in the fine sand, but the best we can do is $200.
The manager, his wife and two-year-old daughter clean the cabana as we watch and rest. It is a small stick building, about twelve feet square, thatched roof, no electricity, no water, and no furniture besides a bed with a mosquito net. The bed itself is a foam mattress on a stick frame, suspended on four ropes from the roof rafters. Nails on the walls act as hooks for clothes. It’s great.

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=61

Palm trees and sand with the ocean only fifty feet away is the view out the ill fitting and see through door. The lone, screened window has the same type of poor fitting and gap filled shutter.
A small outbuilding about one hundred and fifty feet away houses the communal toilet and shower. There is actually a flush toilet, sort of. A pail of water from a barrel is poured in after use. The shower is the same. A barrel of clean water stands in the corner, a small scoop is used to get wet and rinse off after lathering. The doors are of the same flimsy and see through construction (gaps between the rough planks) as on the cabanas.
The pounding of the ocean calls us; we swim and play in the surf for a long while. After the walk and search for a room the water feels great. We are both in good spirits.
The beach is almost deserted. Walking in the surf, we head north, checking out the other cabanas from the beach side this time. Some are quite elegant. There is some nude sun bathing but not much.
On the way back, the spot next to us looks inviting, we are thirsty, and so we stop for a beer. Unfortunately the new owners do not yet have a liquor licence. We chat with Alexandro and he tells us of his dream of owning this hotel so far from his home in Italy. He brings us a bowl of nuts and some of his special “tea”, served in china cups. It is really Mexican beer. There is no charge for the snack or “tea”. We promise to come back for supper. Judging from the appearance, it will be expensive. What a salesman!
It is 5:00 PM when we get back to the room and cooling off. The manager brings two small candles for the night. Our journals are updated while sitting on the doorstep in the last fading light. A great sunset, glowing red and purple, over the palms behind the cabana.
It is time for fleece jackets and a walk to town. My running shoes are laced tight for the walk; I don’t want any more friction on that blister. In the primitive conditions we have, it will hard to keep clean if it breaks.
A few mosquitoes come out as the light fades. It is a leisurely walk into town. Fireflies blink green as we walk the road. The jungle grows right to the pavement, there aren’t any shoulders at all. The ever present smell of decaying forest mingles with the salty tang in the air. The weather is cool for Mexico but not bad for us. We buy beer, water and bananas at a local store and then walk back.
There is time for a bit of stargazing before supper. After being shown to our table I run back and get a few cans of beer; no licence to sell but we can bring our own. There are no menus. Alexandro speaks the menu, forgetting to mention the prices. Starting with an appetizer of bread with nut sauce, we have excellent home made ravioli with cheese; and almond sauce grouper in “crazy water” (ocean water). The bill is $430, about what we would pay in Canada. Outrageous but the best meal I have had in a long time.
Bedtime is shortly after supper, unknown when that is. The bed only has one sheet and it is cool at night, just right for sleeping. Sand is everywhere, even in the bed with us.

Day Three

We wake up at 6:20 AM, well rested and in good spirits. A wind is up; we can hear the wave action from the beach. It is partly cloudy but warm already. Journals are updated sitting on the doorstep again while we have beer and bananas for breakfast. The plan for today is to walk back into the centro and bring back food for the day. We’re going to stay for another night.
I take the empty small pack as we walk the road again.
Plans change. Before we purchase any food, we see bikes for rent ($60 each per day) and decide to visit the ruins. A short test ride in the street and we pick the bikes that are the best size for us. Luckily, Dallas has her drivers licence, which we have to leave as a deposit. Dallas is not used to riding a bike and is a bit shaky when we start out.
It is about three kilometres up the rough road to the entrance to the ruins. Either it is the rough road, the poor seats on the bikes or a combination of both, but my bum is sore by the time we get there.
The ruins are self-guided. After paying the $35 entrance fee we are on our own. What a difference it would be if they were maintained and restored like a park in Ontario. There are no pamphlets for information, garbage lying about and the walking paths are rough and rocky. All this does not take away from the splendour of what these building once were and still are. Paint is still visible in a few places and three or four of the ornate carvings are pristine. Ropes and signs keep the crowds from clambering over the site and damaging it further. Standing on the cliffs overlooking the ocean, with one small building in the view, we can understand why this city/fort was built in just this position. Only about one and a half hours is needed to see the entire site.
It is still early and we have the bikes for the entire day so we decide to pedal into Tulum. We take the road west from the ruins and end up at the same small hotel where we shared the beer yesterday. A small shopping mall with a Subway sandwich outlet is situated across the street. We sit at the outside table, eating Canadian food sort of, drinking good Mexican beer ($150) and watch the tourists come and go from the big buses. Two small well-dressed children, a brother and sister, visit us, selling peeled oranges from a plastic bag. They are shy and polite. I give them a peso but do not take an orange. Three well-mannered dogs roam from table to table as people sit to eat.
Checking at the small bus kiosk, the attendant writes out the schedule and cost for our next destination. A bit more Spanish may have saved us some aggravation the next day when we are leaving.
After lunch we pedal down the same overgrown road we walked just the day before. Past the next intersection the town appears and we follow some people to the grocery store. There are many young backpackers about, some in the store and others sitting at the various cantinas lining the main street. Dallas buys enough food to last us for a while (cheese, tinned fish, tortillas, bananas, juice, all for $67); I wait outside with the bikes and entertain a small local boy with my pale skin and braided hair.
Setting out for the cabana zone, a liquor store is spotted and we stop to purchase rum, coke and beer along with a few foam cups to drink from.
It seems like a long pedal back but is probably just the added weight of the full pack and rough road. My bum is very sore by the time we get back.
The doorstep has become our lounging area and we sit there talking, sharing a drink of rum and chatting with the occasional person coming to check out the cabanas. A couple from the state of Washington check in and we talk with them for a while. They are doing the same as us only they have their two small boys with them. They are the only others at this site, just two rented cabanas out of a total of five.
The surf calls again and we play in the large waves. Of the few people on the beach, we are the only ones in the water. Both of us feel very good; it has been a good day. A snack of tortillas and cheese fills us after the beach. Salt water is rinsed off in the shower and then it is time to return the bikes. We pedal the road again, return the bikes, sit on the step of a store sipping a beer and watch a family watch television in their open walled house. Later, we walk back in the fading light.

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=73

It is back to the beach, this time without our bathing suits. Our shorts and shirts are piled beside us as we sit naked, and then walk in the surf.
Bedtime is 10:30 PM. Clothes are thrown in the packs just before we retire.

[northern boy]

Day Four

I feel great when we wake up at 6:20 AM but Dallas is tired. Breakfast is tortillas, bananas and juice. The packing is finished and we walk into town, last time down that rough road. Cabs are non-existent. We sit at the bike rental place and wait. Finally one comes and takes us to the bus kiosk ($35) we visited yesterday. It is closed. We wait and have a coffee ($12) at the nearby hotel. The kiosk never does open so we hail another cab and go to the main bus station in Tulum ($25). We arrive at 8:20 AM, expecting to leave on the 8:30 AM bus. It is sold out. We purchase tickets for the 11:00 AM bus for Valladolid (va-la-low-leed) a city in the heart of the Yucatan.
Killing time, we sit at a cantina and have a few cups of good coffee then wander to the local youth hostel to check our email. It is sunny with a brisk wind, dust is blowing down the main street and the noise of the traffic reminds me of home. Backpackers are all over. It seems most are going to the same place we are.
Another breakfast or early lunch is eaten; Americano eggs, toast, rice, jam, coffee and juice for $35.
Eleven o’clock is approaching so we line up on the curb with a few others, waiting for the bus. It is a rush to get on; no time for being polite. I block a few local people with my arm as they try to get in line ahead of us. As it is, the bus is packed and we have to stand. Some do not get on and are left watching as we drive away.
Seats become available after Coba, Dallas sits down while I stand in the aisle.
The hiway becomes narrow as we leave the coast. It is real jungle out there.
A couple from France strikes up a conversation with us and we talk for most of the trip. Our packs have a Canadian flag sewn on the back and this prompted him to tell us about his adventures in our country a few years ago. We walk with them after leaving the bus station and search for the local youth hostel. A night in a segregated, dorm type room is $50. Not being quite that desperate, we walk about the town and find Hotel Zaci. It is very nice. Pool, TV, phone, marble halls, columned courtyard all for $250. Prices have dropped dramatically since leaving the coast and the main tourist areas.

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=68

Our final destination on this adventure is a small island off the north coast, just a short boat ride from Chiquila (chi-kee-la). The bus leaves from the second-class station, which we find while wandering the crowded streets. Departure time is supposed to be 13:00 hours, which will give us some time to ourselves the next day.
This city of fifty thousand is in the heart of Maya country. Walking down the narrow sidewalks, Dallas is as tall as most men. The women are much shorter. I tower above everybody but the few gringos we see. Native women proudly wear distinctive dresses, glaringly white with ornate red, gold and purple embroidery around the neck and hem.
Some of the street scenes are what you would expect from old Mexico. The sidewalks are only three feet wide and a foot above the street. Throngs of people jostle in both directions while the traffic moves noisily down the narrow streets. Spaniards founded this city near a Mayan village in 1520 so motorized traffic is a relative newcomer. Vehicles are varied, old decrepit cars and trucks spewing blue exhaust, shiny new imported Japanese cars and the ever popular scooters, sometimes with a whole family aboard, father driving, mother on the back seat and two kids perched precariously amongst the bags of food. Parts may be missing, paint faded, rust holes abound but they all have working horns, which are in use constantly. Vendors block the sidewalks frequently and we are forced up and down the curb, into the traffic to get around. Throw in loud Latin music blaring from open doorways, mixed aromas of the many restaurants and street vendors, sun beating down, murmur of Spanish and native Mayan language and it is enough to make us think we are in a movie somewhere.
The camera battery dies at this time. It is one of those funny shaped nine-volt things, rare even back home. Surprisingly, a small store near the town centre has one for $89. The proprietor tries to talk me into buying a bottle of mescal, the real Mexican tequila, the one with the worm. It is not one of my favourite drinks but I humour him and knock back a couple of small glasses with him.
Wandering the streets some more, we end up back at the hotel. I have a short swim in the cold pool then we shower and dress for the evening.
The centro, or town square, is just around the corner so we walk the paths with the local people. The large trees are filled with birds that are hidden from view but almost drown out our voices with their loud calls. The locals are very well dressed, women in dresses, men in dress pants and black shoes. It seems to be almost an Easter type of walkabout; to see and be seen.
Some type of large official government type building is across from the centro so we go and see what is inside. Whether it is open to the public or not we never find out, we are the only ones inside except for the armed soldiers. The upper floor is open to the square, a long colonnaded balcony running the full length, one side lined with murals depicting the history of Mexico.

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=71

Supper is at a market type area, tables in a central courtyard surrounded by many vendors in stall like kitchens. While standing in front of one, deciding what to order, a couple from Germany and Holland introduce themselves. We end up having supper with them. Chicken tortillas, tacos, fries and coffee for $51 total. Afterwards we go back to the square, sit on the stone benches and watch everyone else.
Bedtime is late, unknown what time.

[BinkyLover]

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=73

Is that Charles Krauthammer?

[northern boy]

Day Five

Breakfast is early today. A quick shower after rising at 6:30 AM and we were on our way. Toast and coffee at the same market as last night for $31, then back to the hotel for the small pack.
There is a large cenote (sen-oh-tay), just outside of town, which we want to explore. The guidebook says to wait in front of a certain hotel and take a local colectivo (co-lec-tee-vo) rather than a cab. Colectivo’s are a private bus, usually a van, running without a route, picking up and dropping off passengers where they want for much less than a cab. The bad part is that they are notorious for not sticking to a schedule. After waiting a few minutes we decide to take up the offer from the cabbie that has been pestering us, in a good way, to go with him ($50).
We get a free tour of a residential area as he finds a babysitter for his small son who is in the back seat with me.
It is only a fifteen-minute drive before we are at the deserted parking area. The $12 admission is paid and again we are on our own.
Following the wood plank walkway, we round a corner and descend underground. The passage is narrow and small. I bang my head as we duck under protruding rock, holding on to the rope handrail.
After only a few feet it is pitch black and I fumble for my flashlight before someone on the surface remembers to turn the lights on. We are the first and only ones here.

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The tunnel is not long then opens up into a large cave. It is huge. Water fills more than half of it. The few lights are enough to illuminate the whole cave, subdued enough to give a spectral glow. Rays of sunlight poke through the small, lone, opening in the roof, casting a spotlight on a small area of the water. Fish can be seen swimming near the surface. Stalactites grow from the rocky ceiling sometimes joining with stalagmites on the floor. Or is it the other way around?
Taking in the sensation of this place, we just sit quietly and gaze.
Unmindful of others who may come, we strip down and change in to our bathing suits, then swim with the fish among the rock formations. It is a strange feeling to float on your back in water, staring at rock fifty feet overhead.

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=62

People start arriving as we are sitting on the rocks, dripping wet. A few pictures and we change in to our clothes then climb back to surface. The cabbie is waiting for us. I guess business is slow, either that or he knows he has a captive fare.
This is a government park with a small zoo attached. We only peek in and see an anteater and ocelot in small cages. It is heartbreaking to see, can’t look anymore.
Only a short cab ride and we are back at the taxi stand, just a few blocks from the hotel. Our bags and clothes are piled neatly on one bed when we open the door. Late for check out time, we grab the gear; drop the key at the desk and head for the market. A lunch of tacos ($14 total) is interrupted by a small beggar woman with her hand out. I make the mistake of giving her a peso before we are ready to leave, and then can’t get rid of her. She practically attaches herself to Dallas, constantly smiling to show off her tooth, a stream of almost incomprehensible Spanish pouring out, fondling Dallas’s Tilley hat (which she called a sombrero) and earrings. Just as I tell Dallas that the old woman would like these trinkets, the owner of the cantina shoos her away.
There is time to wander the narrow streets for a while before heading to the bus station. We are the only gringos aboard.
Once outside the city we can see how flat this area is; no hills are visible. Vegetation soon takes over the entire view. The road narrows as we head north, jungle encroaching over the pavement. Vines creep up guy wires of the hydro poles, often up to the crossarm. Stops are frequent, sometimes in the middle of nowhere, the number of passengers decreasing until there are only a few left. This is definitely Maya country. People are short with those distinctive cheekbones that trademark these natives. Small villages of a few brick buildings and many stick huts line the road. The security features are very visible. Bars on windows and broken glass bottles imbedded in concrete atop courtyard walls are common. Firewood is piled occasionally at the side of the road or can been seen in trucks and wagons. Branches scrape the side of the bus as the road narrows and the driver wanders from side to side trying to avoid the numerous potholes.
Chiquila is even smaller than what I expected. A few houses, a gas station and the bus kiosk where the bus pulls an abrupt U turn and departs. Nobody comes to greet the bus; our welcoming committee is a dead cat lying in the road.
Isla Holbox (eesla hol-bosh) is visible on the horizon.
A cool north wind forces up to don fleece jackets while we walk up the long wharf. Workmen are repairing a large barge on one side; the other has a small stick waiting area. A young lady greets us as we sit down, telling us the ferry will be arriving shortly. She laughs when I compliment her perfect English, saying it should be, it is mandatory in Holland, her native country. She is here to visit her boyfriend, from Montreal, who, in turn, is visiting his father who lives on the island. Small world.
Waiting for the ferry, I watch the workmen on the other side of the wharf. The welder is working without any protective equipment at all. Bare hands on the welding rod holder, no helmet or even goggles protect his eyes or skin. He just closes his eyes when he strikes an arc. He’ll be blind in a while if he keeps this up.
“Montreal”, as I call him joins the young lady and we all board the ferry ($30 each) when it arrives. He tells us the “el Norte” has been blowing for three days bringing cool weather from “up north”. All signs point to a good change coming tomorrow.
Large waves break against the bow, spray flies out and we see saw back and forth on the ride to the island. It is farther and takes longer than what I would have thought.
The dock is on the south side, at the end of the only road that crosses the island. A small group of locals greet the ferry, sitting in golf carts and three wheeled bicycles, the only means of transportation available. Dallas and I hoist the packs and begin the short walk to the north side, the location of the hotel zone. One local youth pedals beside us for a while, offering us his services to acquire a room. My polite refusal is repeated numerous times before he gives up and pedals away.
Only a short walk and we are on the north beach, a hotel at the end of the road. The search continues when the first is turned down as too expensive.
Posada D’Ingrid is around the corner, cheaper ($200) and more our style. The manager shows us the two beds, electricity, a small washroom with shower but without a toilet seat before hastening back to his house to watch TV. He didn’t ask our names or want any money.
Changing into long pants and fleece, we wander the few streets to see what this village has. There are a few restaurants, some hotels on the beach but it is mainly a fishing village. A lively street party is in progress just off the town square, people sitting on plastic chairs or dancing in the small alley. It is not organized, just a few families and friends getting together.
Supper is at Zarabanda, a small restaurant. Fish fillets, rice, coleslaw, tomatoes, tortillas, beer and dessert for $106 total.
Afterwards, we end up near the street dance again and are waved in to join the party. Everyone is very friendly but can’t speak a word of English. Beer is available at the store next door ($6 each); we have a couple but don’t stay long.
Snacks, cokes, peaches, juice and cigarettes ($62) are purchased at a corner store on the way back to the hotel. Bed at 10:30 PM.

[northern boy]

Day Six

It is a lazy morning; we are up late and relax in the room for a while before going out.
Montreal was right; wind is negligible, the sun is out in a cloudless sky and the temperature is hot.
The police station is supposed to have English-speaking officers (according to the guide book) so we go there to enquire about renting bikes. Looks of incomprehension from the lone officer and his female helper tell me that in this case the book was incorrect. We do manage to make ourselves understood and are directed to Rentadora down the street.
A cantina by the police station catches our eye and we stop for coffee. It is excellent and we have three cups ($20).
Rentadora’s bikes do not impress us. They are similar to what we rented in Tulum and my backside gets sore just looking at them.
Groceries are purchased at three different stores on the way back to the room. Tortillas, bananas and tomatoes at the first, rum and beer at the second, water at the third.
Meandering about town, we find that bikes are on hand at the pool hall. Their bikes have large padded seats, baskets on the handlebars and there is one woman’s bike for Dallas. Some bargaining is required and we settle on $60 each for the whole day. It is a very casual arrangement; no name, no deposit, no identification is necessary and we just pedal away.
Getting ready for our excursion on the doorstep of our room, a fellow traveller staying at this hotel tells us about the road to the west. He explains that there is a bridge that we shouldn’t have any problem with. Dallas and I have trouble with his strong French accent (another from Montreal!) and are not sure what he means.
Food for the day, rum, beer, coke, sunscreen, water all go in the small pack. Dallas packs a blanket and two towels from the room into the basket on her bike.
Setting out, we go to the north beach and pedal west along the only road. All roads and streets on this island are sand or gravel; pavement does not exist.
Luckily for us we did not rent the first bikes we looked at. These have very comfortable seats that make pedaling enjoyable.
Dallas is even now shaky on her bike. She collides with me once and we both end up on the ground. Laughter is the only sound as we untangle the bikes and ourselves.

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=65

A few small hotels line the beach as we head out of town, then it is jungle on the right with beach and waves on the left.
Within one kilometre, the road narrows to only eight feet wide then even less.
With the sun beating down and the pack on my back, I start to sweat within a few minutes. We stop once to apply sunscreen to bare legs and arms.
Now we discover what is meant by the bridge. The road peters out at what looks like a river. Unknown to us, there are actually two islands, divided by a salt-water channel. A ramshackle bridge connects the two pieces of land. Sort of. It is a log bridge, about ten feet wide and the same distance above the water, two hundred feet long, supported on logs embedded in the channel bottom.
Taking an exploratory walk by myself, I am shocked to note that more than a few logs on the walkway are missing, leaving gaps up to three feet wide. As well, the nails securing other logs are rusted away because of the salt atmosphere, allowing them to roll when walked on. Reaching the end of the bridge does not bring me to the other side. It has collapsed about twenty feet from the shore. There is, however, a place to crawl down before jumping into the water. Only a small footpath is visible on the shore.

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=66

Just as I get back to Dallas, a golf cart pulls up with four local people aboard. One of them indicates that the road has ended and that bikes are not suitable on the far side. A casual wave of his hand suggests leaving the bikes propped against a tree.
Dallas and I cross the bridge first, taking our time and making sure where we place our feet. The water is not deep when we jump down, only up to our knees.
Following the path we continue west.
We can see where the others are headed. A large sand bar pokes above the waves about two hundred yards off shore, just a few feet higher than the water, it is covered with hundreds of birds. They wade out in the shallow water, carrying a cooler above their heads.
As soon as we round the next corner the path becomes very narrow. We try and stick to the beach but are sometimes forced back to the path because of mud. Small burrs stick to my sandals and poke me all over my feet. Dallas’s sandals are leather and do not pick up these burrs like my synthetic ones.

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=64

Many different birds are seen. Ibis, vulture, pelicans and more that we do not recognize.
Continuing our walk we find a large tree growing near the water and decide to rest here. Supplies are piled in the shade of the tree while we spread the blanket in the sun and lay down.
As far as the eye can see in either direction, we are the only ones on the beach. This is where we spend the rest of the day.
Time does not mean anything. We do not have a watch but do not care. Sunbathing, eating when we want, sipping beer or rum, splashing in the water, walking in the sand, minutes pass like hours.
Late in the afternoon, one lone couple ambles by, not offended by our nakedness or lack of attempt at covering up. Just a short while later, a local man strolls by the other way. He averts his eyes but gives us an Hola! (hello) nonetheless.

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=67
Moving the blanket a second time it dawns on us that the tide is coming in. Daylight will be fading shortly so we dress, pack up and head back.
Shallow water at the end of the bridge has now deepened to waist level because of the tide. Soaking wet, we scramble onto the logs and cross in record breaking time, holding hands and skipping from log to log.
The bikes are just where we left them.
After showering at the room we sit and talk, sharing a drink of rum. It has been a very good day.
Our stomachs are rumbling so we dress and wander about town looking for a restaurant. Supper is at a nameless place off the main street. Again, English is not spoken but we manage to order a pizza. It is so large it cannot all be eaten. Full of pizza, beer and the best margaritas ever tasted, we are surprised when the bill is only $110. The young lady serving us has been very helpful and friendly all night, constantly smiling in spite of our clumsy Spanish so I give her a $20 tip. Her gratification at this small act was obvious.

http://tulum.info/picture.php?albumid=8&pictureid=72

Tired from the day’s activities, sun and too many drinks, we retire shortly after. Unknown what time.

[northern boy]

Day Seven

Last day of our adventure. We are up early to catch the first ferry and bus. It is cold and dark on the walk across the island.
The bus is waiting for the ferry and we embark right away. More potholes are experienced on this ride than coming in or it may be because of old suspension. The driver is gearing up and down constantly when he slows for the poor road conditions and all the speed bumps in the villages.
By the time we arrive in Cancun it is very hot and sunny.
We are back at the same bus station where we started a week ago. Hunger calls so we stop at the first restaurant we see, right on the traffic circle downtown. Prices are what the traffic will bear.
Both of us are in shock. After seven days of laid back culture, the din of the city is overwhelming. As we walk around the circle looking for a room, hawkers of all sorts; restaurants, cruises, timeshare and more accost us.
Directions get mixed up in this area and we end up back in the local’s zone. Hotel Posada will be where we stay tonight ($250); a bit seedy but clean.
Dallas wants to see the beach so we take R1 bus to KM4 to enter at the public area. It is packed. Bronzed bodies are all over the place. It is the Cancun I remember and the one I don’t like.
All shoreline in Mexico is public property. Hotels line most beaches but there are occasional lanes connecting to the main road. Once on the beach, a person can lay anywhere he wants.
Walking in the surf, we watch all the activities; beach volleyball, frisbee, tanning and boy meets girl. This is the place for those who wish to party. We don’t stay long, and then walk back to the centro. It is very hot.
It is now afternoon and we are verbally accosted again, much more than in the morning Dallas has never seen this before and is quite taken aback. She is glad she has seen the other Mexico before this so she has an idea of what the country is like; not just this large North American metropolitan centre dropped in the tropics.
By myself, back at where we breakfasted, I question the waiter about the bus schedule for the airport. He is very helpful even though he speaks English only “piquito”; a little bit. It is a sidewalk café where I am sipping my beer and am still offered deals by the hustlers walking by. “Want seniorita’s? A few beers? Come with me amigo, we’ll have a good time”.
When we are out for supper the offers do no end; “want a couple of joints? do a few lines?”
A late supper, not very good, is in a restaurant upstairs on Tulum Avenue.
Bedtime is about 11 PM.

Day Eight

Dallas comes with me when I leave for the bus about 8 AM. We wait on the street and have a quick goodbye as the bus pulls up. I am sure she will be OK on her own.
The rest of the day is uneventful. The bus ride, check in, flight and drive home are nothing memorable.
For me, the trip is over.

Evaluation

Never having done this type of trip before I would give this first attempt a 10 out of 10. There are things we would do differently, now that we have a bit of experience.
TAKE MORE TIME!! Two weeks would be more appropriate for where we went; a few extra days in the stick hut in Tulum, a couple more at Isla Holbox, maybe one more in Valladolid.
For a couple of greenhorn gringos; not bad.
Just do it!!

[northern boy]

Is that Charles Krauthammer?

I have no idea who Charles Krauthammer is:).

That's me in the picture!:cool:

Paul

[rockgeek]

Charles Krauthammer:
file:///C:/winnt/temp/moz-screenshot-2.jpgfile:///C:/winnt/temp/moz-screenshot-3.jpgfile:///C:/Documents%20and%20Settings/Autolog/Desktop/krauthammer_charles.jpg184

file:///C:/winnt/temp/moz-screenshot.jpgfile:///C:/winnt/temp/moz-screenshot-1.jpg

[minniemex]

Again, Paul, thanks for another great report!! I am sure you have encouraged some of us to try this type of vacation!! You didn't mention what year that was or I missed it?? I remember you referencing I think 2001 as a time you were in Tulum in your other trip report ~ is this that trip??

Not that I knew who this Charles Krauthammer was either, but he sure does seem to be your Doppelgänger :)

[beachreader]

I still don't know who Charles Krauthammer is, just what he looks like. Am I going to have to go to Google? :rolleyes:


Thanks again for the great mini-vacation. It's great seeing all these old pictures, even if they're not all that old!

[BinkyLover]

Good ol' Charles Krauthammer is a columnist for the Washington Post, graduate of Harvard Medical School, former psychiatrist and, in my opinion, an all-around brilliant fellow. I look forward to his weekly column almost as much as I look forward to George Will's. You have to admit that there is a resemblance. I think Northern Boy is just being modest.


http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/opinions/biographies/charles-krauthammer.html (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/opinions/biographies/charles-krauthammer.html)

[northern boy]

You didn't mention what year that was or I missed it?? I remember you referencing I think 2001 as a time you were in Tulum in your other trip report ~ is this that trip??

Now I feel kind of sheepish:o. I went back and read the introduction I made last week and found a bunch of mistakes!!
Dallas and I started going to the Yucatan in 2002, and yes, this is that trip.
Also, the picture of us in front of the little stick shack was just SOUTH of Posada Margharita. Two lots south actually. When we were there in 2008 it was being bulldozed for a new house. I got that year correct anyway, it was 2003. Heck, I was close, both times we flew out on January 2nd!


Good ol' Charles Krauthammer . . . in my opinion, an all-around brilliant fellow.

OK, maybe that part I can agree with:)

Paul

[letele]

Thanks for sharing, Paul! It's neat to hear how things were even just a few years ago...definitely sounds like some things have changed!

[Lynnette]

I'm really enjoying your adventures.....thanks for taking the time to share them with us!

[think]

Like others have already said, thanks for sharing the report. Loved the pics :eat-drink: