Trip to the other side of the world
Fast forward through all the waiting, reading and eating peanuts, I land in Cancun after a passenger's dream come true – an uneventful flight. The air is so heavy and thick, it feels like I’m breathing through a wet sponge. It takes me more than 30 minutes to adjust after coming out from the leveled temperature of the terminal. I think about lighting a cigarette, but as quickly as the thought appears I chase it away, cause I quit smoking a while ago and I’m not about to give in (again) into (this) temptation.
- “Terminal 2” I reply, and before I could say anything else he starts dragging my suitcase at high speed through a see of people, some looking more or less confused then I was.
I give him two bucks once there and he disappears with a smile, probably waiting to non violently hijack other tourists' belongings.
Arrivals looks like the New York Stock Exchange in a day of crisis with all the van drivers shouting the name of their clients and swinging as high as they can pieces of cardboard, with poorly written foreign names. Is not an easy task cause each one is trying to outshout the competition and some of the names and not so easy to pronounce, like Dutch for example. I identify my van driver and spend the next hour or so chitchatting about weather, hotels and Mexican currency evolution versus the dollar. I finally get a hold of my younger but so much taller brother and after a brief session of hugs and pats on the back we leave for the hotel.
That's how it started.
I was looking ahead of two weeks and a half of high expectations fueled by my friends stories that were describing Mexico and Costa Rica nothing short of the Garden of Eden. And they were right. Partially.
Cause the fence of Costa Rica's Garden of Eden had barbwire, the electrified kind and upgraded with spikes. But all in due time.
The nights of the living turtles
La Tortuga (the turtle) won several years in a row the Boutique Hotel contest in Mexico. It may have been the fact that everybody was super courteous, ready to jump at your every sign, the good breakfast, the cozy rooms kept always clean by an army of invisible maids or the interior garden that looked like the Amazon jungle (without the crocodiles). It may have been all that, but I'm betting on the frozen margarita with tamarind that we used to sip while playing pool after an exhausting day at the beach.
The secret river was my first time in a an underwater cave, and after this experience I can say for sure that is not gonna be my last. We spent a good couple of hours navigating through crystal clear water, strangely shaped stalactites and stalagmites and occasionally completely de-pigmented animals. An eerie feeling combined with excitement followed me all throughout the journey. At times we sunk in pitch black darkness, that, if you held your breath long enough and ignored the beatings of your heart, made you feel like you didn't exist. The Maya's compared this to a descent in the underworld, while getting out was the rebirth. And they knew what they were talking about.
Ziggy Beach
We took the advice, although with some reluctance, of our receptionist and one day we hooped aboard, direction Tulum of one of the 20 or so vans that are relentlessly carrying locals to different parts of the Riviera. Our hotel had a twin in that area and more importantly, the twin had a beach club called Ziggy. I like going to the beach every now and then, but ultimately I'm not the biggest fan of slowly roasting in the sun while trying to keep myself constantly oiled, so I approached the trip with my usual contained enthusiasm ;-). "Its a beach", I said to myself, "how nice can it be?" And I was wrong.
Have you seen "The Beach" with De Caprio? Think about it for a second..... That was the feeling I got when my bare feet touched the white sand, as fine as salt that stuck to your body like glue. The feeling of peace and happiness. Switching from one side to the other from your bed on the beach you could see the purest light blue water or the massive green palm trees gently swaying in the lightest brise. Sun was filtered through the cotton candy like clouds, so you wouldn't feel its burn. For the entirety of two hours we were alone, just swimming, trying out the hammocks, reading and drinking the iced water that the club waiters maintained in constant supply.
Silence suddenly ended when a dozen of Italian tourists decided to invade The Beach with their loud and happy or angry conversations (sounds the same but has different movement of the hands) . For a moment I felt betrayed, but then slowly came to terms with the idea that I cannot stop the intruders who had the right as much as I did to be there. Still, the two hours were all that I needed for daydreaming material. Now when I want to get away from the daily monotony and greyness, I just close my eyes and picture myself on The Beach.
Pyramids and football - Chichen Itza
Was the first man made pyramid that I have seen, well second if I am counting the one from Le Louvre (slightly younger construction). But Chichen Itza is not only about pyramids its also about enormous sink holes ("cenote") where the Maya’s used to bring offerings to favor the Gods. Its also about football or actually is hipball. To my surprise, I found out that the locals were entertaining themselves in absence of Big Brother and Champions League with a game where they were trying to get a small ball through a vertical hoop by hitting it with their hips. As you can imagine, as soon as the guide finished the explanation my mind started to free associate, as follows (and I'm just throwing in some of the examples):
1. if she would have lived back then Shakira would have made team captain.
2. I couldn't have watched people practicing and inadvertently hitting the ball not with the hip, but with other parts of their body, placed in the same area but somehow to the front. I bet that would have been an injury you don't need to fake.
3. although the guide repeatedly told us that the human sacrifices that took place after the game ended didn't have anything to do with the loosing team, I had my doubts. Who would sacrifice the winning team? Clearly, you need them to qualify for the finals, to endorse whatever products they were endorsing in the xwx century and to drive madly on the streets of the city (5km/h) the poshest and more expensive ox cart coupe they put their hands on. So, I bet there was a quick meeting in the lockers of the loosing team after the game that maybe went like this:
- "Guys, I'm sorry I need to bring this up before we hit the showers, but we need a volunteer for the human sacrifice" said the team captain wiping sweat from his brow and trying to sound as matter a fact as he could.
- "What, nobody?"says the captain, honestly surprised in the 60 seconds of silence that followed.
- "Well then, that's when a management decision needs to be taken. Mutule (or the Maya equivalent of that) I seem to remember that you missed The Penalty. Your failure will be always remembered. May I have a word with you by the Cenote?”.
- “Make it look like a voluntary and selfless act” whispers the captain almost 
ventriloquist like to its two assistants built like tree trunks, while the forward exits dragging his feet.
Without being extremely cruel I would recommend this as a great motivation tool for our national football team who sucked so bad in the past 20 years that they became the definition of poor football. And you don't need many voluntary sacrifices. I bet after the first one there will be no more lame ass excuses, no more delays from practice, no more demand for ridiculous salaries. Just pure game entertainment where players would give 120%.
Another remarkable quality was that the location was outside the main touristy area and far from the bands of mariachi who were storming the restaurants probably trying, with loud trumpets and guitars, to make the clients choke on their tortillas. However, El Fogon was the place where we have met the nemesis of the mariachi bands: a Mexican playing, not more and not less, a harp. And a blue one mind you, as tall as he was.
That's it for now.... Story is fading out. I'll let the pictures speak.
VA URMA......
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