Rory was going to blog yesterday – having been away a month now – but couldn’t be arsed. So, instead, a brief rundown on my trip so far…
Day 1: landed in Cozumel not really knowing where it was, walked out the airport – hot, man! – and then got chatting to this girl who said her brother was meeting her on the mainland and I could probably get a ride to Tulum, which I’d heard of. So then onto a ferry and cruising in the sun while a live band played Santana, then soon laying on a lovely chill Caribbean beach and – wow, it’s 2 in the afternoon and almost impossible to believe I woke up in the rain in London. Good to be back in Mexico; in fact, I almost spontaneously burst into tears when we landed. Flight, with Thomson was rather marvellous also. Earplugs helped.
Week 1: Luckily for me girl’s brother’s car had broken down so we all got in a Collectivo (well cheap minibus) and I instantly got chatting with this American lady – we shared a common interest in all things New Agey and Spiritual – and so I went and stayed at her house by the beach in Pa-Muul for five nights. Snorkelled, ate guacamole, relaxed under palm trees by the gently lapping waves, talked lots, saw many iguanas, had some realizations, and felt good. Then I left for Mayan ruins in Coba – good energy! – and stayed with some Australians on their hotel room floor. Then I hitched back to Tulum and slept on the beach. A billion stars as thick as soup hung over my head; expletives followed. Then I hitched to Bacalar, just north of Belize, and slept on the roof of a half-built house.
Week 2: Hitched across Belize without managing to find a place to change money – but luckily was sheltered and fed (three square meals a day) by lovely, lovely people without even telling them my predicament. First, great fun Mexican family on a vacation; then stayed in this rather luxurious house with an American, Dan, who took me the next day to a church service with some Mennonites and also a Mennonite family for lunch. Then, that night, I got down with some Evangelical Spanish-speaking Christians – cool songs, and fake tears and moaning (not me) – and slept in a hammock in a shack (after beans and papusas). Then I went to Guatemala, slept on the jungle floor by a lake (iguanas are just like squirrels, I figure; and lizards like mice) and then skirted Tikal – too expensive for me, and saving myself for Palenque – and dashed in and out of Flores (just a load of gringos walking around in rubble) before a big hitch south to Antigua de Guatemala, luckily avoiding the capital. The highway there was the craziest and most dangerous I’ve ever ridden in my life. And the driver I had was the fastest guy on it. Cool.
Week 3: Managed finally to get some Guatemalan money – had survived four days on less than four quid – and chilled in an Antigua hostel for a couple of nights, enjoying yummy enormous breakfast. Realised I’m strangely happier when spending money and sleeping in a bed rather than being a tight-arse and doing roofs and jungles and concrete. Left there for Xela (Quetzaltenango) – following signs and synchronicities – and on arrival bumped into a girl called Coco – which was pretty cool and bizarre as even before leaving England I’d been getting these weird messages about the word “coco”, and was so convinced it was going to play a part in my trip that I wrote about it in my journal and even wanted to mention something on here, just to sort of ‘prove’ beforehand that it would “come to pass” (lol). But, sadly, didn’t. Anyway, that sort of blew my mind, and got me into this Xela malarkey.
Week 4: I’m still in Xela, having done some volunteer work, and spent almost a week deepening my knowledge of Spanish. Slept in a shed on a hill for a while, but all the dogs and bombs and cars weren’t really co conducive to a good night’s sleep. Neither the concrete floor nor cold. So once again I re-learned the benefits of spending money. Had a few nights away on Lake Atitlan (San Marcos and Panajachel), and also stayed in a quaint little bungalow at this rather marvellous local hot springs, having the whole place to myself for a moonlit naked dip in the hot hot water. Fell asleep in front of a real wood fire. It don’t get much better than that.
Thoughts: Over the course of my trip I’ve been inundated with a great many thoughts about marriage, and about settling down, and about being normal – usually when I was tired and uncomfortable and unhappy (and not spending money, strangely enough). Sometimes they were pretty convincing and I’d get lost in labyrinths of “who?” and “where?” – which I could never quite figure out. Most of it led back to England – which seemed a bit daft, really, considering how desperate I’d been to get out of there. And how ridiculous the idea of going back was in my many happier moments. And then, at some point, I realised that they were just thoughts – attachments – layers of mental activity – and they’ve sort of calmed, and I’ve stopped taking them so seriously. Now, I feel more like being here, and more like getting into this trip and leaving the past and my past attachments behind (plotted my rather delicious route north through Mexico yesterday). Thoughts, eh!
Feelings: I remember the way my heart cracked upon landing; the happiness of that initial ferry ride; and the excitement of following the signs and meeting that lovely lady in the Collectivo, which was exactly what I wanted and needed and got. I remember lying exhausted and utterly chilled on the beach, in the pool, in the sun for my first three days; and I remember the arising emotions of difficulties past and growth and understandings during some ‘spiritual work’ with my new friend. I remember visions of colour and light at Coba; of peace and clarity; of a heart coming alive again and reopening, and the joy of being back on the road, in the sunshine, my home on my back and the future unknown. And I remember those Tulum stars, and the tears they almost brought to my eyes – and, likewise, the fireflies that had my inner-child bouncing up and down that night by the lake. I remember the mountains in Guatemala; the happiness of meetings and providence revealed; and beauty, once more, in nature. And I remember the flabbergast and shock I felt after meeting Coco and realising, despite all my doubt and seemingly wrong turns – I’d been kicking myself for leaving beautiful Belize after two days, with so much of the country to see – that I was in exactly the right place. Today, I feel a quiet happiness inside – at other times I’ve been anything from ecstatic to (slightly) dejected – and, really, I feel like this is just beginning: that there’s long road ahead of me. I have no plans to return to England – I have no plane ticket anyway – and I’m looking forward eagerly to the future. In fact, I’m terribly, terribly excited about getting back to Mexico sometime soon.
Finally: when I was lost in the jungle for five or six hours the other week I found these mushrooms growing in the path and thought, hm, I might just eat them. I had no idea what they were but they don’t seem to have done me any harm.
Tortillas rock! Yeah, man, I really love those tortillas. Although it’s gotta be the guac, at the end of the day.
In my backpack I have: five pairs of socks; three t-shirts; two pairs of shorts; a sarong; a pair of jeans; some sunscreen; a snorkelling mask; a journal; three pens; my passport and some money; two toothbrushes and some Mexican toothpaste; a pineapple; and a very compact sleeping bag. This is assuming I’m naked apart from my trainers. I had more when I came – an extra t-shirt; another pair of jeans; two more pairs of socks; three books – but I felt I needed to lighten the load. Ideally I’d rather be carrying even less but, still, it’s by far and away the least I’ve ever travelled with. And I haven’t felt myself wanting for anything.
Cheers!
Rory
