Cancun to Palenque, the Whole Enchilada
Let’s face it, in the northern hemisphere, November sucks. If you went to a monthly ball and asked November to dance, it would stand on your toes and have bad breath. No brightly-lit festivities like December, no charm of red autumn eves like October. No surprise then, its very name - NOvember. So as the clocks fell forward, the night came early, and the wind turned chill, it’s the perfect time to dust off the old hat, pack the pack, back on my back, and hit the runway running. Of course, being a vagabond presents certain challenges, i.e. how does one afford to travel when one is broke and homeless? All I needed was, oh, everything, and so I asked the universe and the universe told me to piss right off, and so I asked my friends at Travel CUTS, who asked their friends at Australia-based Tucan Travel, and here I am on a 33-day adventure through Mexico, Honduras, Guatemala, Nicaragua and Costa Rica. My new friends at Exofficio even kitted me out in the latest moisture-wicking, anti-bacterial travel threads (with a mosquito repellent in the fabric!) Now you may be wondering how these things happen to me, and what I did to deserve such a life? And as I write this on a nine-house bus ride south alongside the thick Yucatan jungle, I realize that it’s because of you, my readers, and so I must offer a profound thankyou, a doff of the acid-rained out Gonzo hat, a wink of a sunburnt eye, and the sincere gratitude of someone who continues to live their dreams even though they woke up months ago.
I trust you’ll enjoy the next six weeks as much as I will. OK, maybe a little less. Now let’s get the jalapeno out of here, and start our adventures in Cancun!
Ah, yes, Cancun. As authentic a Mexican experience as Chinese take-out. Vegas, in a hurricane zone. My airport shuttle scuttled past the Hyatt, Hilton, Westin, Holiday Inn, Four Seasons, Sheraton, and a dozen enormous hotels that looked exactly like them (although one did look tremendously, and, given the honeymooners, most appropriately, phallic). Neon lights advertised American food chains, a mall boasted Versace, Salvatori Whatisface, Louis Bettonyourwallet - you name it. In the van were four couples, holding hands, most likely wishing they had brought snorkeling gear because a tropical storm was dumping rain in buckets and we may as well have been in a submarine. Wind-stripped palm trees still bore the effects of last year’s hurricane, which shattered Cancun’s coast. Several luxury hotels were still closed, and apparently glass and trash continues to wash ashore on the beaches. In my best Spanish (completely unpronounceable, and impossible to understand in any language) I asked the driver if he knew the weather forecast (this involved me making splashing sounds, blowing wind, and pretending to sunbathe, badly). My fellow passengers did their best to ignore me, as if I were selling Girl Scout cookies for the Jehovah Witnesses.
“Senor,” says Jose, for that was the name on his badge, ” it will rain for 11 days.” Now the shuttle lovers visibly deflated. Every man immediately substituted the beach for sex followed by sport on TV, and every women, sex followed by guilt- free shopping.
“Good thing I’m leaving in the morning then,” I said proudly, irritating the couples no end. Clearly, I have read “How to win friends and influence people”.
