On the road again

I had torn priorities when I set off from Cosolea with my backpack and my bus ticket on Boxing Day: making the most of my scant holidays to see the rest of the country Vs staying at home and enjoying the time with no work with the family and friends I value so much. But the ticket was bought, and I can never deny my travelling glands a little airing. First stop was Campeche, a sleepy little walled town which was picturesque but not the most stimulating place. The few churches, museums and sights of interest were ticked off in a day, so we turned to wandering the streets, going to the waterfront to enjoy the local specialty, ‘pan de cazon’, a sort of shark meat lasagne, and getting used to be doing tourists again. Matt and I used our few days there, and at the Mayan ruins of Edzna, to settle into the nomadic spirit, living out of a backpack again, and catching up after a long time apart. Next stop was Cancun, where our 5am arrival was not the best introduction to the mean streets of downtown Cancun. Slowly but surely other assistants descended upon the town and joined us in our hostel, ready for the 31^st. Cancun itself is a concrete and plaster monstrosity, all prices in dollars, almost all faces white with American accents, and the small corners of beach which aren’t reserved for the hotels are overcrowded and right next to ferry terminals. Still got to dip in the water and have a gander at where the rich people play. And I can’t paint Cancun in too much of a negative light because it’s where NYE 2010-11 was spent, and that can’t be shrugged off with a grunt of dollars and over-hyped blaséness. Our celebrations started at around brunch-time in Jezzabel’s tutor’s house, as soon as the bottle of tequila was opened and the music was turned on. We sipped, laughed and chatted under the Cancun sun with the family, and were joined later on by the girls, only deeming it time to leave when the kids brandished shaving foam and confetti at us. I’ve had too many experiences recently of thinking I’m defecating confetti to stick around any time I catch a whiff of coloured devil-paper, so we scooted and headed off into the night. What started off as a farcical dash to find a place with no cover charge to toast in the New Year turned into a night of young and free reckless rolling around Cancun in Karl’s van, taking in the beach, the Beatles, some (male) topless singing and a poor attempt to get into some parties.

Karl’s van wasn’t just a one-night stand either. In the back of that dusty green motor of love, we travelled to Isla Mujeres: beautiful, and best seen from a speeding, wheely-ing golf cart; Chitchen Itza: impressive Mayan ruins where the acoustics mean that clapping sounds like a bouncy ball and the pyramids have been mind-bogglingly restored to shining glory; and Tulum, a new favourite place, where the water is like a blue diamond and the prices are comparable to one. The Mayans must have had European tourists in mind when they erected their town on the seafront, with handy stairs leading down to the beach, even leaving informative tourist information panels around the site. Clever Mayans. If I could choose the perfect mochilero companions they would definitely be Kyle and Elias. In their van, nothing was unacceptable, everybody was welcome, and I would imagine that a life that existed purely in the back of her would be fulfilling. For she was clearly a woman. I like to think so anyway, as otherwise I was the only Tortuga on that trip. After parting ways in Tulum, the three of us, Matto the Chato, Jezbian and I, spent one last day on the beach, trying to sand off the bottom sores from our frantic and sweaty bike ride there, and then a very uncomfortable 5 hour journey to Merida trying to ignore the itching from the sand and chafing of the beach and even more frantic and rushed bike ride back to catch said bus.

La Blanca Merida was as beautiful as I had been told, but more touristy and overpriced than I thought. We all seemed to have had the wind kicked out of us by the week’s exertions, but Rachel did a fantastic job of showing around her home town and letting us in on some Yucatecan specialities.

Recounting the banter would be lost on all but those who were present, so instead I’ll say a big thank you to Jeremy, Matt, Kyle and Elias of Karl’s van fame (it’s all getting a bit awkward, so I won’t get soppy) who definitely killed the holiday shotgun style, Rachel, Karen, Anna, Nicola, who made up for shortness of time with us by being top-notch, and to Ana German, Colin, the Argentinean yummy mummy and her precocious sprog, Che, the Puebla scouts and the French crêpe-er in Campeche for stopping and chatting along the way. Oh, and check out mochilero4humanity.org. If you haven’t’ already. It’s bigger than Facebook apparently.