Mexico
We didn't even make it off the pier at Cozumel before they loaded us onto a ferry to Playa Del Carmen. By now I was pretty used to the ship's movements, so I'd stopped taking my Bomine. And you know, a ferry speeding over (and getting bounced around by) giant waves at what must have been at least 60 mph is very different from a giant ship poking leisurely along at around 30 mph. I managed to hold onto my breakfast, but by the time we reached the mainland I was queasy and had a raging headache. So that was fun.
Once we got off that boat, we had to walk about 8 blocks with our group through Playa del Carmen to get to our waiting tour bus. It was a fairly pleasant walk--a little hot, a little muggy, but with plenty of sights and sounds to distract us from it. The only real irritation was all of the well-meaning bicycle-wheelchair drivers who kept trying to pick up Matt, until finally our tour guide came back to talk to him and make sure he could handle the walk before finally telling the wheelchair people to lay off.
I should point out that by this point we were both pretty sick and tired of people assuming what Matt was or was not capable of doing. He was still smarting from the rock wall refusal, and the day before as we were disembarking for Grand Cayman the same guy who wouldn't let him climb the wall also wouldn't let him take the stairs down to the tender boats and made us take the elevator with the elderly folks. Then that morning as we somehow slipped past that guy and took the stairs down anyway, another horrified crewmember practically shoved me out of the way to "help" Matt down the gangway and onto the pier. The pretty apparent fact that they were more concerned about their liability than his actual well-being was the most irritating thing about it. We managed to be more patient with those who were genuinely just trying to be helpful, but even so, by now it had gotten as tiresome as the million-and-one "Did you lose your leg in Iraq?" questions he'd been fielding all week.
At some point we noticed another amputee on the ship, walking on a prosthetic leg. I wonder if he got asked that question as much as Matt did. I also wonder if he was allowed to climb the rock wall.
But back to Mexico: as we walked along the brick-and-cobblestone streets of PdC, we saw many shops and things we wanted to check out when we got back from our tour. So imagine our dismay when we got on the bus and were told that we'd be taken straight back to the ferry and wouldn't have time to look around or shop until we got back to Cozumel. Grumble. But at least we got to see and stroll through a real Mexican city, which seemed a lot more gritty and real than the Americanized tourist-centered party town of Cozumel. Not that Playa Del Carmen is exactly a third world hovel, but it felt more like a city with a rich history than a Disney attraction.
So. We got on the bus, a big, cushy, air conditioned tour bus, were handed boxed "lunches" that consisted mainly of sweets and starches, and set out for the ancient Mayan city of Tulum. It was a pretty drive, and looked and felt a lot like driving through the southwestern US, except that all the signs were in Spanish. Actually, I suppose that's not much different from driving through the Southwest, either.
A pit stop at an overpriced gift shop, a Mayan collectibles sales pitch, and a history lecture later, we arrived at Tulum. Or rather, the tourist-town gift shop section of the parking lot outside Tulum. Getting to the actual ruins still involved a tram ride and a short hike. As we waited for the tram to get going, we watched a group of musicians in Mayan dress playing their instruments while perched at the top of a pole. This was not the first time that day that I wished I had taken my camera phone along.
Finally: Tulum. Oh, no, wait. We're just at the ticket counter. By now it had gotten pretty darn hot and humid, and we were in some kind of rain-forresty territory that actually looked exotic, and I was getting an inkling of how well I could handle ever being on Survivor, which is not very. But it's all okay because there were also iguanas. Wild iguanas. All over the place, just hanging out. Like squirrels. Awesome. We wanted to see if we could approach one to see how docile they were, but we were afraid they might be sacred or something, and it might be a major faux pas to pick one up, plus the whole risk of losing a finger if we messed with the wrong iguana. So we settled for taking pictures.
After another history lecture, our tour guide led us down a jungle path and up some stone steps, where the higher we got the cooler it got, then through a stone gate, and there it was: Tulum. For real this time. There was an ancient wall surrounding the ruins that kept us from seeing the shore, but you could hear the waves hitting the beach just beyond, and the breeze coming in from the sea was heaven. The ruins themselves were very pretty to behold, and we wanted to tear loose and look around, but alas, apparently we were in school, and our guide sat us under a big shade tree for yet another lengthy history lecture. It was fascinating, but despite the shade, with all of those bodies pressed together and cutting off the breeze, it was hot, and we weren't really getting to look at anything like we thought we had paid to get to do, so it didn't take us long to become bored and irritated. Finally, when other people started to break off from the group and wander on their own, we followed suit, and went to see what lay beyond the wall.
Oh my. I'd never seen such a pretty beach in all my days, with white, white sand and blue, blue water and the ancient city rising up from the cliffs behind. We wanted to make ourselves at home right there and never leave. Sadly, by this point we realized we only had about 45 minutes before we had to be back on the bus, so we only had time for a quick dip to cool off, each of us taking turns getting in the water while the other kept an eye on our stuff. Then it was back to the tram, the bus, Playa Del Carmen, the ferry, back to queasiness-with-headache.
Back to Cozumel, where we had to negotiate our way around a gaggle of frat boys holding an impromptu kegger right there in the street as we ran from shop to shop, snagging souvenirs and looking for someplace to eat in the hour we had before we had to be back on the ship. It didn't take us too long to conclude that we'd be hard pressed to find authentic Mexican cooking on that island, so we settled for an open-air Tex Mex café called Palmeras. The food was pretty darn good. Whether in spite of or because of it's Americanization is up for debate, but we made up for its lack of ethnic authenticity by drinking authentic Mexican beer. The waiter stopped short of openly laughing at me when I innocently asked for a Corona, and instead brought us a Dos Equis and a Sol. I am now a fan of Dos Equis with lime, and can see why it would make somebody sneer at the very idea of a Corona. It's like ordering a Bud when all they serve is Chimay. Or something. Matt has brought me very far in my beer education, but I'm still somewhat talking out of my hiney here. The point is: quality Mexican beer in an open-air Mexican café, in Mexico, surrounded by the sea, with your favorite person in the whole wide world at your side, is pretty damn satisfying. You should try it some time.
That night, back on the ship, we hit the gym (I think we did that often enough that we managed not to gain weight despite all the gluttony) and then called it a day. All in all, a pretty great day.
Next time: Back in the homeland, feeling less than secure.
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