Thanks,

The author

Docks at Belize City

Our guide, picks us up at the water taxi dock. His name is Carlos or Charlie Chan.I snicker a little in disbelief, than I find out that Chan is actually a common Mayan name. It is the end of the season and we are the sole members of his tour. Driving through Belize City, he explains about his own background, growing up in a small farming village in the Orange Walk District, and the ins and outs of living in Belize. Belize City, from what we see is like most big cities, dirty and and we were told, a little dangerous. There is a very high crime rate, Carlos says, because a lot of the people who live there are very lazy.
Going through the little town of Hattiesville, we see homes and businesses, built to house people after the hurricane of the same name that destroyed Belize City several years ago.

Sleeping giant mountain on the way to the Cave River.

Soon we are out in the country. He points out the mountain range that looks like a sleeping giant. He and Mark chat back and forth in Spanish and English, and I doze a little in the back seat.

Shack in Belize countryside.

After about an hour’s drive, we pull-off onto a dirt road and then into a parking area, filled with buses, vans and other vehicles. Major Tom greets us when we get there. The weather is wonderful, not too hot or humid, very comfortable. We strip down to bathing suits and water shoes, get our tubes, life vests and headlamps and take off through the jungle.

Packing tubes through the jungle.

Coming to the river.

A short walk away we come to the river we are going to float down. We ford the river, cold to most Belizeans, but not to us from Utah, just very refreshing. The park reminds me a lot of Henry Coe in Santa Cruz, California, and the Lorenzo River there. The only difference being the huge jungle ferns, and other giant versions of my houseplants and of course no giant redwoods.
Hiking through the jungle, Carlos tells us about growing up in the little farming village where his family still lives. A very educated man, he went to school and high school in the very primitive conditions of his village, and then continued on to get a college degree in science. He is very proud that he was raised without television and many of the modern conveniences that are so much a part of our lifestyle. In his multi-generational family, his parents and grandparents taught him the important things of life – which plants made good medicine, which made good food, how to survive in the jungle and use all of its many resources. He feels his life is good and is proud that he is continuing the same tradition with his own children.
With the tourist season almost over, we ask if he is concerned for the immediate future. “Why should I be”, he asks? “Our needs are simple. This job is nice and a diversion, but it is not something I really need. Everything that I really need I get from the jungle, or from my farm.”
It reminds me of the story of the man who worked hard all of his life so that he could retire to an island and spend his days fishing; while the people who already lived on the island already had that life-style, without the hard work he had to put in beforehand. Carlos is very much aware of the treasure of a lifestyle that he lives everyday.

Mouth of the cave.

Carlos pulls our tubes down the river.

We reach the river and jump-in and onto our tubes. We hook together, feet to armpits. Carlos tucks his feet in the front of my tube and backwards begins pulling us down the river, moving with the current. In the caves we hear before we see. There are strange echoes, laughter from the other groups ahead. He tells us stories of other cave floaters getting stuck behind curves and in eddies, hollering to get out. We turn off our headlamps surrounded by blackness, the drip of water from stalactites; the weird sound of water against water, rock and things unknown. He tells us how the ancient Mayan priests used to go into the caves to collect that holy water and their belief that the caves were entrances to the underworld.
And then ahead we hear and feel the water starting to race, and he pushes us apart. We are on our own. A shaft of light beams over to another part of the cave and there are other tubers, surrounding a waterfall. From a high unknown source, it splashes down the face of stones, smoothed and rounded by the action of the falls. We paddle over for a look, and then continue down the river into rapids pulling us to places we cannot see, and then out into the sun.

The caves are behind us and we float languidly, peacefully through the jungle. Too soon, we come to the rope that we used to ford our way across the river, on the walk up to the caves. We reluctantly pull ourselves out of the river and go back to the car.

Other tubers on the river.

Carlos has left us not only with an adventure to remember, but a legacy of the people who once lived here – when the caves were not a tourist attraction, but a sacred and spiritual chapel for ancient Mayan priests.

But last night the wind woke me. Howling like a banshee, I was sure a hurricane, or at least a tropical storm was on the way. I look up the weather on my computer and I find out that it is just a tropical wave, whatever that was.

Another island friend

And then another thing wakes me – my poor husband in the bathroom, addressing the porcelain god, Earl. He has gotten the dreaded traveler’s syndrome. I walk down to the shore and notice that we have waves on our beach. Not big crashing ones, but not the gentle lapping that we have become used to. And out on the reef, a 1/2 mile offshore, I can see a long, tall white line of big, (for San Pedro), breaking waves. I call the snorkeling company and find out that they aren’t going to go out today.

Despite the wind, the sky is still blue, and the air warm, it looks like it is going to be a stay-at-home and enjoy our own beach day. Mark stays in bed and uses up all the Immodium and Pepto-Bismal. I go in search of chicken soup and ginger-ale.

For as small a town as San Pedro, there are hundreds, or so it seems, of small grocery stores, and a few medium-sized larger stores. None are as big as an Albertsons or Safeway, and a warehouse store like Costco is unheard of. We are not prepared for the sticker shock of buying such simple things as cereal. The exchange rate of Belizean money is twice the US dollar. It makes it fairly easy to figure out, but you need to ask if the price quoted is US or Belize, or you may pay more than necessary. Groceries are marked in Belize, $14.00 average for a box of cereal. The nicer the store, the more expensive their prices, for the most part. If you want to save money, stay away from whatever may look like a US store, wider aisles and air-conditioning, Better yet, adopt the practice of the locals. Buy fruit at fruit stands, buy baked goods fresh from the bakery. (The 2 bakeries we visited were excellent and very reasonably priced.) Catch your own fish.

Our favorite fruit stand with Maria, the owner.

The stores are not trying to rip off tourists, but everything that comes to the island, must be shipped in by barge from the mainland, because the water is too shallow to support large ships. This is a good thing at this point, because it prevents the invasion of shore bound tourists from cruise ships. However, we are told that Carnival is working on dredging a channel so that they can reach the island. I hope it takes them a long time to finish.

Fish under our own pier.

By afternoon, Mark is feeling a little bit better, the wind has died down a bit and we go down to the beach.  We do a little bit of snorkeling, the water clarity not being as great as it usually is. But as we dive around old rocks and piles, we see some pretty amazing fish. Mark gets out earlier then I and decides to try his luck fishing at the end of our dock. As he tries to pull his line in, he determines that his favorite lure has gotten snagged in the dock rubble close by. Not thinking, he dives in to save his lure. Successful in the save, he has forgotten that the key to the room that was in his pocket, is no longer there. When we had checked in the desk told us that if we lost the key, we would have to pay $50.00 dollars US to have the room re-keyed when we check out. That is not in our travel budget plans. But it is too dark to search now.

More fish under our pier

Amazingly, Mark came back the day we left and searched with goggles and snorkel gear, finding the now rusty key on a bright green wrist band, on the ocean floor, exactly where it should have landed when it fell out of his pocket.

Fishing boats and pier on the lagoon side.

Lagoon side of the island.

Pint-sized Belizean Entrepreneur

After asking enough, we finally find the place, around the corner and down the street about 2 buildings from the Bank of Belize.
Joe is very accommodating. The other places did have bikes, but you had to go in and ask. And their prices were $25.00/day each. Joe charges $15.00 and said that if we came back on Friday, he would give us a multiple day deal of $10.00, the same price we paid in Mexico. And the bikes were better than in Mexico. They had big baskets.
We decided to explore the south end of the island because Mark had heard that there was a reserve down there and we could see some manatees. We picked up a lunch of fruit and ham and cheese croissants and took off. The main roads in town are pressed cobblestone,not the easiest thing to ride on, but the gutters are concave and smooth and we found that riding there was much easier. We soon ran out of cobblestone and found ourselves on sand. Beach access was not as easily available, but we went in to a little place next to Royal Caribbean and had our picnic lunch.

Lunch spot near the Royal Caribbean

The south end of the island is not the place to go. We find out that this is where they dump their garbage, and it smells a lot. Although we did pass Victoria House, a an exclusive and somewhat pricy resort. There is very little to see and beach access is difficult, mainly it’s private homes. What we did find however was Joe’s. This Joe was a little hamburger stand. So the boy really was telling us the truth as far as he knew.

Boys swimming off the dock. Don

The last banana orchids of the season.

August 11, 2008

Lingering at Lamanai

Tuesday morning we are up at 7:00 AM, sitting at the end of our pier, waiting for the boat to take us to Lamanai, another Mayan ruin on the mainland. Boat seems to be the most convenient mode of transportation on the island and the fastest. No golfcarts, pedestrians or bicycles in the way, just a straight shot from pier to pier, and each major hotel or resort with its own.

Speeding across the water to the mainland, we are bound for the New River, and the small town of Bomba. Once we get there, a bus take us to another part of the river. Then, back on the river to the ruins of Lamanai, located on the Lamanai lagoon, deep in the rainforest. Along the way, a guided tour of the flora, fauna and history of the area by Herman and Frank, dread-locked Creoles with a delightful accent and sense of humor.

We zoom across the shallow-ocean, spray in our faces and a sense of anticipated adventure. Once we are on the river, a breakfast of Johnny-cakes with chicken, ham or cheese and fruit is served on the boat. True to their word, the educational portion of the tour begins. We are in the rainy season, and find that the river was a riot of color and smell in June when the banana orchids were in bloom, but this is August. Our guide manages to find one small late-bloomer that he brings on board for us all to smell, photograph and look at more closely. The dark, tea-colored brackish water has no clarity, but we are told that crocodiles and manatees lurk underneath. The blobs of mud hanging from the trees are termite nests, and mangrove trees are one of the main vegetations on the shore.

Termite nest in the jungle. They taste minty.

Bomba is a small village that only recently acquired running water and electricity. Sitting at the dock, our next mode of transportation, a dark green school bus, with the requisite window air-conditioning. Next to that, a source of pride in the village, and built especially for the tourists, the facilities. Boasting a private flush toilet for women, and 2 urinals out in the open on the other side of the wall for the men. Why bother? We all laugh.

Approaching Bomba in Orange Walk District, Belize

Even little boys in Bomba throw rocks

Climbing aboard the bus, we bounce our way on sand roads for several miles. Then we come to the Pan American Highway. I think the Mayans would be ashamed. The last paving was done many years ago, now it is concrete interspersed with more sand. The hot, bumpy ride soon puts many of us to sleep. The sites out the window, jungle with some crudely planted crops and occasional fields with cattle. “If you want land,” the guide explains, “You go out and clear the jungle, and plant something and the government will give it to you.”

Boarding the chicken bus in Bomba

Set-up especially for tours, the next stop boasts more restrooms, these really decent, a covered picnic area and hammocks. But there is no time to rest. This time we get in 2 different boats, each with its own guides. We are in the smaller group and take off ahead. Mark spots the flipper of a manatee, but by the time the boat slows down, it has totally disappeared. We slow from time to time to see other points of nature. At one tree there is a bird that is so camoflaged it looks like a branch stop. How does the guide know where there will be birds?, I wonder. Do they stuff them and sit them up in the trees to show tourists?

Passing the Mennonite settlement of Shipyard, we admire their clean and neatly organized community. The group had come at the turn of the century, their pacifism, making their stay in Mexico intolerable during the revolution. They had an agreement with the government to be productive farmers. Using only the methods approved by their religion, horse and buggy, no electricity etc., they are responsible for a large percentage of all the fruit and field-crops grown in Belize. Turning a bend in the river, teen-age boys jump off a wharf and try to show-off. Where are the girls? Probably back home cooking, cleaning and sewing

Picnic area at Lamanai

Entering the New River Lagoon

Finally the river opens into a wide lagoon and we pull up to the wharf. A cobbled walk leads to a picnic area, restrooms, a museum and gift shops. Getting off the boat, we walk over to the picnic area and wait for lunch. Typical Belizean fare, jerked chicken, coleslaw, beans and rice and fruit, but it is delicious.

Lunch over, we walk through the museum and then meet our tour guide, a native Mayan with his own special interest in the area. Only 95% of the ruins have been excavated. As you walk through the jungle, there are huge mounds that look like hills, but these are other ruins that haven’t been uncovered. The country has no money to do such work, and relies not only on grants from countries like the United States and Canada, but also the expertise of their scholars to make sure the work is done correctly.

A quiet howler monkey in the trees.

There are only a few main structures that visitors see at Lamanai. Walking through the jungle, the guide tells us many things about the plants. There is the give and take plant, covered by hundreds of thorns, each capable of inflicting severe pain, reduced only by sap from the same plant, hence its name give and take. Huge strangler figs are BFT, big fat trees, related to the Banyan, with its entangled trunk and root system. Howler monkeys, hang from the tops of some of the trees, this being their nap-time, they’re really not into howling right now.

Jaguar temple with jaquar face. Weathered facade

Walking into a clearing, we observe the Jaguar Temple. Named for the stylized jaguar face at each end. One shows the effects of weather and jungle and the other has been built up so that the jaguar face can be more clearly seen. According to archaeologists, the temple was built in the 6^th century BC and used until the Spaniards came in the 1500s.

The High Temple at Lamanai

Hiking to the top of the High Temple is a physical challenge going up and a mental challenge coming down. Would I make it? I didn’t even stop to think about it, just plunged ahead. A huge rope from the top helps both ways, but you have to trust the rope. Would if one tourist too many has pulled their way to the top? The pinnacle is magnificent, a tremendous sense of accomplishment, rewarded by cool breezes from the jungle and an incredible view of the tops of the trees and the lagoon in the background.
The Mask Temple features a 13-foot high mask of an ancient Mayan king. Unlike other ruins, the Mayan continued to build on this site, over the structures of their ancestors. The name Lamanai means submerged crocodile and the lagoon is now a site for their study.

It takes physical strength to climb up the temple . . .

hiking down the temple is a mental stretch.

But the view from the top is well worth it.

The Mask Temple features a 13-foot high mask of an ancient Mayan king. Unlike other ruins, the Mayan continued to build on this site, over the structures of their ancestors. The name Lamanai means submerged alligator and the lagoon is now a site for their study.

Close-up of Mayan mask.

The Mask Temple is from a later period.

But it is quickly growing dark, and we need to get back before its does. The trip out takes about half the time as the trip in. The boat guides are experts and can probably do the trip in their sleep. Water sprays from the back of the boat, as we zoom through the jungle, plants brushing the sides of the boats. All too soon we are back to our hotel dock, with light to spare — an amazing journey through time and indescribable scenery.

These river guides really know what they are doing.

]]> http://mmtrips.wordpress.com/2008/08/20/day-5-lingering-in-lamanai/feed/ 2 mmtrips The last banana orchids of the season. Termite nest in the jungle. They taste minty. Approaching Bomba in Orange Walk District, Belize Even little boys in Bomba throw rocks Boarding the chicken bus in Bomba Entering the New River Lagoon Picnic area at Lamanai A quiet howler monkey in the trees. Jaguar temple with jaquar face. Weathered facade The High Temple at Lamanai It takes physical strength to climb up the temple . . . hiking down the temple is a mental stretch. But the view from the top is well worth it. The Mask Temple is from a later period. Close-up of Mayan mask. These river guides really know what they are doing. http://mmtrips.wordpress.com/2008/08/20/day-4-slowing-down-on-the-sabbath-august-10-2008/ http://mmtrips.wordpress.com/2008/08/20/day-4-slowing-down-on-the-sabbath-august-10-2008/#comments Wed, 20 Aug 2008 04:41:33 +0000 Deborah Schultz http://mmtrips.wordpress.com/?p=56 ]]>

Our intention from the beginning is to attend the LDS Branch (Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) that we had found out was on the island. Finding it is another matter. As we walked around looking for a place to eat Saturday night, we found an open tourist booth and explained our dilemma. Taking a map, he showed us where to go, but we were still uncertain. Though the streets have names, few have street signs. Most directions are given in landmarks by building name.

Church starts at 9:30 and we figure it is about a mile and a half away. We start our walk on the beach, our camel packs full of water. The sidewalk along the shore runs out. Not knowing if Belize has the same restrictions as Mexico, we go back into town and start walking down the streets. For nine o’clock on the morning after the Maya Festival, it is still amazingly busy. Following our map, a few blocks from the church we run into the Mormon Missionaries on their bicycles. Flagging them down, they assure us we were on the right track and the church is only a few blocks further. Mark notices a man enter a building in a white shirt, and sure enough, in front of a dilapidated two story building is a big black sign, almost like a giant missionary tag, with the church logo on it. Glancing inside we notice lots of fans, open windows and obviously no air-conditioning. About 50 people end up at church, some slowly trickle in late. One of the missionaries keeps going out and bringing back more investigators. There is one other tourist family who comes every year with her family.

We have sacrament meeting first and then separate into Primary, Sunday School for the youth and RS and Priesthood. There is only a two-hour block. I end up teaching the youth because no one else wants to. We meet outside and it is surprisingly cool. The lesson is on tithing, a difficult discussion for such a humble group of young people.

New friends that we met at church

So, how did we get to Belize? Not as easily as I thought we would. Before leaving Tulum, we had to drop off the bicycles. There were no more seats left on Tropic Air, which is almost 50% cheaper than Maya Air, so we decided that we would take the water taxi instead. As I had figured, a 4-hour bus ride, catching the water taxi at 3:30, to get to San Pedro when it was still light, required exact coordination on our part. We would take the bikes to the shop at 8:00 AM, catch a cab to take us back to the hotel, grab our luggage and be back to the bus stop with time to spare for the 8:30 bus. Everything worked as scheduled until we got back to the bike shop at 8:00 a.m. sharp. It was still closed. Thinking that at this point we should divide and conquer, I went for the cab and left Mark with the bikes.

Corazol Townsquare

I don’t know why Mark always let me do the go-foring, I think he thought it would help me develop my Spanish. “Habla Ingles,” I asked at the taxi station? There was someone there who spoke a spattering of English, I told him what needed to be done, and we headed back to pick up Mark. The shop is still not open. So, in the taxi, I head back to the hotel to pick-up our luggage. Met by the owners, I struggle with getting all the pieces down from our room and back into the taxi. The hotel owner gives directions back to my driver about what I am trying to do. I am given instructions to bang on the door of the shop. The owner will come. Back to the bicycle shop – no Mark. The lady in the stand next door says he left to the bus station. We find him walk-running about 10 yards from the bus station. Time: 8:25 AM. We pay the driver 70 pesos and a big tip.

The bus has not arrived yet, or so we think, While catching the bus to Tulum, we got on one that said Merida, which continued to Chetamul. I assumed it would be the same bus. The line for tickets was short, but moving slowly. I stood in line and Mark took the luggage over to where the bus would be. It pulls in. There is trouble in the ticket line, up front. Will there be enough time to buy the ticket before the bus leaves?

Mark has put our luggage on the bus. Surely they won’t take off without us.

Finally I buy the tickets. But wait. The other bus, that said Cancun, now says Chetamul. It is also ready to leave, but our luggage is on the Merida bus, not going to Chetamul. We grab the luggage off the bus, throw it on the right bus. We board, only to find that there are only 2 seats left. Gratefully we plop down anywhere, as the bus takes off.

The trip down to Chetmul is thankfully uneventful. More flat, straight driving with short trees on either side. Endless jungle, is as boring as the farm fields along I-5 in the Central Valley and a lot more boring than the Nevada desert along I-80. I decide to follow the natives and take a nap.

At the first bus stop, half the passengers get off, and we get to sit together because no one gets on. I wake up and have to go to the bathroom. Of course, the bus is not equipped. Will the driver stop? Are people supposed to hold it for 4 hours? The next stop is a fairly large town, with a regular bus stop. We are met there with ladies selling sandwiches and drinks. They have a restroom. The driver gets off to stretch. It is okay. A line is forming in front of the ladies room. A woman sits there selling tickets. 3 pesos, she says as she hands me some toilet paper.

I find that public restrooms are almost non-existent on the Yucatan. I think that it has a lot to do with septic systems and paying to keep them going. I don’t know why they just don’t build out-houses, though they still need to get those cleaned too. This leg of the journey proceeds smoothly. At each stop, there is food to buy. We packed a lunch, but bought some deep-fried plantains, which were really good.

Finally arriving in Chetamul, I had no idea how we would get over the border. At this very large bus station, we were greeted by an agent who asked us where we were going. A tiny van with open doors was there to take us to Belize. It was leaving in half an hour. $20.00 Belize. The open door should have been a clue. This was one of those buses that I had read about. It was the air-conditioning.

We waited a little longer and another couple showed up and got on the bus. We got to the border and had to show our passports. They didn’t care about the paper we had gotten on the airline, and were warned that it would cost us $50.00 if we lost it. I am sure it will be necessary when we fly back to the states. As we leave the station, the van is met by a man, who gets half our fare from the driver. Mark says that they are partners. I feel like we are dealing with the Mexican Mafia, or its Belizean equivalent, smuggling us across te border. We also had to pay 20 pesos each to leave the country. Over the border we go, for a mile or so. Then we have to take all of our luggage and walk through customs. Not a big deal. They stamp our passports.

Women at party in Corazol

Corazol congaline

We are dropped off at a corner in Corazol. I really don’t know where the water taxi is, but I can see the ocean. The sky is getting dark and it starts to rain. A taxi pulls up and we take it about 3 blocks to the wharf. A walkable distance, but we didn’t know. We find the Thunderbird water taxi/taco stand and find that we have about an hour and a half before the taxi will leave. We get some tacos and pay for our tickets. They stow our luggage aboard and we set off to explore Corazol – another good place not to stay. There is very little there. We walk through downtown and head over to where we are hearing music. It’s in the courtyard of a Catholic church and school. We peek in and the priest comes over and invites us to join his party and have something to eat. Since we just ate, we decline but come and watch the party for a while. Everyone is dressed in their Sunday best and thoroughly enjoying themselves – families, children, grandmas, they sing and clap along. A conga line starts and weaves around the party. It is not much different from our church parties at home – just a little more formal and because of that a little more special. There is homemade ice cream and they insist we have some – obviously a special treat.

Glancing at our watches, we decide that it is time to go. As we look at the water we see white caps and the wind is becoming much stronger. Dark clouds are gathering on the horizon and there is a clap of thunder. Are we really going to leave in such weather? We make it to the little stand, which gratefully has a shelter outside just as the squall hits. The boat is supposed to leave in 30 minutes. We can see heavy rain coming towards us, and the wind becomes even more fierce. Waves start to break over the sea wall. And then almost as quickly, it starts to calm down. The wind dies, and the white caps start to disappear. By the time we leave, the water is almost calm, and though it continues to rain a little, it is soft and gentle. This is island weather we are told.

Adding an addition in Tulum

Its time to find bicycles so that we can get to the beach and the ruins. $10.00 for both bikes for 24 hours at Iguana Bike Shop. Off to the beach we go. About 3 miles away, we take a turn to the public beach – the wrong turn. We find lots of other resorts and cabanas, but no ruins. At the public beach we see our first iguana, sunning itself on a rock. Everyone warned us of the bugs, but so far we have only seen lizards. That iguana was the first of many.

Debbie and iguana friend

We finally figure out our mistake and ride back towards the ruins. Most of the beaches are private and not accessible unless you are a guest of the property. I knew that we could get to the beach at Tulum so we wore our bathing suits under our clothes so that we could go swimming. We stop at another public beach almost to the site and Mark finds out that we can go fishing and snorkeling for $20.00 for 4 hours with a guide. I think this is what we will be doing on our way back, although I am sort of favoring the cenotes, big pools from underground rivers, that we decided were too far to bike to. It might even be another trip.

At the ruins we find even more iguanas. They are very tame and seem to have little fear of humans. While laying on the sand at the beach, one runs right across our neighbor’s towel. She doesn’t even notice it until Mark shows her the tail swish marks in the and.

Mark and Debbie in front of Tulum ruins

The Tulum ruins are beautiful and interesting, but what I find most interesting is the respect that the people have for this Federal Park. There are signs around that say no eating, smoking, bicycles etc. and people obey them. The other public beach was not as clean, but this one is. Despite the fact that the place is full of people, there aren’t a lot of trashcans, and there is no litter. A refreshing change from some of the parks that I have been to in the states.

Tomorrow we are off to Chetmul and Belize. A four-hour bus trip and then a 10 minute flight. I hope that we find the people there as warm and hospitable as they have been here. But right now, 5 miles on a bike, has made my butt sore, and I am ready to go to bed.

Mark at Tulum

Convening in Cancun – How we got from Ogden, Utah, USA to San Pedro, Belize, the cheapest way possible — not necessarily because we are cheap, but because we wanted the adventure.

August 7, 2008

Ah travel. If only getting away itself were easier. After months of preparation the easiest of things, like how to get to the airport becomes hard. You would think that at least 1 of our 5 children living in this area could take us there — but it can’t just be simple. One adult kid said, “I’ll take you”, (meaning I want to borrow your car so I don’t have to drive mine all the way to scout camp in Wyoming.) But then he finds out that the class he has to take for work starts at 8:00 a.m. and the plane didn’t leave until 9:50, so that would put us at the airport at 6:30, leaving an hour earlier. Not that spending the whole day getting to where we want to go is a long enough trip. But oh, by the way, make sure that you leave the keys for the car anyway.

Mark on the ADO bus to Playa del Carmen

So we find someone to drive us the 9 blocks down the hill to the Frontrunner, and take it and the bus to the airport. We’re traveling light. It’s really no big deal.

Then there’s my worry-wart husband, who makes a big deal out of most everything because that is his job. I leave to get some breakfast and he panics because they started boarding while I was gone. This was Delta – reserved seats. I could have shown up right before they took off and it wouldn’t have made any difference. Like I said, he makes problems even when none exist.

Arriving in Cancun, it took us about 30 minutes to get through customs. We were then descended upon by helpful tour-agents who were concerned that no one was picking us up. When we explained we were taking the bus, they lost all interest. The bus ticket station was right in the airport. Only hitch was that there were no direct buses to Tulum. We had to go to Playa del Carmen, but we were assured that there was a bus there we could transfer to. We got on the air-conditioned ABO bus, complete with movie, (in Spanish of course) $8.50/person to Playa del Carmen, and after a long stop at the other air-terminal, we were off.

A new friend in Playa del Carmen

Lots of greenery, we sat on the wrong side of the bus and missed the hotel entrances on the other side. Besides the short (in stature) jungle on our side, we could have been traveling on any highway, anywhere. Arriving in Playa del Carmen, we were met with a Mexican version of Monterey, or Fisherman’s Wharf. Lots of tourist shops, more liquor and pharmacies then usual and pretty sleazy. When I was checking out rooms, I noticed the prices in Playa where a less expensive there, then in Cancun, or Tulum. Now I can tell why. I am so glad that I decided to stay where we are staying, even for 2 days.

The beach at Playa del Carmen

After a wait of

Street artist in Playa

about 45 minutes, we finally got on the bus to Merida. This was the Mayan line that goes to all the ruins. It said Merida, which is a city on the other side of the Yucatan, near Chichanitzen, I was a little apprehensive that it was the right bus, but it was, as many others were going to Tulum. There were mostly locals on the ride. Nothing as entertaining as little old grandma’s sitting there with a chicken in their laps and not as nice as the ABO bus. The upholstery is a little torn and there are no movies, but a pleasant air-conditioned ride, with few stops. The people are very friendly and probably as interested in practicing their English, as I am my Spanish.

As it was now starting to get dark, I am concerned that we would not be stopping at the bus stop, but end up in the middle of nowhere and have to walk miles. The passengers said that the bus would stop at the bus stop and we did.

Arriving in Tulum, I knew that our hotel would be only a few blocks from the bus stop because I had looked it up on a map. It was, but I couldn’t remember the exact address. I had emailed the owners a few times, so I wasn’t really concerned about finding it, but it was dark, starting to rain and Mark again started to fret. With very little back tracking we did manage to find the place.

It was every bit as wonderful as described in the information that I read online. Posada Luna del Sur, Parade of the Moon on the South. The owner was so very gracious and made us feel at home immediately. She put us in a better room for the night, because the next door neighbors were having a party with barbecue and load music. I told her it didn’t matter that much to me, and showed her my hearing aides, but she insisted. So we got a better, more expensive room for one night.

Mark’s Spanish has come in very handy, and they both chatted away, me understanding about 1/3. She and her husband are both gringos, but she grew up in Mexico. Her grandfather came from Russia. We were talking and she was very interested to find that my maiden name was Romick, because her sister had just married someone whose last name was Romicke. Very small world.

The room is wonderful, clean sheets, air-conditioning that works, lots of bottled water, a refrigerator for us Americans who insist that everything be chilled.

The towels at Posada Luna del Sur arranged at the foot of our bed

Janet, our hostess, directs us to the restaurants in town that she knows are safe to eat. After it stops raining, we walk downtown and have a wonderful, real, not Taco Bell dinner, (Though I had to put my foot down with Mark about eating at the Subway next door. I did not come all this way to eat fast-food.)

The Subway shop is really the only American commercialized shop that I find in Tulum. It is an eye-opener to see how the average Mexican lives.  Poverty level or below and no building code. The house around the corner was adding an addition, using framing from jungle trees, with the bark peeled off. Everything is either concrete or tile, because that is all that will last. But life and family is very much the same. As we walk home, Mark translates for me, the Grandma, yelling at her grand-daughter to come in, because it is late and she shouldn’t be out at such a time.

Street musicians in Tulum

Back at the hotel, we thankfully fall quickly asleep in our modern, air-conditioned room. Another good decision on my part – not to try one of the cabanas on the beach just yet.