A Whale Shark of a time

Today was our free time! And I chose to spend it swimming with whale sharks. Yep, it's the thing to do around these parts. We had a number of choices of things to do, some people went swimming with the dolphins (in an enclosure), others were still sick and barely had the energy to explore the town. There were a few of us in the bus heading to the whale sharks, mostly the people who had been partying the night before.

It took about half an hour on the small boat before I vomited. The sea was rougher than I expected and, well, yes I was a bit hungover. The drive out to the sharks was fairly long, and by the time we spotted one we could no longer see land. If we really thought about it, it was a little daunting. And if I REALLY thought about it, I'd remember that I have a fear of deep water and sharks and what the hell was I doing out here with a flimsy life jacket between me and one of the biggest creatures of the sea?? Nah, they'e gentle giants, true.

So it was all anticipation, us watching the other boats splitting off into different directions and then mostly out of sight, seeing the occasional dolphin, then we saw the fin. Quite small in comparison to the rest of its body, we were all asking what it belonged to, the captain joking that it was a tiger shark, before saying "Kidding! Jump in." And literally yelled it: "JUMP IN!" Go, go, go, we pulled on our snorkels, propelled ourselves overboard and before we knew it, we were surrounding this beautiful, spotted beast of the ocean, seemingly unfazed by our presence, just slowly but swiftly moving through the water.

It was quite hectic, as the shark moved much quicker than you'd think, and they tried to rotate us so while some were swimming alongside, others were being driven in the direction the shark was heading, ready to jump in. It was surprisingly fast and hard to keep up, the water was still a bit rough and I was out of breath by the end of it. Feeling a bit sick, too. T said she vomited whilst in the water, ha!

And then it was all over. A shame, but as I was still catching my breath while hanging over the edge of the boat, I was kinda happy at the time. Now, I wish I could do it all again, but right then, it was a good decision. But I will never forget that feeling, jumping in and not knowing where the shark was, only to see it rise up from the depths and come straight at me, mouth open so I felt I could fall right in - but just so beautiful and harmless. I wonder how anyone can hunt animals like this.

After the sharks, we drove to Isla Mujeres. Now I'm from Australia. I've lived in the Caribbean. I've done a fair amount of travelling to some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. I've seen a few. Some may say I'm a bit of a beach snob. But Isla Mujeres has GOT to be right up there with the most gorgeous beaches I've ever seen. The water, yes it was clear but oh my gosh how did it get THAT clear?? T and I even saw a little sting ray rush past as we waded out to land, and after telling M, he was convinced he'd seen one too - only it was the anchor to our boat and its cord ha!

Lunch was served while we were still in the water - Corona in right hand, plate of prawns and guacamole in the left. What we didn't eat was fed to the fishies. The other boats, some of which had now reappeared, was pumping some random tunes while we danced around and appreciated life. Then it was back to the port.

A bit of a downer afterwards, when they tried flogging us photos of us boarding the boat in a cardboard frame printed with whale shark photos (even halved the price when we weren't looking interested), again and again. I'm sorry but I don't need a photo of me getting onto a boat, I want a bloody underwater photo! Then things got slightly more frustrating when the coaches that were "waiting to take us back" didn't arrive for over an hour. Nevermind, we spotted a pub and had a beer while waiting.

It was a shame, though, that we happened upon a group just coming back who had a video taped while they were underwater. Not only did they have a whole school of whale sharks but giant manta rays too, and an underwater video. And much, much longer in the water with the sharks. We were happy with our experience, but after seeing that, it was a bit disappointing and I'd certainly not recommend the company we went with ever again.

When we got back to Playa, I saw some of the others and we went to the beach for a cocktail. I enquired randomly about the price of a beachside massage and, upon hearing it was just $30, signed myself up right then n there. The masseuse was probably one of the cutest Mexicans I met, with a few little dreds sprouting out, and some good, strong hands on him. One of the girls brought over my pina colada and I positioned on the sand it under my face which poked through the massage table, taking sips every now and then. Oh yeah. Life is good.

At the end of it, the masseuse gave me a bead from his dred to remember Playa, how cute. I told T how good the massage was and she jumped right onto the table, admitting afterwards that her onset of sunstroke and sunburn was perhaps not the wisest state of mind to go into a massage in. Onwards to dinner time and I took it upon myself to make the most of the last shout by the tour company - lobster flambe! Another meal arriving on fire, it was prepared and cooked in front of us all, with tequila and white wine the main ingredients in the sauce.

We all headed to the Blue Parrot for our final night on tour. Situated in the heart of Playa's club strip, it was a slightly better option than some of the other trashy ones like Cocobongos, and the best part was that all us girls got an open bar tab just so we'd stay inside. Truth be told, we were quite early and pretty much the first people in the club. It was open-air largely, with some cool decorations in a Carnaval theme and, best of all, random acts by Carnaval style performers who just happened to also be quite well put-together. A drumming outfit, Carnaval dancer, guy on stilts and capoeira fighters...

I wasn't really feeling it, to be honest, and the drinks seemed watered down and a bit sweet. So I danced around in the balloon animal things being thrown onto the dance floor, and flung my arms about when they sprayed an oxygen bottle over the crowd (well, I think it was oxygen)... I got into it as much as I could. But had to call it a night, walking home by myself. Hey, what did I have to steal? My dignity perhaps. It was nice, though, to have some me time. I was about to go on another tour in Cuba, so having a moment to think my own thoughts was welcome. 

Pick my pockets bare

We had some spare time before heading to Playa Del Carmen, so it was suggested we go to check out the souvenir shops and make the most out of a less touristy city. T and I went to explore with some others, trying to find these markets J told us about - with no luck, T and I broke off so I could find a post office. I made sure to always have my hand on my bag and the zip done up. Shortly after, I went to lend T some cash and found my wallet was gone - A-FUCKING-GAIN. Awesome work there, sneaky fingered Mexicans. I don't even know how it happened, the fucking prick, I swear when I took a swig of my bloody water or something. Argh.

I went to an internet cafe and the lady let me use her computer for free to try and cancel my cards. But of course I was out of Skype credit, and when I tried to top up, oh they needed my card details. Then I tried to transfer T some cash but of course, they needed to send me an SMS code to the mobile I'd had stolen. Life was hopeless. So I gave up and met the others at the hotel, where a staff member collect called my bank and I was able to cancel my cards and order $1000 emergency cash. A nifty little service I didn't even know existed.

It was a 5-hour drive to Playa, which was welcome since I wanted another sleep. Everyone was waiting for me, some with sorry looks on their faces for my misfortune. Others, with slightly green looks on their faces from oncoming sickness. And we hadn't even started driving yet.

We had checked into our hotel, a last-minute change since the original (and much nicer looking) hotel was having renovations and was too noisy. We had a cute little apartment situation which we weren't going to take advantage of since we were out n about eating on the tour company's tab. I had to nip off from J's tour of town to sort out my money situation. What I did see of the strip in Playa was pretty cool - obviously mega touristy with vendors yelling "hey lady hey lady" (my favourite) "you want to look, I have good prices for you, Cuban cigar??" And it went on... A different vibe to Cancun, kinda more compact, and full of good-looking tanned bodies.

Thankfully, the robbery happened just before I got to Cuba, not IN Cuba, so I was able to get money from Western Union. But that was a whole 'nother mission in itself, in Playa del Carmen. Had to run to get there in time, only to not be able to find the actual Western Union, then finding out it was actually just at the supermarket check-out. Thoroughly confused, I stood there as the manager lady ran about gathering $100 here, $100 there, so she could make up the huge amount I was taking from her. Another bloody rich tourist, she probably thought. I made sure to get a cab back to the hotel and hid the cash in several places in my luggage.

Then it was dinner time, on the strip so lots of people-watching. This is where the music began. The first, of many many times, I was to hear "La la la la la la bamba!" Oh, save me. They wander around wanting tips - sometimes it's fun but it gets old fast. Especially when they come, one after another, all through pre-drinks, during dinner and into after-drinks. Give me strength. Tour from the tour company, T, M and I felt like a boogie, and were trying to decide the best way to go, and somehow it all ended up in a gay club.

We stopped off to get some of T's hair braided, then went in the back door (ha!). Considering it was mid-week, the place was empty but the tunes were pumping. Same old shit as Global, same old shit as every other pub, but you really just have to embrace it. It's there, so just deal with it. Throw your hands in the air and fukn never forget YOU'RE ON FUKN HOLIDAYS!!! I befriended the best gay Mexicans ever, with matching black tank tops and, you guessed it, MOUSTACHES!!

We spent the best part of the night gawking at the hot bar guy who insisted he was straight, in between staring at himself in the mirrored bar, before figuring that if we were gonna do body shots anywhere, it'd be here. Up we went onto the bar, tequila in mouth, lemon on stomach. I think that's how it goes, anyway. Good enough. Photo proof. A taste of my old wild days. Just a taste.

After a good ol' knees up, we headed back to the hotel and did a bit of creative swimwear (or lack thereof) in the pool. Figured with whale sharking (swimming not harpooning) the next morning, I should head to bed. Got to my room and yelled out from the balcony that they were being super noisy and the it was travelling up to the top levels, they didn't understand it was me and hushed their tones, thinking they were in trouble. Too funny. Sleep time.

Horse, cart and.. rails?

Breakfast at our hotel in Merida was plentiful, and I can definitely say it was the first time I'd seen deep fried broccoli as part of the mix - yes, of course I tried it. We were set to go to some cenotes (pronounced sen-ot-tees) today - the morphed Mayan-cum-Spanish interpretation of large cavernous swimming holes with crystal clear water and a welcome shade from the sun.

Another mini-bus ride later and we were in a random little village, clearly centred around these tourist rides to the cenotes. I say rides because we were now looking forward to some kind of horse and cart experience, except of course that the horses pulled us along on this weird rail system where they trotted along the outside of the tracks and we wheeled along behind them, creaking and crackling all the way. We were amused by the whole thing, swatting the numerous bugs from our exposed swimmer-clad bodies.

First, we saw a cave. Nice and all that, but where are the cenotes?? Back on the horse and cart, poor little skinny things pulling 5 of us along apiece, where I notice an old horse feed bag and 2 things spring to mind: they actually feed these horses, where does it go? and they even put tortillas in the horse mix? I suppose it's not that bad an idea. We got to the first cenote, down a vertical ladder (2, actually) and into a dark cave with a small, thin pool at the bottom. I was the first onto the slippery slope, stupidly trying to do it with a camera in one hand, hair flying everywhere, my white dress quickly getting filthy... ahh, no. I'd rather not die today.

When T practically jumped down the hole, I thought I'd better man up and sort it out. So off came the dress, up went the hair, down went the camera, and I scooted off after her. It wasn't so bad actually, and quite nice to have some relief from the sweat and heat of upstairs. In the end, there were a few of us in there but the large part of the group stayed above ground.

Onto the next cenote, and it was one of the bigger ones around - and you could tell. Family fun for everyone apparently that day, with swarms of people running around, jumping off the little platform, squealing delighted little Spanish yelps. I swam away a bit and just floated in the strikingly blue pond, watching little fish dart around my huge lifeform and most probably nibble at my hair.

Then it was back onto the horse and cart, off to lunch at the random little village. And back onto the bus, where I once again fell asleep as J drifted into my consciousness with her casual observations about what lay beyond the window. I couldn't really tell you much of out there, I was spent! Then it was free time in Merida, for shopping and getting various things done. I bought some postcards then found it impossible to post them, go figure. Dinner was at another nice restaurant with a little old lady making tacos in the corner. And cocktails. More cocktails. 

Mexican cenote

Pickpockets to Panchos

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Never trust a Mexican. And the first morning of my mini-tour of Mexico proved this again, without a doubt. Not long after our guide had explained that Mexico wasn't a dangerous place, just be careful of your belongings, we wheeled our suitcases to the nearby bus station and had 2 phones pickpocketed just minutes later while buying snacks. At this rate, there'll be nothing much left to steal!

We boarded the bus to Chichen Itza, I almost got left behind at the in-between stop as I gazed out into nothing in particular at the bus station, but J ran out and got me. The bus was actually pulling out, bastard bus driver. Whatever I ate at the bus stop disagreed with me and by the end of the day I was dashing for the loo. Gross.

We dragged our luggage off the bus and into the storage at Chichen Izta (some of the oldest ruins of their kind in the world), before heading in for a tour with Julian. He was quite good actually, explaining all about his heritage with the Iztans etc etc (obviously I didn't listen THAT well)... and we learnt how anyone born between 6 and 10 August was marked as a sacrificial child. They drugged them to make them less scared and I guess slit their throats before tossing their jewel-laden little bodies into the pond of death (the Itzan name was much more impressive had I remembered it). Anyway, that was my main memory of that tour. Little sacrificial bodies.

I managed to practise my Spanish with Julian a bit more, Mexican Spanish is not that hard to understand (unlike Cuban) and T and I explored the markets - a good decision in hindsight, they were the best markets for souvenir shopping I saw in all of Mexico. I bought a beautiful handmade Mexican style dress, which I planned to wear that night. Of course for this we were late, running for the group who were already halfway through their lunch. Which meant we had to cram some hideous thing into our mouths to catch up - I think mine was meant to be pizza.

We continued to Merida in a private mini-coach, which I slept most of the way on (I'm becoming quite the pro at sleeping in transit), and arrived at our (nicer) hotel with the sun still blazing. J took us for an orientation walk of Merida, the "home of the hammock" apparently. She got one of the street vendors to demonstrate how they work, the best way to sit in them and signs of a well-made hammock. They were quite nice, to be honest, but I already have a hammock so no purchases for me.

We freshened up for dinner and met at Panchos, a restaurant owned by a Cuban therefore with speciality for good cocktails. We got right into the happy hour situation, getting our first taste of cheap cocktails (about $2.50 each) made just right. You'd wanna hope so, since you had to wait about 10 minutes for each drink! I made friends with a beautiful Italian lady sitting by herself at the bar - had I been travelling solo, we would've been dancing on the tables 2 hours later. Alas, I had other people to entertain.

Dinner was good, again a hearty mix of tortillas in various stages of the life cycle, the first of many shouts by the tour company - gotta love being an agent! Some of the group retired to the hotel afterwards, the rest of us moved to a table at the top bar that sheltered us from the rain. Happy hour started up again randomly, so the cheap drinks came thick n fast. Mojitos were the speciality. Then they closed up, telling us that they were the only place really open on a Monday night.

Liars! As soon as T, E and I walked out the door, we heard music playing a couple of doors down. It was a locals bar, exactly what we wanted as I was getting a little edgy playing it safe with these tourist-friendly bars. There was a live band, lots of short, happy Mexicans bouncing about on the dance floor. The bar had countless bottles of alcohol stacked up behind it, all wearing teensy little sombreros - ever so cute. The staff fawned over the foreigners with the cash dowla - I think we were the only ones who got table service.

Of course people stared, and pointed, and tried to make conversation. To be expected. Then they started asking for photos with us, but mainly with T. Something about her fair-skinned, brunette body that they really took a shine to. Me and the pretty little blonde English girl next to me - couldn't give a rats. We had 1 quick dance with the locals, but my partner was pretty wasted and at the point where he took my hands and placed them on his chest (expecting me to.. rub him??), I called it quits.

A couple of cheap cocktails later, we headed back to the hotel, bracing for another big day of sightseeing and cocktail-drinking tomorrow. 

Chichen Itzaaaaa (aka Chicken pizz)

A little leg goes a long way

Considering I didn't have the large night I expected after the gala dinner, I wasn't surprised that I woke feeling kinda fresh, ready to continue my 3 week adventure into Mexico and then Cuba. First things first, not the lost & found but the chill out area for my complimentary massage. Albeit, it was only a foot massage and the bean bags were not as comfy as they looked but - first world problems. Then the lost & found, where there was still no luck with my lost bag.

I girl I had met on the way into the gala dinner, also from SF, was also waiting in the lobby when I got there for the 5-day tour I'd signed up for with a bunch of other agents. We waited for ages, chatting to all the other agents wheeling their suitcases out to get their transfers back to the airport. Poor sods, many of them only flew in for the weekend and had to be back in their stores just 4 days after they flew over to Cancun. I am so blessed to be able to take this time off.

We were still waiting when most of the others had cleared off and the dust was setting in, wondering where the hell our guide and the rest of the group was. I asked a few random people, half hoping that they weren't in the group (they were old and looked boring), and then started worrying. I tried not to let the recent robbery get in my head, but not knowing what was going on was getting to me and I had to go through to the other hotel to check the lobby over there. I found everyone waiting, somehow they got the message and T and I hadn't, so I ran over to get her and our luggage. 

I met our tour guide, J, who didn't look as Mexican as I'd hoped, the tour company rep and another dozen agents from various parts of the company. There were a couple of people from New Zealand and England, the rest from Oz. Once I got chatting to the guide I learnt she'd lived in Central America for about a decade with her Caribbean husband and spoke not only fluent Spanish but English too. As it turned out, having a more Western perspective on the goings-on of Mexico wasn't such a bad thing.

We drove out of the Marriott driveway, down past Cocobongos, through the town and into the "real" Cancun. Our hotel, a far cry from the infinity pools of the J.W., was... how should I say it... cosy? Nestled in a side street next to what I later found out was a gay club and almost devoid of tourists, the location certainly gave us a our first taste of the real Mexico. We went for a quick orientation walk and then J took T and I to the local police station to report the theft of my bag and T's phone. T had a slightly different story - she got drunk the Friday night and asked a barman to "mind her phone". Needless to say, she never saw said barman again. Silly girls that we are.

The police station was another story completely. Although it wasn't that busy, the first policeman J spoke to was just so unimpressed with the fact that he may have to do some work that he almost sighed his answer in Spanish: "Get and get 2 photocopies of your paaaaaasspoooots..." We walked for ages trying to find somewhere open to copy on a Sunday, eventually having luck, and went back to settle in for the afternoon at the cop shop.

The second cop we got was actually younger and a little sweet, I soon found out he was first of many to be charmed by T's pretty brunette trusses and accidental (?) showing of leg from the bench behind me. No wonder he moved through my report so quickly. When the first cop saw how we were laughing and joking about, he stuck his head over the partition and starting making conversation. Too late, buddy. We waited longer than necessary for someone to witness the signing of the reports but finally we were out of there, just in time to meet the rest of the group for the first night meeting.

At the hotel restaurant, J ran us through the 5 days that were ahead of us, but most importantly gave us good perspective on what to expect from Mexico. The most memorable part was when she pointed out the differences in our cultures to that of Mexicans, especially education, and not to get frustrated when we saw them doing something in a way that didn't really make sense to the rest of us. That stayed with me and came back to me many times, many, many times... many times. 

After that was dinner at a restaurant near some kind of town market, alive and kicking in the summer school holidays with stalls and a bit of fun for the kids. T and I went walking after a meal of burritos, tacos and enchiladas (where J explained the life cycle of a tortilla and the various dishes involved in making it last beyond reproach), and were a little freaked out by the number of small children driving tiny cars around. Then I realised their parents were controlling them. For a second, I thought they were freakishly talented little critters. One cheeky stall-holder later ($10! For a tiny little pouch?? Got to be kidding), we headed back for a good night's rest at the cubby hole.