An incessant noise woke me at the bright and early hour of 6. I rolled over sluggishly, turned off my blaring alarm, and began to peel back the covers on the bed. Before long, our bags were packed and ready to be loaded onto the coach; it was time to leave Mérida. Today we were heading to Cancún, but not without making a few stops along the way. On our route to Cancún was Chichen Itza, arguably one of the most well-known archaeological sites in Mexico, and home to El Castillo, one of the New Seven Wonders of the World. Our knowledgeable and entertaining guide educated us on the history of the ruins as we Instagrammed pictures with the intention of filling our friends back at home with envy. Shade was a precious commodity that day, and we embraced it at every opportunity to avoid falling into a state of heat-induced delirium. After our guided tour, we were given forty-five minutes of time to explore independently. Some of us wandered around the markets on site, our eyes glancing over the colourful blankets, ceramic sugar skulls and handmade jewellery as we passed by. Being called “princess” and “sweetie” by the salesmen was commonplace, as was their compelling sales pitch: “one dollar, almost free.” Talk about a bargain! Our time at Chichen Itza soon came to an end, much to the relief of us who were dripping in sweat. After spending our morning sweltering in the sun, we were desperate to cool off. Luckily for us, a swim at Ik Kil was next on the agenda. We arrived at the popular cenote and peered curiously over the edge of the sinkhole we would soon be swimming in. I carefully made my way down the slippery stairway that had been carved to allow access to the water, using the flimsy chain rail to guide me. The platform at the bottom was full of people, all eager to submerge themselves in the inviting water. Some of my tour mates were daring enough to plunge into the water from the diving platform, causing some of the most catastrophic splashes. I opted to use the ladder for entry instead; I was certain I would lose my strapless bikini top if I didn’t (either that or break myself). The water was crisp and much chillier than I anticipated. It very nearly took my breath away. I watched the playful catfish swimming around my feet as the light from the sun glistened against the surface of the water. Countless vines dangled from above, motionlessly suspended over our heads. It was like a scene out of a fairy-tale. We soon dried off and gathered for lunch before hopping back on our trusty coach to continue on to Cancún. It was still a good two hour drive to reach our destination, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to catch up on missed sleep. It felt as though we had only closed our eyes for a moment when we suddenly heard the sound of our tour manager’s voice over the loud speaker; we had arrived. Our coach drove us along Boulevard Kukulcan, the main thoroughfare in Cancún. The seemingly never-ending street was lined with glitzy hotels, luxurious shopping centres, and, of course, picturesque views of the Caribbean Sea. Our hotel, like many others, was located right by the ocean. My assigned room was on the ground level near the pool and only a short walk away from the beach. It was paradise. I took some time to feel the sand between my toes before getting ready for dinner. We crammed into the bus, paid our ten and fifty pesos to the driver and zoomed down Boulevard Kukulcan to reach our dinner venue – Carlos’n Charlie’s. Drinks were the main priority of the evening; soon our table was flooded with some of the most outlandish cocktails I had seen. This restaurant was ridiculous, in the best of ways. If our waiters weren’t making us obscene balloon hats, they were pouring tequila down our throats, or having a boogie to “Cotton-Eyed Joe” on the bar top. During our dinner service, myself and the other girls in the group were lured away from our tables by our whimsical servers to dance. They took our hands, lead us outside the restaurant and span us around in circles until we couldn’t see straight. My dance partner, a lovely little man named Angel, complimented me on my moves, though I’m sure I missed more than a beat or two. We returned to our seats in fits of laughter, and continued to sip on our larger than life cocktails. After finishing our meals, we headed over to the infamous “show and disco” Coco Bongo. I, of course, had never heard of it, but I could tell we were in for a treat judging by the colossal Spider-Man statue guarding the entry of the nightclub. We received welcome drinks as we were ushered into a small bar area. It seemed pretty quiet for a place that claimed to put Vegas nightlife to shame. Little did we know what was yet to be discovered around the corner… The music grew louder as we followed a passageway to a multi-storey dancefloor. It was absolutely packed with people, probably more than you would see out on a Saturday night in Auckland (and it was only Monday here). We had each paid for open-bar service; as soon as one drink was finished, a replacement would quickly find its way into our hands. The party was only beginning, as we were about to learn what the “show” in “show and disco” really meant. Our attention was captured entirely with each performance. One minute we’d have Batman flying over the crowd to battle his nemesis Bane, and the next, we’d be watching a burlesque performance from the musical Chicago. We were spellbound. Confetti and balloons fell from the ceiling, contributing to an atmosphere that could only be described as magic. As we continued to party into the night, I was asked by one of the nightclub’s staff members if I would follow him to come and dance. “Yes” I replied with the kind of enthusiasm that only rum and coke could muster. He grabbed my hand and took me up the staircase to the main stage. It was shielded by two large projector screens, though there was an opening between them. “Wait here” he said as he walked away and the classic hit “Mambo No. 5” began to play. I danced to my heart’s content until he came back. “Go ahead” he said, directing me to the light that illuminated the exposed part of the stage. The Spice Girl’s “Wannabe” was up next and I knew it was my time to shine. I stepped onto the small platform that jutted out between the projector screens to see the entire crowd before my eyes. Naturally, I wowed them all with my awe-inspiring talents. But in all seriousness, I was having the time of my life (and we can thank Dutch courage for that one). Unsurprisingly, the remainder of the night was a bit of a blur for me. I was informed, however, that by some miracle, at least seven or eight of us managed to squeeze into a 5 seater taxi on the way home. Tomorrow I would be going to do some shopping as my clothes supply was running low, and I was getting sick of having to hand-wash what I had every other day. Unfortunately, it meant that I would miss out on a day of the tour – a trip to Playa Del Carmen. But as far as silver linings go, the chance to have a sleep in was a pretty good one.
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As soon as we exited our cool, air-conditioned plane, it hit me. It was pushing 38 degrees in Mérida and it was significantly warmer than the temperate climate I was familiar with in Mexico City. The heat from the sun blanketed us as we stepped out onto the runway. The bright light forced me to squint, causing tears to well in my eyes. I hastened my pace as we headed towards the airport terminal, seeking shade to protect my pale, un-sun-blocked skin. Despite the intensity of the sun, I was relieved to be back on solid ground after a rather turbulent flight. Our coach soon whisked us away to our accommodation for the night, the historic Hotel Caribe, one of the city’s many colonial buildings. We were assigned our rooms; I had one to myself largely due to the fact that we were odd numbered and couldn’t all be put into pairs. I didn’t mind, though. It was quite nice to have some space to myself. There were no elevators in the hotel, much to the dismay of my weary travel mates. Fortunately, the hotel’s team were readily available to provide assistance. It was quite a sight to see them throw the heavy suitcases over their backs, race up the stairs, and deliver them to their respective owner’s rooms. With only one bag in tow, I didn’t have to worry about lugging too many belongings around. My room was on the top floor, with the hotel’s rooftop pool right at my doorstep. The room itself had been fitted out with modern furnishings and a swanky bathroom. Feeling a little hot and bothered, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to freshen up with a cool shower. To my surprise, however, I was not alone. Upon closing the bathroom door, I noticed a large cockroach sticking out like a sore thumb in the corner. It was unmoved by my presence, sitting still, and seeming rather content. I, on the other hand, was not looking upon my unexpected roommate too favourably. Now that I was aware of its existence, I felt inclined to do something about it. I threw a bundled up towel at my new foe with force in the hope that I might squash it. Instead, the cockroach retaliated by scuttling around frantically and darting towards my feet. In a panic, I leapt up onto the toilet seat in an attempt to protect myself and gain the best vantage point. By now, the cockroach had slipped its way into the shower. “You fool” I thought as I reached over the glass divide between us, grabbed the detachable shower head, and turned on the water. The standoff between us was building in intensity. It clung for dear life on the edge of the plug as I persistently endeavoured to wash it away. By some miracle, it managed to free itself from the grips of death and retreat to the side of the bathroom that I had declared mine. All I could do now was trap the enemy by placing an empty bin upside down on top of it and calling it a draw. After a harrowing battle, I finally showered, and proceeded to go and meet with the rest of my tour group. Our tour manager guided us through the streets, leading us to the central plaza. On route, we passed a magnificent stone cathedral, the towers of which I recognised from our view upon the hotel roof. We gathered around a procession in the city centre that appeared to involve some men in uniform performing as a marching band. The piercing sound of the drums reverberated chillingly through the silent crowd, even as the drummers began to disappear from the scene. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before we were able to lighten the mood. Hundreds of people were dancing around in a closed off street in front of one of the most gloriously pink buildings I had ever seen. I’m not sure what the reason was for the occasion, but we didn’t need an excuse to join in. A few of us immersed ourselves in the crowd and danced to the music that began to consume us. It was an absolute delight to see the expressions of sheer joy on the faces of those surrounding us; it was impossible not to smile right back. Eventually, we had to stop impressing the locals with our moves and make our way to the Palace of Government for a quick history lesson. I was awe struck by the large murals that adorned the interior walls, some depicting images of the hardships endured by natives of the region after the Spanish conquest. After taking a few quick snaps and getting lost in time, we went back to the hotel to prepare for dinner. The evening’s festivities began with a charming horse and carriage ride. The horses, and their ornately decorated carriages, followed one another in unison, their hooves clopping along the cobblestoned streets. We passed countless colonial buildings, each uniquely beautiful, and painted all sorts of delicious colours, from pastel pinks to vibrant oranges. If it weren’t for the cars that zoomed past us, we could’ve imagined that we had stepped back a couple hundred years. Our time-travelling expedition soon drew to a close as we pulled up at our restaurant. As we were seated, a chain and pulley system opened up the roof to reveal the captivating night sky. We enjoyed a traditional meal under the light of the stars before wandering back to the hotel to continue conversing by the pool. The intimate setting allowed us to have discussions that surpassed surface level conversation and the exchange of niceties. Exhausted, we soon retired to our rooms. I was able to sleep peacefully knowing that the six-legged intruder from earlier had now been eradicated (thanks to one of my brave friends). Our brief stay in Mérida was sadly coming to an end, but it had provided us with the chance to unwind and also mentally prepare for what awaited us in Cancún. I stepped into the elevator and pressed the “PH” button. Penthouse. We had been instructed to meet on the topmost level of the hotel for group orientation after gorging on fresh fruit, scrambled eggs and sugary pastries for breakfast. A cloudy sky and a cool breeze greeted us on the exposed rooftop. I started to familiarise myself with the faces of the people I would be getting to know over the next few weeks as our tour manager proceeded to give us an overview of the day’s agenda. After heading down to the lobby, we began filing onto our coach, eager to embark on our tour of the city. Many of us attempted to capture images of the scenery that seemed to continuously escape our view as we drove through the bustling streets. Mexico City unfolded before our eyes, and at each turn, we were captivated by new sights. I kept my face pressed against the window out of fear that I might miss something; if you blinked, you certainly would. We had a brief stop outside Mexico City’s Metropolitan Cathedral to take a group photo before wandering over to Zócalo - the city’s main square and political hub - to stretch our legs (and admire the stunning architecture, of course). Soon enough, we were on route to Xochimilco, where we would be treated to a Trajinera boat ride through the districts winding canals. Mindfully watching our steps, we clambered onto the somewhat rickety, yet brightly-painted vessels, and began cruising through the murky waters. Some members of the group indulged in a few bottles of cerveza while we observed some of the locals paddling their boats towards us in an attempt to sell their wares. We agreed to allow a mariachi band that floated by on board, and we enjoyed a song or two before they went on their way, no doubt on the lookout for another opportunity to perform for tips. Still well before lunch, it was time to move onto our next destination – Coyoacán. As someone who studied art history, I was particularly excited to learn that this was where Frida Kahlo’s former home (now a museum honouring her life and art) was located. Sure enough, the building’s striking, cobalt-blue façade appeared before us, as did the lengthy line of tourists queuing for entry. We began making small talk amongst ourselves as we wandered about the neighbourhood. It wasn't long before my travelling companions learnt about the misfortune with my luggage, and it was heart-warming for them to extend their sympathies and offers of assistance. I certainly felt less sorry for myself knowing that I was surrounded by such a genuine group of people. Eventually, we were put into pairs in preparation for a round of introductions that would commence once we were back on the coach. My buddy, Naomi, very kindly spotted me for a chocolate filled churro and one delicious coffee before we ventured into the local marketplace. We squeezed our way through the busy arrangement of stalls, some nearly stacked to the ceiling with tropical fruits, others beautifully cluttered with handicrafts and souvenirs. This scene became all too familiar during our travels, as did the persistent pushing of sales from those operating the market stands. Once again, we were asked to board the coach so that we could begin our journey to the archaeological site of Teotihuacán. As we navigated the ruins on foot, I think we were all mesmerised by the array of stone temples laid out before us and their intricate details. I lost count of how many stairs we climbed that day to reach the tops of both the Pyramid of the Moon and the Pyramid of the Sun, but the view was undeniably breath-taking from above. After spending the afternoon exploring and enjoying a buffet lunch, we headed back to our hotel for a bit of free time. Tonight we would get the chance to experience Mexico City’s nightlife. Soon after dinner, we crammed ourselves into seatbelt-less cabs and sped off to a local nightclub. Upon entry, we decided to share bottles of tequila and vodka, accompanied by a variety of mixers. There was a live band playing songs you’d likely hear on the top 40 countdown. It wasn’t long before we made our way to the dancefloor, where some of us attempted to salsa and partake in other shenanigans, like trading items of clothing for glasses of champagne on stage. We danced into the early hours of the morning, many of us calling it a night by 3am. My head was still pounding as I tried to make myself comfortable in bed. I set my alarm; in a mere few hours, we would be starting another day of adventures. I closed my eyes and hoped that I wouldn’t be feeling too worse for wear for our flight to Merida in the morning. “Miss Morris, your luggage is still in Auckland.”
Great. After spending more than 24 hours flying and in transit, those were the last words I wanted to hear. It was about 4pm in Mexico City, and all I desired was a hot shower and a comfy bed. My delayed luggage was not the only setback I experienced that day. The private transfer I had organised to take me to my hotel was also a no show (probably because I had wasted a significant amount of time fussing around with a baggage claims representative). I paced around the airport somewhat helplessly, trying to collect my thoughts and figure out what to do next. After unsuccessfully attempting to call my pick-up, I asked the two men behind me, Fernando and his son Rodrigo, for assistance. Completely flustered, I explained my situation to them and they calmly asked for the contact details of the transfer company. They phoned them on my behalf to rearrange where to collect me from. I probably thanked them about a thousand times before we went our separate ways. My driver eventually emerged from the crowd, carrying a sign that stated my name in bold, black lettering. I pushed past other loitering travellers to meet him. “Only one bag?” he asked. “Yes” I sighed. We walked out of the airport together, crossed a busy thoroughfare, and hopped into the car. As we drove through the city, I could feel my heart jump as I watched the traffic moving around us: cars changing lanes unexpectedly, motorbikes weaving through impossibly small gaps, and even pedestrians running in front of vehicles without so much as looking in both directions. If I was feeling tired and weary before this, I was certainly awake now. After a good forty-five minutes of near-death experiences, we finally pulled up at my hotel, the Royal Reforma. I slung my trusty Country Road bag over my shoulder and wandered over to the woman at reception who handed me my room key. 1302. I made my way to my room, opened the door and threw my bags on the floor. I proceeded to walk over to my window. “Wow.” I think I looked at that view for at least five to ten minutes. My eyes glanced over the cityscape, following the outlines of the buildings and observing the haphazard flow of traffic. It was the most surreal feeling realising that I was no longer in Auckland. After enjoying a short nap, I decided it was time to assess the contents of my carry-on bag. It is fortunate that I am the sort of person who always prepares for worst-case scenarios. In my bag I had packed a few changes of clothes and underwear, basic toiletries, and even a set of togs for the beach (and a towel for that matter). Considering I was about to start a fast-paced, 18 day tour of Central America, completing this trip without my check-in luggage was a very real possibility. I decided to pamper myself by taking a bath and indulging in the hotel's offerings: an all-in-one shampoo and conditioner, a bar of soap, and a body moisturiser that smelt vaguely of flowers. There is no denying that this was the epitome of luxury. In all seriousness though, after a hellish time getting to Mexico, a relaxing bath was the perfect end to my day. Eventually, I crawled into bed and watched episodes of “Mom” and “The Big Bang Theory” before drifting off to sleep. I only had one more day to wait until I met my tour group and I could not have been more excited. |
B is:A 26-year-old tea drinking writer of words trying to find her place in the world.
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