Through the course of my adventures, I've been fortunate enough to meet a number of exceptional human beings. World class, even. From work colleagues, to travel companions, to fellow passengers on the bus during my time at university, I've managed to befriend people in all sorts of places. Some of these meetings have been more unlikely than others, while some have been perfectly ordinary. Either way, we've all got stories about how the people who were once strangers became our dearest friends.
On the other hand, we've also all met individuals who, for whatever reason, don't become a permanent part of our lives. They might be around for some years or perhaps just a fleeting moment. Regardless of the amount of time that they are present, our interactions with them are all but forgettable. I have memorable moments about a lot of these people, but there is one story in particular that comes to mind more often than most. Ron was an 80-year-old Wellingtonian I met at LAX on my way home from Central America. He was behind me in the queue at customs wearing a well-worn, patch-covered leather jacket, with a khaki-coloured rucksack slung over his shoulder. I had recognised him from earlier in the day as I had also seen him wandering around Mexico City airport. My friend Tom who was with me at the time had spotted him initially, saying something along the lines of "check out this guy." He had a point; it's not everyday you see some leather-clad old-timer strutting around an airport on his own. The elderly man was carrying a New Zealand passport in his hands: another kiwi amongst this sea of people. In some respects, his presence made me feel a little closer to home, which was especially comforting for a weary traveller who just wanted a hot shower and to be tucked up in her own bed. As the line shuffled forward, a faint voice spoke up: "So, you're from New Zealand as well, are you?" He must've noticed my passport too. "Yes, I'm from Auckland" I said, with a half-smile, wondering whether or not revealing my identity as a JAFA would cost me an airport companion. He acknowledged my response with a single word that also answered my yet unasked question: "Wellington." As we passed through customs, I asked Ron where he was returning from. He told me that he had just spent the last six weeks travelling around Mexico, Guatemala and Belize by himself. My eyes widened in both surprise and awe; it seemed like a rather impressive feat for someone his age. I told him that I had just been there myself and we began swapping stories about our experiences. He explained that his holiday had been cut short due to an injury he had sustained falling down some stairs in Guatemala. The poor bloke ended up in hospital for a week without any of his travel documentation on him. "The whole thing was a circus," he chuckled, "the doctors and nurses couldn't comprehend a bloody word I was saying!" Fortunately, Ron managed to navigate the language-barrier by communicating through the use of hand gestures and facial expressions until he was discharged. It's remarkable how you can reach a mutual understanding with someone through something as simple as eye contact, isn't it? "So, what's your story, Ron?" I asked as we sat down for a pre-flight snack. He had bought himself a banana and a chicken sandwich, which he carefully unravelled from the cling film that it was wrapped in. Ron began by telling me that he had worked as a carpenter since he was a teenager and that he eventually opened and ran his own business. It was successful enough that he was able to retire at fifty, and that every year since, he had managed to travel away somewhere. Unfortunately, Ron's life wasn't quite the fairytale that I had imagined, despite his extensive travels. His wife passed away when she was forty, leaving him to raise their two children single-handedly. He had become estranged from his son over the years, but was close to his daughter, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. His face lit up when he spoke about them and he said he was looking forward to catching up with them when he returned to home. Ron coolly mentioned that he had a lady-friend (sly dog) who no doubt was anxious to see him. He hadn't managed to figure out how to get his Nokia flip-phone to work, and so, he hadn't been able to contact her once during his travels. I took one look at the ancient relic he presented to me and assumed that either the battery was buggered or that the cellphone was simply too outdated to function successfully in this decade. Despite this, Ron had done extremely well without any communication to or from home. To be quite honest, he probably got a lot more out his experience than someone who would've been glued to their iPhone, discovering their newfound world through a tiny screen, rather than with their own eyes. Soon enough, it was time for Ron and I to go our separate ways. I was bound for Brisbane while his stopover was in Sydney. As we reached my gate, he offered a firm handshake, thanked me for my company and wished me all the best. "You've got your lid screwed on straight, you'll be all right" he chimed. In an instant, he eradicated any self-conscious thoughts I may have had about my head being lopsided. But in all seriousness, it was somewhat reassuring for a 22-year-old (who despite trying to "find herself" in Mexico was still unsure what life would bring) to hear those words from a stranger who had experienced it all before her. Although our meeting was brief, I still took something valuable away from my conversations with Ron. In spite of all the curveballs that had been thrown his way, his outlook of life was impeccably bright. If I am lucky enough to live a life as long and fulfilling as his has so far been, I hope that I too will be able look back on all my past experiences and appreciate them for what they're worth. No matter what bullshit you have to endure, it is essential to find that silver-lining, and try (however difficult it may be) to look at the bigger picture that is being painted before you. I don't know if I believe in fate, but I like to think that people come in and out of our lives for a reason. The scale and impact of their influence on us may vary, but no doubt, these interactions, however minor they might be, seem to count for something. The importance of these encounters may be realised in an instant or perhaps days, months, even years later, when we find ourselves reflecting on them. Sometimes they reveal general truths about life, while other times, they allow us to learn something new about ourselves, alter our perspectives, and ultimately, play their part in shaping the people who we become. As for Ron himself? Well, I need only two words to sum him up: bloody legend.
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I know it's a saying that has been absolutely thrashed to death, but man, time sure does fly. This time last year, I was preparing myself to embark on a journey halfway across the world to explore the sights and experience the culture of Central America. Little did I know that this adventure would change my life and be the catalyst for some serious self-learning.
Leaving Auckland airport for this trip was a debacle in itself with changes to flights needing to be made within hours prior to my departure. Still, I managed to keep my cool as I boarded the plane, thinking that I certainly wouldn't have been the only traveller in history to have experienced a minor hiccup. Arriving in Mexico City some twenty-four plus hours later, however, to discover that my luggage hadn't even left my home country was a little disheartening to say the least. One harrowing courtesy-car ride to my accommodation and a few frustrated tears shed later, I picked up my socks and decided that all I could do was accept that this was a less than ideal situation and make the best of it. Three weeks later, I was reunited with my luggage and homeward bound. As previous posts would indicate, I did things in Central America that I never would have dreamed of. I met some of the most wonderful people, created lasting memories and learnt lessons that I will carry for a lifetime. Surprisingly, or perhaps not-so-surprisingly, I managed to get on relatively well without most of my belongings. It's amazing how much shit (for lack of a better word) we think we need while travelling. While I may have missed dolling myself up for a night on the town, or having a wider selection of clothes to choose from, at the end of the day, I was just stoked to be doing what I was doing and embracing all that Central America had to offer. Sometimes I feel like I have to pinch myself to remind myself that it wasn't all a dream. Fortunately I can avoid inflicting self-trauma thanks to the filing cabinet full of memories I have in my mind. Even for those that are becoming a little fuzzy as time passes, the photographs on my phone transport me right back to those moments and they become as clear as the day they were experienced. If anything, I wish I had written more about this trip while the momentum to do so was still there. As I settled back into my day-to-day life, it felt as though I had less time to daydream about my travels and mentally reimagine myself in a place I once was. Travelling alone was as nerve-wracking as it was exhilarating. The challenges I dealt with taught me so much about what I am capable of in the face of adversity. Let me tell you, globe-trotting isn't all the glamorous, especially when you are forced to scrub your underwear with a cheap bar of soap and blast them with a hairdryer just so you have a clean pair to wear the next day. Even when it seems like you've hit rock bottom, you find a way to survive. Not all my problems were magically solved through travelling as I hoped they would be. I didn't come back home and have some epiphany of what life had in store for me. Like most of us, I'm still figuring it out. In the last year, I've changed my idea about what career path I want to pursue approximately 87 times, moved out of home (and moved back in), jumped back into the dating scene and tried the whole "falling in love" deal, and spent a significant amount of time getting to know myself better. There are a lot of things I'm still not sure of. Before I went travelling, this terrified me. Now, I'm learning to be okay with that. I can't be in control of what I don't know, but I can be in control of what I do know. I may not know exactly what I want to do, or where I want to be, but I do know that I am edging closer to figuring out who I am, and no doubt this will put me in good stead for any future decisions I make in my life. So, who is B? B has an incredibly dry sense of humour and is about as sarcastic as they come (truth be told, she also uses this strategically as a defense mechanism in times of vulnerability). Bad memories about red wine no longer make her want to vomit, and in fact, it has become her drink of choice in recent times (a reflection of her incredibly classy nature). B is still pretty reluctant to step foot in a gym, but she'll be in her element outdoors, so long as the sun is shining. Alternatively, you'll find her curled up reading some crime-thriller, writing her thoughts in a journal, or watching some soppy film and pretending she's not a romantic (she might be, ever so slightly, and the thought makes her cringe). She enjoys being around people, listening to them, and helping where possible. Perhaps most importantly, B is resilient, fiercely loyal, and values everyone in her life. All in all, I feel like I'm closer to knowing who I am than ever before. As it turns out, a lot can happen in a year. I'm currently in the process of planning a trip to Europe and considering returning to university to pursue further studies. Although I can't say for certain what the next twelve months will bring, if 2017 is anything like the last year I've had, then I can't wait to see what unfolds. Given that we had been on the go since the beginning of our tour, we were well overdue for a low-key, laidback kind of a day. We were allowed the luxury to sleep in past 6am, which was previously unheard of, giving us ample time to relax and pack our belongings. I’d grown quite used to the fact that my one, Country Road duffle bag was all that I had to be concerned about, and that it was essentially containing the entire contents of my current life. It’s amazing how well one can adapt when they’re forced to get by with so little. We departed the jungle lodge just after midday. Fortunately for us, it would only be a relatively short drive to our next stop in Santa Elena. We pulled up outside our hotel, and boy, was it the quaintest place you ever did see: painted the colour of the sky, with crisp, white trimmings around the windows and door frames. Once we had checked in, I was eager to see what view awaited me from our room. I stepped out onto the balcony and watched the sunlight beaming over Lake Peten Itza. Across the water, I caught a glimpse of the island of Flores, speckled with brightly coloured buildings, almost like a Christmas tree decorated with its twinkling lights. With this thought in mind, I immediately felt at peace in my serene surroundings. After spending a fair bit of time settling in, we were guided across the causeway that connected Santa Elena to Flores to explore the local markets and find a spot for lunch. Cars zoomed by as we walked in single-file, trying to keep a safe distance from the busy road. It was the heat of the day and perhaps the hottest we had experienced in Central America so far. We all felt awfully sticky as we traipsed through the winding and narrow streets. It was a small price to pay when you realised where you were in the world, and what you had come to see so far. Eventually, the heat got the better of us and we sought relief from the sun in a local restaurant decked out with industrial sized fans. I enjoyed a margherita pizza and an iced coffee topped with whipped cream, all while admiring the idyllic lakeside setting. Free time in the afternoon allowed us to wander around the markets and attempt to bargain for souvenirs. Knowing I was limited with my luggage capacity, I trawled for a modestly-sized memento. I stumbled into a small, inconspicuous shop, and found a shelf of hand-painted ceramic skulls, trinkets I have always been drawn to. They were by no means a rarity in Guatemala (or Mexico, for that matter), but a bright orange one depicting a scene of small figures in a village caught my eye. I probably paid more for it that I should’ve, but it was nice to know that I’d be able to take a tangible reminder of this trip home with me. We made a point of taking typical tourist photos on our way back to Santa Elena, dodging the red tuk-tuks and mad traffic that crossed our path. I was looking forward to returning to our hotel; the pool had looked ever so inviting upon arrival. It was the perfect way to cool down and unwind after a day in the sun. My quick dip was followed up with a shower before a number of us ventured down the road to the local Burger King for dinner. Short of walking back to Flores, it was our only food option this side of town, but in all honesty, I was quite eager to sink my teeth into something greasy! We placed our orders in the most haphazardly-spoken Spanish possible, which proved to be a challenge. Nevertheless, we were pretty pleased with our attempts. My friend Tom was able to utter but one line without fault, “sin salsa de tomate,” which in English translates to “no tomato sauce.” This was perfect because he hates tomatoes. And sauce. No words have proved to be more useful to a tomato sauce loathing individual in a Spanish speaking country. Back at the hotel, our weariness was starting to show, and most of us spent time in smaller, quieter groups. I popped down to see Tammy and Emily who were watching TV in their room. Flicking through the channels, we came to a stop when we realised that the Disney hit Frozen was on. Just for the record, “Let It Go” is about a million times better in Spanish. Without hesitation, we leapt our feet, and danced around the room like absolute muppets, which forced us into fits of delirious laughter. It was not quite the nightclubbing scene we had experienced in Cancun, but it was more than good enough for us. A few of the others were congregating in a room down the hall to partake in some games of the drinking variety. Tammy opted for an early night, so Emily and I moseyed on over to see what was happening. I can’t recall what we played exactly, but I’m certain that quality banter and laughs were exchanged. One beer in and I was ready to call it a day. I returned to my room, turned on the air-con and hopped under the cool covers. Tomorrow we would be jumping on our second internal flight and heading to Antigua. I didn’t know what to expect, but if Antigua was anything like what I had experienced so far, then I had every reason to be as excited as I was. If we thought getting to Caye Caulker was unbearable, then nothing could’ve prepared us for the arduous journey to Tikal. Spending hours on a crammed water-taxi was a walk in the park compared to our wait to cross the Guatemalan border. We tacked on to the lengthy queue in the sweltering heat, gradually shuffling forward as each traveller ahead of us passed through immigration. With our passports stamped and now feeling sufficiently drenched in sweat, we hurried back to our coach where we were greeted by the cool breeze of the air-con like an old friend. Another long day of travel was finally met with our arrival at Tikal’s jungle lodge, much to our relief. Our thirst was immediately quenched by the welcome beverages provided – a tropical fruit-flavoured concoction. After a quick debriefing, we were assigned our room keys. Miriam and I followed the winding, bumpy path to our lodgings. We scoured our cabin upon entry for unwanted guests, our eyes tracing every surface with caution. No pillow, blanket or towel was left unturned. Once we were satisfied that we were in the clear, Miriam decided to wander over to the pool while I opted for a much needed shower. The bathroom was immaculate. With a generous sized shower, the fluffiest of white towels and what looked to be my favourite bar of complimentary soap to date, I knew I was in for a treat. That was, until, I decided to look up. On one of the exposed beams running across the ceiling, I spotted a scorpion, camouflaged against the deep colour of the wood. It remained still as I debated whether or not I could bring myself to shower in its presence. Struck with fear, I sat on the end of my bed with my head in my hands and pondered my options: seek help or leave the country? Luckily, Miriam soon returned before I had the chance to really consider the latter. She seemed surprised that I had been in and out of the bathroom so quickly. Unfortunately, I had to break the news that my sitting on the bed was not the result of efficient shower habits but rather due to the fact that I had looked death in the eye and assumed that my fate was sealed. Thankfully we were rescued by a stick-wielding member of staff from the lodge who was able to provoke the scorpion to leave through a hole in the roof by jabbing it incessantly. Miriam and I were both a little apprehensive to be left alone in the bathroom following the incident, so we acted as one another’s guardians as we took turns showering. Keeping a watchful eye on any sign of movement in the bathroom using our iPhone flashlights became a hilarious bonding experience for the two of us. Needless to say, it was a rather sleepless night given that we were staying in the heart of the jungle. The shared glass of red wine before bed did little to relieve our anxiety. Each time we felt as though we were about to drift off, a rustle from outside would heighten our senses. Fortunately, we only had a few hours to pass until we had to be up. Our group met at 4am in the morning before we began our trek into the jungle. Now all we had to mindful of were the tarantulas, snakes, and perhaps the odd cougar. Considering my earlier encounter with a scorpion, I felt as though I could now handle anything that nature might throw at me (just call me Bear Grylls). We managed to avoid any immediate contact with the jungle’s residents as we treaded with caution in the dark. The odd torch light would reveal segments of the temples we found ourselves walking around. For a bunch of sleep-deprived travellers, we were up early to do more than find our way around the ruins in the dark. We were here to watch the sunrise from one of the highest vantage points that Tikal could offer. A set of wooden stairs had been built to allow access to the top of one of the taller temples on site. We climbed up and sat in rows along the stone steps like an audience on the bleachers quietly anticipating the start of an event. I can’t quite describe what it was like to sit in silence and witness the diffusion of light over the thick canopy of trees before us. None of us dared to disrupt the moment by speaking; anyone who did received scathing looks from other onlookers who were here to experience complete tranquillity. As night became day, we watched in awe as the jungle came to life. Colourful birds spread their wings and soared over tree tops while monkeys swung through the branches effortlessly. There was no question that we were privileged to be watching the show that nature was putting on for us. The rest of the morning was spent exploring Tikal at our own pace, from treading through the jungle, to climbing the ruins. There was plenty of wildlife to be observed too; a few were fortunate enough to spot some toucans. By mid-morning, we were ready to head back to the lodge and pack our things; we would soon be moving on to our next destination. There were a number of memorable moments from this trip, but that of vision of the sun rising over Tikal will never fade from my mind. Our journey to Caye Caulker can only be described as excruciating. Most of us were feeling a little delicate from the night before, evidenced by the fact that we were nursing some pretty relentless hangovers. The thought of travelling countless hours to our destination was just about unbearable. With a stiff back and an aching head, my attempt to nap peacefully on the coach was a complete and utter disaster. Several uncomfortable position changes later, we arrived at the port of Chetumal; it was time to set sail for Belize. Reluctantly, we dragged our weary selves towards the water taxis that awaited us. The ocean had appeared calm from the dock. Once we were on the boat, however, it was apparent that we had been deceived. Our heads moved back and forth madly each time the bow clashed against a wave. I’m surprised none of us got whiplash. Time seemed to pass us by as Caye Caulker’s white, sandy shoreline began to emerge before our eyes. You could almost hear the sighs of relief from the group as our feet finally touched solid ground. Unsurprisingly, our first night on the island was relatively quiet. We feasted on fresh seafood at a local restaurant while sipping on some exceedingly potent cocktails with cheeky names that alluded to women’s underwear. After dinner, some members of the group opted to investigate what island nightlife had to offer while others (myself included) retreated to their rooms. I was later joined by my new roomie, Miriam, and we spent the rest of our night entering a game of hide and seek with an iPhone. Eventually, we admitted defeat and decided that drinking rum and coke in bed would be a much more productive use of our time. The next morning, we were up bright and early in preparation for our day of snorkelling on the Belize Barrier Reef. I filled up on a platter of fresh fruit and a banana smoothie from a popular breakfast spot before we were instructed to make our way to the dock. Our guides fitted us out with a set of flippers and a snorkel mask prior to boarding our trusty vessel, a speed boat named “Mr Wolf.” We jetted across the water for a good half an hour; the ocean spray cooled our skin in the heat of the sun. The boat soon came to a stop as we reached our first snorkelling spot on the reef. After a quick debriefing, we plummeted into the clear but choppy water at Hol Chan Marine Reserve. We battled against the strong current as our guide directed our attention towards the various sea creatures that swam beneath us. Schools of tropical fish and a Hawksbill turtle were within a few metres of us. It was incredible to see them flourishing in their natural environment; I may have uttered a few “oh my God’s” to myself underwater out of pure excitement and awe. We were soon back on the boat and heading to our second drop off point: Shark Ray Alley. “Mr Wolf” halted above a swarm of nurse sharks varying in size. They glided effortlessly through the water as they were coaxed to the end of our boat by the guides with offerings of food. One by one we plucked up the courage to enter their territory. I sat on the edge of the boat as a large nurse shark swam beneath my feet. With eyes closed, I plunged into the water and began to watch the feeding frenzy through my mask. Though nurse sharks are fairly tame in comparison to our ocean’s predators, it was a strange feeling of fear and exhilaration to be able to reach out and touch them – literally. Never in my life would I have dreamed of being so up close and personal with a shark; that’s usually the sort of thing my nightmares are made of. I watched them from a distance, admiring how unfazed they were by our presence. A group of rays also made an appearance as they swam playfully around their spectators, creating the perfect photo opportunity for those with GoPro’s. Our third and final stop on the reef allowed us some time to explore the various coral formations before heading back to Caye Caulker. The journey was accompanied by burgers and rum punch. We had a bit of time to spare before the evening’s activities commenced. My roomie and I wandered around for about an hour popping into local shops, capturing photos of the stunning views, saying hello to the friendly locals and reminding ourselves to follow the island’s motto: “go slow.” It was hard not to feel completely at ease in this little slice of paradise. We were fortunate enough to be able to spend the evening cruising around on a catamaran, eating corn chips and salsa while watching the sunset. Several rum punches later, we were back on the island where we enjoyed another sumptuous seafood dinner before checking out the evening entertainment joints – a sports bar and a reggae bar. The night was spent dancing to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” and swinging on rope swings that were strung from the ceiling. Midnight soon approached and after spending a day at sea, I was just about ready to collapse from exhaustion. We headed back to the China Town Hotel and crawled into our beds. Two nights on this enchanting island had passed so quickly. It would’ve been nice to have another day to explore, but we still had so much to look forward to. Tomorrow we would be heading to Guatemala and venturing into the heart of the jungle. A knock on my door woke me early the next morning; it was room service. “Could you come back a little later?” I asked politely, still half-asleep and scantily clad. The maid nodded her head and smiled before proceeding down the hallway with the cleaning cart. I dove back under the covers on my deluxe, super-sized bed and drifted off for another few hours. It was only when the sun began to creep through the gap in my curtains that I decided to start my day. The remainder of my morning was spent using a bar of hand soap to vigorously scrub my clothes clean in the bathroom sink. I made makeshift laundry racks out of any hook, door handle and chair back I could find. Now that I was feeling in control of my life’s administrative duties, it was time to catch a bus to La Isla Shopping Village to buy myself a new wardrobe, courtesy of travel insurance. The driver hit the accelerator before I even had the chance to finish handing him my fare, nearly sending me flying to the tail of the bus. I found myself a seat, and kept my eyes peeled for La Isla. It was a scorcher of a day and I could only imagine how much the others would’ve been enjoying themselves in Playa Del Carmen. The bus pulled up outside the mall, and I jumped out hastily before it started moving again. I had a checklist of things I needed to purchase: t-shirts, shorts, shoes, and, most importantly, underwear. Fortunately I was able to find most of what I needed in one store clothing-wise, but I made a special trip to Victoria’s Secret for my smaller, personal items. Happy with my purchases, I hopped on the next available bus back to the hotel. After cutting the labels off my new clothes and neatly packing them into my bag, I walked down to the beach to capture a few scenic shots. I could’ve easily spent the rest of my afternoon taking photos of the surrounding views; you can never grow tired of gazing at that azure blue sea. I let the warm water rush over my feet as I strolled along the sand and relished in the sun. In this moment, I felt completely at peace, without a care in the world. Before long, my tour group returned from the beach, having spent the day swimming, sunbathing and jet-skiing (cue envy). We killed a bit of time before congregating by the hotel’s pool to commence another evening of outrageous antics. Our destination, post-dinner, was Mandala Beach, an outdoor club right at the ocean’s doorstep. The key feature of the club, as we discovered upon entry, was a large swimming pool that quickly drew the crowd’s attention. Girls strolled around in their skimpy swimsuits, leaving little to the imagination, as we gathered around some tables and selected our drinks for the evening. Many of the club-goers found themselves by or in the pool by the time my friends and I had sunk a bottle of rum between us. Loud music and high-energy dancing defined the evening. The DJ played a variety of well-known tracks that heightened the party atmosphere. Following an extremely R-rated bikini contest, the night began to wind down. We taxied back to our accommodation in the hopes of getting an appropriate amount of sleep for our final day in Cancún. We were up early the next day, far too early for a bunch of people who barely managed to get a full eight hours sleep between them. Today we would be heading off on our own adventures, which we had personally selected from a range of options. I, like the majority of the group, had chosen to go to the Jungle Maya Park, where we would get to take part in some thrill-seeking activities. Safari-like jeeps greeted us at the park upon arrival. We climbed in, gripped onto the safety railing, and embarked on our journey into the jungle. After our bumpy ride came to an end, we were invited to participate in a traditional, Mayan welcoming ceremony that was held in an eerie yet beautiful cave lit-up by candles. I was particularly excited about our first activity - zip lining. I hadn’t zip lined since I had been on camp in primary school. After gearing up, we climbed a rickety ladder constructed from rope and wood to get to the top of first platform. I tried not to look down too often as the distance between ourselves and the ground grew with each step we took. The ladder swayed intermittently and the only safety assurance we had was a small clip on our harnesses that we used to attach ourselves to the rope railing. Once we reached the top, I realised how high up we were. I stood with my back to the zip line as the instructor secured me in place. He counted down from three before I pushed my feet off the platform. I flung my arms out and leant back, soaring over the jungle canopy. What a rush! We had two more zip lines to complete; the third and final one sent us splashing into a cave filled with crystal-clear water. Next up was a snorkelling tour through an underground water system. We each took running jumps as to enter the water in the most graceful way possible. Our guide swam ahead as we followed him deeper into the caves. A single torch and the occasional ray of natural light were all we had to rely on to illuminate our path. As we peered into the water, we came face to face with schools of fish that swam by in close proximity, watching us curiously. You could’ve reached out to touch them, had they not been so quick. We had to be mindful of the stalactites and stalagmites that encroached on our swimming space from top to bottom. Bats also covered the ceiling of the cave, and the occasional one flew overhead as we looked above. Eventually, we moved onto our final activity: rappelling into a cenote. In pairs, we gradually lowered ourselves over the edge of the opening, carefully moving our feet down the surface of the rock. We glided forty or so feet down the drop before reaching the water at the bottom and swimming out to meet for lunch. The day wasn’t over yet. After departing the park, we headed to Tulum for a tour of the ruins. I was absolutely awe-struck by the colour of the ocean and was itching to go for a swim. A number of us hurried down the stairs by the cliff side to reach the white sand below. The water looked ever so alluring and we wasted no time getting in. With the sun beaming and the warm waves rippling over our skin, it was most idyllic. Feeling sufficiently refreshed, we made our way back to the hotel to prepare for the evening ahead. For some, this would be their last night on tour. We enjoyed a family meal before spending our night at Palazzo, another popular club in Cancún characterised by caged-dancers and red spotlights. It was going to be hard saying farewell to these familiar faces, but it also meant that new friends would be joining us for the next adventure: escaping to the island of Caye Caulker in Belize. 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. 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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April 2020
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