Last of Mexico -- Cancun, Mexico

I'm starting this post from Main Street Bagels on the corner of sixth and Main. I blissfully munch on a gluten-free banana coconut cream muffin and Boy logs into his Macbook to finish some work for The House (the homeless shelter where he works as volunteer coordinator). 

Boy is sitting next to me. Right now. 

Whoa. 

I would drink a cuban cremosa instead of my small decaf, but it's Tuesday. And Tuesday is a special day at Main Street Bagels. Tuesday is the day you get two for one punches on your yellow punch cards. 

(Which is almost as good as Wednesday. The special day you can challenge the barista to a game of rock-paper-scissors in order to win at life + a free cookie)

So even though cuban cremosas are sublime and I want them all the time, my vagabond brain demands that I take advantage of the opportunity to get two punches on Boy's yellow punch cards. 

Fill up the punch cards on two dollar coffees and then order the most expensive thing on the menu. 

This is one of the most valuable lessons I've learned in my years of vagabonding. 

My last few days in Mexico were colorful and chaotic. A most days in Mexico are. 

Ignacio and I caught the colectivo down to the beach on my final evening in Tulum. The epic amount of sargassum deterred us from enjoying the water, but the sensation of the sand between my toes was more than enough for me. 

Tulum is a town overrun by tourists, but at least it's a town where the tourists live in cabanas like this instead of the enormous resort hotel eyesores in places like Cancun.

There was no live music or flamenco to be found that Tuesday night, but the sunset more than made up for it.

I left Ignacio's at 10:30 the next morning and boarded my ADO bus for Cancun at 11:55. Because I wasn't so interested in exploring Cancun and was 120% peopled-out (I'm quite the introvert, believe it or not), I chose to stay in a hostel instead of using couchsurfing.

When I couchsurf, I try to have a lot of time and enthusiasm to dedicate to my host and my host's city. Otherwise the experience is negative for both parties -- the host feels used and the surfer feels pressured into engaging the world when retreating inwards is actually what's needed.

In a hostel, I can choose to ignore everyone around me and retreat into my introvert shell.

Now is the time for me to retreat. I feel totally depleted. 

So I said a few words to the owner of the hostel (an Italian woman from Ancona), dropped off my luggage and then went on a walk through Cancun.

I wasn't as disappointed as I thought I'd be in this touristic city. I guess that since my expectations of Cancun were so low to begin with, the little parks filled with playing children and the cleanliness (when compared to other Mexican cities) surprised me. In a very pleasant way.

Cancun's two markets are bland and boring. Each stall sells the same trinkets and there are no tamale ladies to be found. NONE. Which I found particularly devastating. Market 23 and 28 are where tourists go to purchase their "my girlfriend went to Cancun and all she bought me was this stupid mug," souvenirs.

I engaged no one in the hostel that night and limited my human contact to a Skype conversation with Boy.

God, I'm tired. 

Most people visit hostels in order to experience the hostel vibe. To meet people and go out drinking and find tours and tour buddies.

I visit hostels because they're some of the only places I can recharge my introvert batteries.

I only had one full day in Cancun.

It was spent alone, exploring Isla Mujeres.

A small island just off the coast of Cancun which Lau and Jose had recommended I visit.

"Amiga! Welcome, welcome amiga," the vendors called to me as I breezed past their shops. "Don't you need something for your boyfriend?"

I ignored them and continued my stroll through the blistering roads of Isla Mujeres.

"What? You don't have a boyfriend?" the vendors' voices drifted after me.

I finally found my way to a deserted beach.

And spent hours walking.

Silently.

Alone.

Happily.

Alone.

Simply.

Alone.

Thoughtfully picking out strange looking stones to take back to Boy.

Loving how much I knew he would freak out about these strange looking stones.




I love people who are able to love life's little things...

Where the locals live. 

Where the... umm... nonlocals live. 

The beaches of Tulum were challenging to walk due to all the mountains of sargassum, and the beaches of Isla Mujeres were difficult to walk because they were littered with rocks that looked like this:

Which did not feel spectacular on my toes.

By the time I boarded the ferry back for Cancun, I felt almost human again. Almost ready to engage. Almost excited about sharing a room with ten people.

Also, I was sunburnt red as a pepperoni. As Laura would say (the Italian chef I volunteered for who lives in Taglio di Po).

The rest of the night was spent in the square.

Watching people snack.

Watching children play.

Watching old men and women salsa dance under the fronds of palms as the sun set behind them. 

I slept poorly that night. 

I always sleep poorly the night before a transition. Especially when I have to make it to the bus station by 4:00 in the morning in order to catch my ADO bus for the airport.

Cancun Airport Terminal 3. 

Cancun --> Houston --> Denver. 

I. Hate. Airports. 

Checking my bag took so long that I missed my opportunity to see Laura before she flew to Miami (and then home to Argentina). 

I arrived in Houston and handed the large, burly fellow at immigration control my passport. He squinted at the photo page. 

"You still live in California?" 

"No, I live in Colorado now." 

Sort of... I sort of live in Colorado now. 

"So you went from liberal to more liberal," the Texan grunted his disapproval and returned my passport. 

Clearly you've never been to Grand Junction, I thought as I walked away. 

"Who you gonna vote for this election?" another immigration officer asked my grunting Texan. 

"Donald Trump." 

"Yeah, me too." 

God, I wish that Harriet's aliens would come and abduct the whole damn state of Texas. Forget that whole channeling positive energy through the world's 18 holy mountains to heal the damaged ionosphere. Just take Texas far, far away. 

When entering the country via Houston, you have to claim your luggage, recheck your luggage and go through that security nonsense all over again. 

REALLY? 

Dear Master Aetherius, 

Please take Texas. 

In return, I will hike your holy mountain (Castle Peak) in Aspen, Colorado. I will have a picnic with triple cream brie, noosa yogurt and the finest Malbec I can afford. This will fill the earth with more than enough positive energy for years to come. 

Sincerely, 

A very irritated earth dweller who would rather not go through security seventeen times. 

I landed in DIA at about 14:20 on Thursday afternoon. 

Boy was waiting for me at arrivals with his soccer ball. Over which we had a very sappy, "I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN 77 DAYS LET'S NEVER DO THAT AGAIN, OKAY?" reunion. 

We had hoped to spend our two nights in Denver with my old school friend and her husband, but due to family illnesses, her spare room was occupied. Our second bet was to spend our first two nights in Troy's brother's spare bedroom, but the brother's roommate had come back to town earlier than anticipated. 

Strike two. 

Have I really been able to couchsurf and volunteer all over Europe and Mexico with no problem... but can't find a place to sleep in Denver? My home state? 

As a last resort, I posted the following on my Facebook page: 

Do I have any friends in Denver who would be willing to host me and my Boy this Thursday and Friday? We thought we had a place to stay, but it fell through kind of last minute. We would bring wine and cheese to share (CHEESE!). And I have lots of stories. And can put you upside-down and give you acro yoga massages.

Two days before my flight to the states, the mother of an old friend contacted me via Facebook. Telling me that she lives in Arvada and that I'm always welcome to stay. 

I haven't seen this person in... umm... almost ten years? That's incredible. And now she's offering her home. God, I love people. Also, Facebook. Regardless of how time consuming and annoying it can become, it is pretty amazing at keeping people in touch. 

So Troy drove us straight to Georgi's cute little home, complete with cat (Lucy) and a gorgeous kitchen Georgi had designed herself (Boy and I freaked out about it a little). 

We shared wine, cheese and stories with Georgi. Then took a much needed nap. Boy had just driven six hours over mountain passes in his Geo (named Cummerbund) with three cylinders and Girl had just traveled over twelve (and gone through security seventeen times), so neither were full of energy. So we curled up into the childhood bed of my childhood friend and passed out like pineapples. 

Then Boy took Girl to Bistro Vendome. 

The meal was divine and it was beautifully refreshing to not see a single corn tortilla on the table. 

I love Mexico. I love Mexican food. But I could happily go the next eight years without seeing a single corn tortilla. 

We spent the night in the childhood bed of my childhood friend. As cosy as the tiny bed was, it was not built to support the weight of two average sized adults. So we woke up in the middle of the night to what felt like an earthquake, but was actually just a side of the bed collapsing under the onus of our weight. 

Too. Much. French. Food.

Too exhausted to be bothered to fix our mini-earthquake, we just fell back asleep, slowly drifting into the crack between the slanted bed and the wall. 

We met with Troy's friend for coffee the next morning. The latte was lovely and and the cafe itself had more quotes than my yoga journal. 

I felt right at home. 

But I was still catching up on lost sleep, so we spent the rest of the morning napping at the home of Troy's friend's in-laws.

You have slept in almost twenty beds during the last three months. That's the most movement since hitchhiking through the Balkans. 

When we woke, Troy's friend had left to attend a wedding, but had placed a note on the stairs by the kitchen. A note telling us that there were leftovers on the stove we were welcome to eat.

Leftovers = a pot of obscenely tender beef with mushrooms.

We emptied the pot into a plastic cup and put it in our picnic basket next to the triple cream brie.

Then we found a park and had our first picnic together in 77 days. 

It was idyllic. Geese and ducks foot-footing everywhere. Children scampering about, climbing statues and giggling themselves silly. We crossed over a tiny bridge to reach a tiny island with a gigantic tree in whose roots we sat to escape the gentle drops of rain. Gentle drops of rain splish-splashing in our island's pond, creating mesmerizing ripples.

We met with Troy's brother for dinner and spent the evening strolling through downtown Denver.

One of the most bizarre parts of being back in Colorado was noticing the stark differences between beggars on the streets.

Mexico and Guatemala are full of beggars. Children, adults, men, women, blind, crippled, sick.

And they all beg saying something similar to the following:

"Please, I have children."

"Please, my mother is sick."

"Please, I am hungry."

"Please, I am blind. I can't work. I need help."

In Colorado?

I see beggars with signs saying something similar to the following:

"I could use a beer."

"I'd rather beg than steal."

"Would you give me a dollar for absolutely no good reason? How about five dollars? Give me your money and I'll make some art."

This is just an observation. I don't have any conjectures as to what it could mean... it's just something that caught me totally off-guard.

It's good to be back in Colorado. I never thought I'd say that, but... but I'm only here until March 7th, and that lets being back be easier. I have my out. The plane tickets are bought. And these next few months are going to be spent doing life with a person I love. In a state that's really not ALL bad. I'm going to learn to make kombucha and chèvre and bacon and butter and maybe experiment with wine... I'm going to visit Yellowstone and Yosemite and hike Conundrum with Boy. We're going to THOROUGHLY break in Mrs. Peterson (our tent) and actually SHARE adventures. 

I'm tired of having to ask him how his day was. 

I want to be there for his day. 

We cooked an early breakfast for Georgi the next morning. Walnut flour crepes topped with triple cream brie, eggs, mushrooms and zucchini.

Georgi gave me a hug, a card, and a little globe as we said goodbye.

"You're always welcome here."

The rest of our Denver experience was spent meeting with my old friends, Troy's family, and being introduced to my new niece.

Chelsea, Cosette, and baby Celestine. 

We passed the night with Roy and Laura, the outgoing couple from Boulder with whom I'd toured Hierve del Agua in Oaxaca last March. Even though they'd only met Troy once and me twice, they happily opened up their home to us for the second time. We drank Roy's homemade wine that evening, ate bacon and eggs (prepared by Roy) the next morning, and said goodbye shortly after breakfast.

And Laura said, "See you next time," as we climbed into Cummerbund.

I still can't believe people are so good to me. 

Cummerbund made it over the mountains.

Which is always a pleasant surprise. I'm almost as surprised by Cummerbund making it over the mountains as I am when I don't encounter roadblocks in Mexico.