It’s one thing to hole yourself up in a room for days on end, and make up crazy shit just for the sake of keeping your fucked up mind entertained, but it’s an entirely different beast to go out into the world, and gather real experiences of the weird, wild, and wacky offerings found around every corner.
One might also potentially uncover stories of love, compassion, and personal growth, but those tales are fucking gay.
The Adventure Blog writes itself. All I have to do is play stenographer. The Ramblings category is different. It takes a lot more time and energy to put a piece together — sometimes based on a random thought, sometimes no thought at all. I wouldn’t call it writing for the sake of writing, as something interesting always develops, but journaling is far easier when you’ve actually lived the stories — by experiencing this ridiculous reality first-hand, to find the endless bits of fun, humour, wisdom, or tragedy in the mess, worthy of sharing with others.
Well, as much as I hate to acknowledge it, the Central American adventure is winding down. But it’s been a helluva run!!
Puerto Morelos, though somewhat lame along the beachfront, has been an excellent place to write, and I love the authenticity of the local town, recessed 3 kilometres from the hard-core tourist area. I’ve gotten more work done here than a Stephen King hopped up on 2L Mountain Dew slurpees laced with caffeine. I’m still considering one last day trip to Isla Mujeres, for snorkelling and a catamaran ride — a real boat this time — to go out on a high point, before making my way back to the Cancun airport.
Every day has been an amazing learning experience, and the people I’ve met have been diversely fascinating and wonderful.
So how about a smattering of random pics just for the fun of it, and we’ll save philosophies for another day?
Though we hadn’t slept in 24 hours, our energies the morning after the ceremony were good, and a decision had to be made before long which road to follow next…
We had a full day at the hobbit-house to relax in, so the issue wasn’t immediately pressing, but, nonetheless, we considered every option that seemed to be unexpectedly thrown our direction.
The first was from a random dude Mantas chatted with the day before. The guy was beginning construction of eco-friendly domes on a property not too far from us, looking for paid help to assist in the work. Definitely interesting…
Our big day had finally arrived, and we eagerly looked forward to returning to a private community a half-hour away from central Playa Del Carmen, to attend the Ayahuasca ceremony Mantas invited me to.
Our ADO transport left early in the morning, and I prepared my usual carry-on baggie for bus survival — hoodie, jeans, thermal underwear, and a booklet of prayers to God.
I was pleasantly surprised as this bus featured a toilet — a toilet!!! — and monitors for movie watching. Whoa! Unexpected to say the least. Maybe I had unknowingly taken a second-class vehicle from Palenque to Playa Del Carmen when I chose the cheapest fare I could find.
Playa Del Carmen didn’t pose much interest to me, so I spent a few days holed up in the courtyard at the hostel writing, waiting for Mantas to end his tour of duty working there. The sun never stopped shining, and I got a lot of work done.
Come Monday, we were torn between taking the ADO or a colectivo to Bacalar. There was a third possibility of catching a ride with a couple staying at the hostel, who had a friend in town headed that direction, but 3 days trying to confirm the ride proved fruitless.
Let’s talk about life in Canada for a moment. Growing up in Toronto, I always mocked people for their views regarding extreme cold. They would say stuff like, “Yeah, it’s minus 40 where I live, but it’s a dry cold,” which somehow justified their choice of living conditions.
To me, minus 40 was minus 40, no matter how intent your spin was on making it more palatable. It wasn’t until I moved up north into my log-cabin that I realized there was a notable truth to this odd perspective of weather extremes.
Dampness and humidity have a definite bearing on chilling one to the bone. While maintaining my mural-painting business for several years in the big city, the 6-hour drive south proved to me that a minus 15 celsius indication near a large body of water could easily feel more uncomfortable than a minus 40 one at home in the woods.
Palenque is an interesting place. There’s a fair-sized, lavish section that’s been built to house and spoil the large influx of tourist groups visiting the ruins here, but a short walk east quickly lands one into the heart of local hustle and bustle.
It’s weird to see so many cars again on the streets. Even though this section has the odd “supermarket” or appliance outlet, it still feels very much like a small town, with people selling produce and street meats from every square inch of space available.