Intuition

There are some moments when I wish I had a time machine. I think after many of you read my next series of blogs, you'll assume now is one of those moments. I figure the general consensus will be that if I could, I would go back to right before I left for the airport to fly to Cancun and give myself a furious shake while telling my past self not to get on that plane. Putting aside the impossible elements of that scenario and the fact that I would freak out about seeing my future self, I still would not go back. After everything that's happened, I wouldn't change it if I could. 

Chronologically is often the order in which stories are told. Sometimes it's a boring way to tell stories. Sometimes it makes the most sense. While I tried to think of a more interesting way to tell my story, it's the way I'm going to do it. If that doesn't sound interesting to you then you can move on to another blog.

I arrived at the airport with high hopes for my trip. What could be more exciting than that which was before me- a trip to Mexico, Colombia, Cuba and Guatemala? Throw in something like a leg of my trip being upgraded to first class (oh wait, that actually did happen) and it pretty much couldn't get any more exciting. 

I had very few concrete plans; only general ideas of where I'd be staying and when, as well as my flights. That's how I like to travel- laid back without solid ideas about what to do day by day, hour by hour. 

Everything worked out just fine the first full day of my trip. The journey from Denver consisted of a flight on Frontier and a slight surprise when they charged me for a checked bag as well as a carry on, tiny seats, an insignificantly chatty seat neighbor and some turbulence. I do recall complaining to one of my friends about the annoyance of having to pay for a carry on, but looking back now it seems almost comical that I ever whined about something so insignificant. 

 

When I landed in Mexico, I was greeted by a line at immigration that easily rivaled any at a Disney theme park. Although all of the lines seemed equal in length, something urged me to follow the guy in front of me to a different one than that in which we stood. Call it intuition, call it a hunch, call it whatever name it will answer to. 

"Can you believe this line?"

I wasn't really sure to whom he was speaking- me or the man in front of him, or maybe he was just thinking out loud. Either way, the man in front of him started talking about high season and tourists and how each time he comes to Cancun the lines get worse and worse.

Quick side note- I should probably name "guy in front of me" because he will come up frequently in this story and I should change his name just in case. So as of this moment, guy in front of me is Joel.

He and guy in front of him (we don't really need to name guy in front of Joel- his role in this blog is rather limited) started talking about their jobs and where they were from. When I heard that Joel was from Boulder, I blurted out that I was too. Following him to that line was out of character for me. Speaking to him felt against my nature as well. But there it was, it happened, I spoke to him (intuition again?) and if I hadn't...well, I've stopped thinking about how things would be different now based on so many "ifs." If I hadn't... who knows?

Somehow, all of us got involved in a conversation. Both Joel and the guy in front of him asked me why I was going to Cancun and not venturing farther south to Playa Del Carmen or Tulum. I simply shrugged and stated that it was just a quick stop on my way to other destinations and I found a super cheap hotel in which to stay. After they're urging, I was convinced to go to Playa Del Carmen instead. I started asking them about ways to get there and they both told me how to take the bus and said they were going on the same one. I worried a little bit about finding a place to stay, but guy in front of Joel said it would be easy to do given the plethora of hotels and hostels lining the main tourist drag in Playa. 

Thus began my very first diversion from my "plans". I decided to forgo Cancun, and stay in Playa del Carmen. Joel sat beside me, and we chatted idly the entire ride, which apparently is uncharacteristic for both of us. 

When we arrived at Playa del Carmen, we lost track of guy in front of Joel, and never saw him again. See? I told you his role wasn't long-lasting. Anyhow, we wandered around a bit, found one hostel that was full except for a room that I'd be sharing with 11 others. No thank you. The next stop was some hotel whose name I almost instantly forgot except that it sort of sounds like Martinelli's, the sparking apple juice you drink as a kid on New Year's Eve because you're not 21 yet. So that's what I will call it. Martinelli's was a decent hotel for a decent price, so I went with it. Joel came with me to my room while he decided if he wanted to stick around for the evening or head to Tulum as he had initially planned. I told him to do what he wanted, but not to try to rob me or anything in the hotel because I had mace and a knife on me at all times. I'm sure it was exactly when he heard that that he decided to stick around, at least for dinner.  

The sky darkened early. We went to the beach just to check it out, but apparently no one there hits the beach at night. We walked along the main drag for awhile, past all the obvious tourist trap restaurants until we peeked around a corner at a slightly divey looking taco joint. We looked at the menu and almost moved along but the urging of another tourist and the quick onset of a deluge of rain convinced us to stay. 

Now just a little quick aspect of my story for you to note- I said this taco place was right around the corner from the main tourist street. I literally mean a street stemming directly from the main street and so close that I would still consider it a part of the hustling and bustling tourist area. Therefore, we were more than a little shocked when right beside where we were eating, a group of about three men started beating up another man. I don't mean beating up like child rough housing or even a couple of pushes and shoves. I mean like the kind of street fighting you see on TV (like, HBO, not ABC family) and hope to never see in reality. At one point he was lying on the ground while the three men took turns either gut punching him or kicking him in the head. Blood was everywhere, and quite a crowd had gathered, all of us feeling ironically helpless to help. 

I asked one of the waiters if this was normal. He nodded sadly, saying that they were all likely drunk and the three men wanted something from the guy they were mercilessly beating. He said it doesn't happen to tourists, but it's a common occurrence among Mexican locals. Eventually, the man on the ground escaped the clutches of his captors and ran off, blood still dripping down his face. Moments later he returned with a group of his own friends, determined to return the favor. But by then, those who had hurt him were long gone.

Joel and I paid the bill and took a stroll down the tourist street, looking at all the random objects we were being urged to buy, and Joel stopping at every TV to check the score of the football game. Christmas decor still filled shop windows and a large, ornately decorated tree dominated an intersection. 

 

On the way back to the hotel, I noticed up the street what appeared to be a festival. There were tents set up, balloons, and loud music. I'm pretty confident it is there that the shootings occurred, but I haven't confirmed yet. I'm glad my curiosity didn't pique me enough to lead me there. 

I slept rather well that night with mace under one pillow and my knife at the ready beside my bed.