There's No Place Like Home, There's No Place Like Home, There's No Place Like Home

On Wednesday I awoke feeling my absolute weakest physically, and completely drained emotionally.
I'll kick this blog off with a few more pictures from my trip:

My flight to Denver wasn't until 3:00, but expecting things to go wrong at the airport, I decided it would be best to get there four hours early. I packed up my bag Tetris style, checked out of the hotel, and hailed a taxi to the airport. It took about 20 minutes to get there. I made sure I had all of my belongings and then headed in. I glanced up at the list of departures, and I was so early that my flight wasn't even listed yet. In spite of my super early arrival, I was still able to check in and check my bag with United. I walked up to the self-service kiosk which asked me to insert my passport so it could fin my flight. Guess what? My pathetic temporary passport couldn't be read. I typed in my confirmation number instead and it pulled up my information. The next screen asked if I wanted to upgrade to first class for the low, low price of $768. Umm...no thanks. I checked the YES box when asked if I needed to check a bag, and then something poetically ironic happened- I had to pay $26 for the checked bag, and I had to pay with a credit card. I couldn't help but laugh- for the last ten days I needed only cash, and here I was, finishing out my trip, and now I needed a card.

I asked a United agent what to do, and he told me to walk to the additional services office on the other end of the airport. On my way there, I stopped at immigration services to show them my police report so I could get out of the country. See, in Mexico they give you a paper for immigration and you fill out the information on the top part and give it to the immigration officer and then you're expected to keep the bottom half until you depart Mexico. Of course, when my passport was stolen, so was that dumb piece of paper, which is why I needed to file a police report and bring it to the immigration services counter at the airport. I got that taken care of fairly quickly, and then went to the additional service counter for United. They let me pay cash to check the bag there, gave me my boarding pass, and I was off to security. 

I wish I had actually looked at my boarding pass before entering the security line because I shockingly ended up with TSA Pre, which is awesome because you don't have to take liquids out of your bag or take off your shoes and coats. It didn't matter much, however, since the line was pretty measly and took hardly any time to get through. In Mexico you don't have to take off your shoes which is SO nice. Once again, I accidentally left my knife in my carry-on and they let me get away with it. I felt SO secure knowing that...

So all of this, mishaps included, still left me with about three and a half hours before boarding. But I had made it through immigration; I was finally on the other side. Perhaps now, as the Argentinian man said, my nightmare had ended.

I decided I should get a smoothie to at least get something in my rumbling stomach. I got one of those insanely healthy green smoothies and my stomach instantly started to feel wonky. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. Naturally, there was a massive line of people and I am not the quietest vomiter so it was a great time, puking while tons of strangers listened in. Whatever, I'll never see them again. I sat, read, listened to music, eavesdropped on the quirky conversations of fellow travelers, and ran to the bathroom once more to hurl up the remaining smoothie. The time went by rather quickly- all of a sudden, it was time to board. I felt the corners of my mouth curl upwards as I realized what was happening. My steps were leading me to the plane that would take me back home after such a trying journey. I did the weird superstitious thing I do when flying and touched the outside of the plane, then stepped on board and found my seat. 

Thankfully, my seat neighbors were silent and didn't get up in my grill. I brought plenty to do on the plane but wasn't aware that to access their free entertainment, I would have needed to download the United app which I obviously didn't. I tried to sleep, but it was one of the "new and improved" planes which basically means the seats are substantially smaller and closer together, there are no TV screens, and my seat didn't go back at all. But I was still on a plane. A plane to Denver. So none of that mattered. 

I landed and headed to the kiosks you can use to scan your passport to get through immigration. Can you guess what happened when I tried to scan my fake looking emergency passport? It read it just fine. Just kidding, it said it couldn't read the document so I had to go downstairs to the old school immigration lines and actually interact with one of the officer. He was incredibly kind though and said he was sorry for what I went through on my trip and welcomed me home. Next was baggage claim, I had to wait awhile for my bag but it eventually made its way onto the conveyor and I grabbed it, told the customs guy I had nothing to declare, and the experience ended. 

One of my friends who was helping me back home while I was in Mexico came to pick me up (that's how you know who your friends are- the ones willing to give you rides to and from the airport) and we drove home, mostly in silence as I was simply drained and felt unable to speak. The sight of the mountains made me grin from ear to ear. I couldn't wait to get back to climbing. 

After this entire epic journey, I felt like Frodo after he (and Gollum, technically) destroyed the ring. I could only think of the scene where Frodo and Sam were lying on the side of Mount Doom as lava flowed around them and they couldn't even muster the strength to stand. 

Except it was just me. 

Now comes the end of my series, and I suppose it's expected of me to reflect on the trip. When I tell the shortest version of the story, most people ask me if I am officially disenchanted by travel, but that is simply not the case. I could take the perspective that my journey was a drawn out series of unfortunate events, but I refuse to take that negative viewpoint. Instead, I just think about the people who saved me. The people who helped me and if they hadn't, I might still be in Cuba or Mexico. It inspired me to have such kindness shown to me, especially by strangers, and motivated me to try to be a better person and help others in kind by paying it forward. I also look back and can now laugh at everything that went wrong. My experience was quite like an Oscar Wilde dark comedy; a comedy of errors which are my favorite type of literature. 

It's time for this blog series to come to an end. But before I do, I want to dedicate them to everyone who helped me, especially Josh, Joel, Greg, my parents, Argentinian guy, lady cop, and Lucy. Thank you for going above and beyond to get me back safe and sound, because there's no place like home.

Some Starbuck's fails from Mexico (this I expect in the States, but my name is Hispanic. You'd think they could get it right):

Bria means wind. 

I Hope Someone Up There is Having a Good Laugh

So where was I? Oh yes, puking out my guts and my hostel bathroom. Now, the situation wouldn't have been quite so bad had the blaring music come back and lasted from about 8 PM until 4 AM. It's unpleasant enough to puke up the sandwich you ate for dinner, especially when it includes entire chunks of mushrooms (I need to chew my food better), but somehow even more unpleasant when you're listening to really, really crappy techno on repeat. Then, just to add insult to injury, my air conditioner decided to stop working and it was probably the hottest night I'd stayed there. So, I got out of bed every couple hours to go puke my guts out, and then in between those puking segments I was lying under just a single sheet in the hottest room you can imagine. OK OK-I admit I'm being slightly dramatic, but when you're trying to sleep and you can't because you're sweating profusely, 80+ degrees with humidity makes any room starts to feel like a Bikram yoga studio.

 

Needless to say, (but I'm going to say it [or rather write it] anyway) I didn't get much, if any sleep. I texted Joel right away because we were supposed to meet for breakfast in town before leaving on the bus (he was heading to the airport and I to Cancun to figure out my passport situation) and I told him I wasn't sure if I would be able to muster my strength to get out of bed. Now naturally, the day that I began my vomiting streak, Joel finally felt better. Because, of course. 

So Joel came to meet me at the hostel and had breakfast (just looking at it made me want to hurl). We finished packing up my stuff and checked out, then dreaded to the station to catch our 10:30 ADO bus to Cancun. The ride back was bittersweet; we chatted idly along the way while Erin Brockovich played in Spanis on the TV screens. He and I went through a lot and I'd certainly consider him a good friend. Even though our relationship kicked off with my threat to mace and/or stab him. 

In Cancun, we had our emotional, but not over-the-top emotional (I mean, we'd see each other again in Boulder so big deal). Then he nabbed a cab to the airport, and I to the Ramada. 

Now, before Joel left, we made a major mistake by not checking the amount of cash I had left. A mistake that would come to haunt me more than once over the next few days. 

My friend in the States had booked me a three night stay at the Ramada in Cancun and thought it had been paid for. His card was on file with them, but for God knows what reason, they needed the PHYSICAL card in spite of having ALL of the details for it when the reservation was made. People are idiots. 

 

I told them I didn't have enough cash for three nights, food, cabs and a passport, and guess what look I got? Yes the "I don't give two shits" look. I paid her for one night in cash and decided to figure out the rest later. I then asked the receptionist where I could get passport photos taken because I had an appointment with the consul of the next morning. She gave me these very vague directions and I asked if the place was in walking distance and she said yes. however, since I could barely understand her muddled Spanish and I still had no idea where I was going, I decided to take a cab and just tell the cab driver to take me to a place where I can get passport photos taken. 

It was actually a lady cabdriver, which was my first one in Mexico, but whatever I'm not sexist. She seemed to know where she was going. I walked into the sketchy looking little photo shop where they take graduation photos and quincinera ones and all that good BS. I asked them for passport photos, they told me to take a seat, and so I did. They said they would be with me im just a moment and that it shouldn't take longer than 10 minutes.

Now, remember that I had been puking my guts out all night day, I looked like total shit, and I hadn't been able to shower. So keep that in mind as you listen to the next part of the story. I walked into the photo area, where this old man took one look at me give me a concerned expression and asked me if I wanted to "fix my face" or at the very least "comb my hair." Wow, what a compliment! Take me now, sailor!

                                                         

I told him no, I did not want to fix my face, I'd rather remember this horror of a trip with a picture to match. He took the photos, handed them to me, and I returned to the hotel where I began yet another puking session the onset of which came from half a Gatorade. 

I spent the rest of the evening watching Coraline, which if you haven't seen it is creepy as all hell, and fell in and out of sleep and delirium, ready for my appointment with the consulate the next morning. Or, at least I thought I was... 

Mexican Maladies

I was starting to believe that I had a curse upon me, seeing as how right when I arrived Joel got sick. The kind of food poisoning you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. We called it an early night and he headed to his hostel and I to mine. I had this nutty idea that I would somehow get good sleep at Humble Bumble. Not the case. Music began blasting around 9 pm and didn't stop until 2 or 3 in the morning. I don't mean the kind of loud music you can block out with ear plugs, by the the way.

It made me look back at my late teens and early twenties and wonder how on Earth I had the energy to do that while traveling- stay up until the wee hours and dancing and chatting and drinking. I am so, so over it. 

The next morning, Joel met me at Humble Bumble because mine had free breakfast, but he decided his stomach was still too wonky to try and eat at the moment. So I scarfed down my omelette and we headed to the beach. Joel was beginning to get weak from the food poisoning, so we took a cab. Then we spent essentially the entire day on the beach, lying in the sun and alternating between reading and napping and, in my case, journaling. It was so relaxing for me but I felt horrible for Joel. He just seemed to feel worse and worse as the day progressed. Finally, after having been on the beach for like 9 hours, we headed to a nearby restaurant where I ordered him s side of white rice to try and get something in him. I had beans and rice and friend plantains, as well as some of the best guac I've ever had.

After eating some of his rice, Joel straight up had to lie down, which was fortunate because we were eating on a couch. We then walked slowly to find a cab that took us to a pharmacy so I could pick up some NyQuil for Joel which they didn't even have so I just got something just looked like NyQuil. We then went our separate ways. 

The next day when Joel met me for breakfast, he looked so extremely depleted. Much to both of our surprise and delight, there hadn't been any music the night prior at either of our hostels so we finally got a good night of rest. Joel was so low on energy he didn't even think he could make it to the beach. So I went for a quick jog, he lied in a lawn chair and waited for my return.

When I got back, I had sweat trickling from areas I didn't know sweat could come from. I was ready for a shower, and needed it especially after 7 days without one. I got into the shower with a head dribbling out cold water at the lowest water pressure you can imagine, soaped myself up from head to toe, and then guess what happened? The water ran out after about two minutes. I mean, I was so annoyed but based on how the trip had panned out so far, I wasn't shocked. So I put a mug under the tiny trickle of water dripping from the sink until it was full and then repeated until I got the soap off of me. It was the most magical shower of my life. 

Afterwards, I returned to Joel who was then lying in a hammock reading. I lied down on a lawn chair beside him and did the same. I told him I was going to venture into town for a bit to try and find him meds and get myself a drink from Starbucks. Town was relatively close, and it took me no more than ten minutes to find some Pepto at a pharmacy. That finally seemed to improve Joel's condition, but he was still so weak and just wanted to lie around and read, which was fine with me. At the end of the evening, he took the cab back to his hostel and I went to my room in mine. And that's where my six-seven day saga of puking and nausea began. 

 

At Least Things Can't Get Any Worse

Prior to boarding the bus to Tulum, a British girl asked me if it was the bus to Tulum. I told her it was, and she asked me what was wrong because YES I had been crying, which I guess was very apparent. I told her about my recent robbery, and she expressed how sorry she was and told me to tell her if she could do anything to help. 

While riding the bus to Tulum, my mind was blank. I am surprised that I wasn’t panicking or at least trying to formulate some plan in my mind about what to do next, how to go about getting money without any identification and without any credit or debit cards. But I just wasn’t. Maybe my brain was simply exhausted from the mental strain through which it had been in Cuba and was just over residing within my skull, finally ready to mutiny against its stupid owner. So I just rode the bus while staring out the window blankly. 

When the bus pulled into the station in Tulum, I realized that I was screwed once again unless I could magically come across enough money for a cab or if I were magically within walking distance of my hostel or a very sympathetic cabby. The latter seemed highly unlikely. Then I remembered my British bus-mate. I walked up to her after grabbing my bag and she happily obliged to loan me money, and said she would just share a cab with me. It ended up being illogical to do so since our hostels were in entirely different directions, but I appreciated it anyway. She told me her name was Lucy, and to come to her hostel if I needed anyone else. Thanks to Lucy’s generosity, I was able to make it to my hostel. I told the receptionist, a frighteningly tall and serious German woman that since I had no money, I had no way to pay unless she used the card on file that I used for the reservation. She asked if I was planning to cancel it ASAP, and I said good point, and she took pity on me and said we could figure it out later. 

I got in touch with Joel, told him I had arrived in Tulum, and asked him to meet me at the Humble Bumble Hostel. Yes, that is a real hostel, and that is its real name. 

 

Now, a lot of you may be reading this blog series and thinking “wow, it really can’t get any worse for Marisa.” Okay, go ahead and take that perspective you pessimist! While I am admittedly not the most optimistic of individuals, I just had to keep a little spark of hope. It actually turned into a running joke with one of my other friends back home with whom I was communicating and who also saved my bony ass more than once while I was away- we kept saying “well, at least it can’t get any worse."

 

At the very least, I still had my phone. And all of my limbs. The phone was a major one, since I used it to coordinate with people back home. The amazing friend to whom I continuously refer had arranged to send money directly to Joel, who then could use his ATM card to withdraw the money for me. Joel paid German receptionist woman for the first night, we rented bikes, and rode to the beach. 

Another “uplifting” aspect of being robbed was that I really only had one valuable to keep track of- my phone. So, that was slightly liberating. See? I was still a glass half full kind of gal at that point. 

 

We arrived at the beach after a rather lengthy bike ride just as the sky was beginning to darken. It really was picturesque; the sun setting and giving way to glimmering stars as day transitioned to night. We took off our shoes and strolled along, enjoying the smells of the ocean and people watching. 

Things were looking up. Plus, as my friend back home and I would joke, things couldn't get any worse, right? Just as that thought hit me, Joel announced that he wasn’t feeling well at all, and that we needed to find a bathroom right away. 

An Ode to Stolen Stamps

Just the realization that I was on a plane carrying me away from my Cuban airport prison back to the US made me giddy. The Argentinian was right: the nightmare was over. For now. It was a short flight to Miami, and then a relatively brief layover before I my next flight to Cancun booked for me by my amazing friend back home. I was not ready to throw in the towel on this trip. I would not be defeated by a "simple hiccup" in Cuba. 

I figured returning to Cancun was logical. I knew someone there, and wouldn't be isolated and penniless while planning for the next leg of my trip. There was still Guatemala to look forward to, and who knows where else?

 

 

One of the most beautiful landings I've ever seen. 

My flight arrived in Cancun in the evening, and since Joel was staying in Tulum, which is about two hours away by bus, he and I decided it would be best for me to stay in Cancun overnight and leave the next day to meet him. I found a nice hotel at a low price. It was relaxing, close to the bus station and had free breakfast and a gym (both essential hotel perks). I spent the evening on the treadmill and then watching The Simpsons in Spanish in my room. Unfortunately, the air conditioning in the gym didn't work so I was sweating bullets like a wrestler trying to go down a weight class. I couldn't last long in there. 

Upon waking the next morning and scarfing down a scrumptious breakfast, I was anxious to get moving to Tulum. The hotel was nice, but I was ready to see the beach again and try and even out my splotchy lobster looking skin that was already beginning to peel. I went down to the bus station to see what my options were as far as venturing from Cancun to Tulum. There was one direct bus, but it wasn’t scheduled to leave until a little after one, and it was only about 10:30. My other option was to go to Playa del Carmen first, and then transfer buses to head to Tulum. I decided to go with option two. Looking back, if I hadn’t… oh right, I decided earlier to stop it with the “ifs”. There really is no point. 

So, I boarded the bus to Playa del Carmen. A random Mexican woman sat beside me. Writing about this now makes me want to go back there, furiously shake myself, and beg myself to get off that bus and wait for the direct one to Tulum. At the very least, I would give my past self a cup of coffee to keep me from falling asleep, or do something to convince myself to sit anywhere else possible on the bus. Yet alas, as they say, hindsight is 20/20. I’m sure you can all see where this is going. Or, at least can tell from my ominous foreshadowing that it’s not going in a good direction for me. 

I put my little security purse containing all of my money, my passport, my driver’s license and my credit and debit cards in the top part of my backpack, zipped it up, and had it in my lap. I held it there with a bit more of a death grip than was necessary until I couldn’t stay awake anymore. The gentle rocking back and forth of the bus put me right to sleep. Upon waking, my seat neighbor was gone. We had made a stop on the way to Playa del Carmen and I am sure she got off there; I didn't see her anywhere on the bus. The top of my backpack was open. My purse containing my money, diver's license, passport, credit cards and my full punch card to get a free lunch buffet at my favorite Indian restaurant was gone. I searched my backpack in vain. I tore it apart. Then the panic set in. My robber had left. As we pulled into the bus terminal in Playa del Carmen, I told the bus driver.  But what were we to do? Ask the passengers which one of them stole my belongings? Because, naturally they would fess up right away. Plus, I was 99.999% sure that it was me seat neighbor and she had long since departed the bus. 

The bus emptied out, and I continued to search madly through my backpack, between the seats, under the seats, in the overhead storage bins, and gave up. The bus employees gave a half-assed attempt at a search but basically just glanced around, and one even had the gall to tell me that I probably just lost it somewhere before getting on the bus. No. I. Did. Not!

I departed the bus in a panic. I told the lady in charge of security for the busses. She was of little help; all she did was take down my name and told me to go talk to the tourist police. I told them what happened, and all the officer did was write down an address in the least caring manner, passed it to me, and told me to go file a police report. I asked him how I was supposed to get there by cab if I had zero money, and he just shrugged and gave me that damned "look." 

I asked a nearby cab driver if he would accept my pathetic ten peso coin and he simply laughed at me. I asked another if the address the cop had handed me was within walking distance. He simply laughed at me. So there I stood. Hopeless, helpless, penniless, passport-less. 

Let me say that losing a passport is something over which I grieve intensely. I lost one in Los Angeles once and am STILL trying to get over the loss of all of those glorious stamps and my visa from studying in Spain. Now, I had lost another, containing stamps from over 20 countries as well as my visas from Ghana, India and Japan. I am not sure if I will ever truly get over the loss. 

I didn't know what to do. All I knew was I had to get to Tulum. I put on my best sad puppy-dog face and walked up to the lady at the bus ticket counter. I started to cry, and she gave me a gentle look and a free bus ticket to Tulum. With my head hung low and tears welling up behind my eyes, I boarded the bus, wondering what kind of trouble was still ahead of me....