Escape From Playa Del Carmen, Part 1

It was hell. It was hell on earth. Never mind the bright lights, iridescent water and cheap (free in the right outfit) tequila, Playa Del Carmen was a bleak place to end the second section of the trip. There were only 3 of us carrying on for the 3rd portion of the trip (L., P. and I), and I know I should have been glad to be staying out while the others flew off to their various homes, but the reality of spending 5 days in Playa (two with one group, one by myself, and two with the new lot) was enough to make one weep (travel magnifies all emotions, it´s true).

L. went with Jon to Cancun to pick up the new people (apparently the hotel had no room for P. and I?) and I spent much of the day trying to remain cheerful while walking my new friends to the bus station. When they had gone (Goodbye! Goodbye! Keep in touch! Hug!) I couldn't help lingering, even after their buses pulled away; to postpone both the assault of hot air outside, and the phantom stillness that follows such goodbyes. Time seemed to pass very slowly as I wandered around and around the dingy little town, stopping in at every internet cafe I could find, then finally settling down by the dock to take pictures of tourists (mostly large singed-looking cruise shippers). God that brain-curdling heat.

Usually when I away and feel in need of cheering up, I empty out my luggage and quickly fill it up again in that haze of precise organization I reserve for packing; I suppose this is escapism at its most literal, a simple reminder that moving on is not as hard as it seems. This particular night however, I am too hot to pack. P. and I (as the sole remaining representatives of our group) had agreed to meet for dinner, but had not set anything so concrete as a time, and as it was already after 7 I was beginning to despair about actually finding him, on that lovely evening (for it was a lovely evening, if I am to be completely honest). I must find him-- there must be something to distract me from the fate of FOUR MORE DAYS of watching that wretched ceiling fan shudder half-heartedly through its rotation.

Then there is a knock at the door. "Nel, are you there?" The voice is cheerfully young and female, and I am suddenly very confused-- who on earth knows I am here? It turns out three of the girls (who are not carrying on with the trip but staying on a bit elsewhere in Mexico) hated Cancun so much they arrived in town, got to their hotel, then turned right around and came back to Playa. P --who has more money than anyone ought to, and is generous in the spending of it-- takes all 5 of us out to dinner at a restaurant where they ground the avacados for the guacamole right at your table. Things were looking up, but for how much longer?

By the 4th day I was ready to go stark raving mad, and the unspeakable oddness (in a good way, mostly) of the new group (which had only 8 people, including the three of us from the last section) just made matters worse. While half-listening to the adorable new British couple, the not-so-adorable American couple (who eventually revealed themselves as not a couple at all-- more on this later), and the stylish (but at this point rather quiet) German girl (who's name no one seemed to remember) get to know one another, P. told me he was making a break for it. (P., it turned out, hated Playa as much as I did!). Though the others still had a day and a bit left before travelling to Merida (by way of Chichen Itza), he would leave the next morning, taking the local bus and staying at a hotel right next to Chichen Itza, meeting the others the next afternoon.

I tried to get this idea out of my head, but of course, I was hooked.

The next day P. and I (after two seperate visits to Starbucks, which apparently one cannot stay in Playa without frequenting-- and I don't drink coffee!) carried our bags (which seemed to grow far heavier in the heat) to the long distance bus station. We tried, by way of a guidebook (which without exception slows down communication, a dubious crutch) to buy our tickets to Chichen Itza. For some reason the teller seemed to think we were trying to buy a ticket from C.I to Playa, which wouldn't really have made sense, as we were in Playa already.

We had the tickets, and 20 minutes til departure, so I bought something which I took to be frozen coconut milk on a stick (and by stick I mean it had been pulled from a tree that morning) while P. tried to get into the 3 peso W.C, which required a good deal of negotiating. As the time for departure was rapidly approaching, it occured to us that we had not been told where the bus would be leaving from, and it had not been announced (though the speakers crackled with the details of two other buses, being repeated over and over). This sobered us up quite a bit, as the thought of spending another night in Playa, you understand, was enough to make one weep.

There was a bored looking girl guarding the loading platform, and with a nervous look at the clock we approached and showed her our tickets. The woman (who was not an ad for career satisfaction) muttered what we understood to be "It hasn't been announced yet." Our tickets said Chichen Itza, but I was fairly sure that this was not the buses final destination, and I tried to look passed the surly girl to read the names displayed in bus windows, but, perdictably enough, I didn't recognize anything.

At the woman's insistence we retreated back into the waiting room, unsure if she would alert us when it was time, or if the bus was late, or... anything at all really. We tried twice more (with and without guide book) to ask when it would leave, or where, but she only shook her head and glowered generally at life. P even approached someone in a good suit with a badge who ignored him completely. By now it was nearly 15 minutes after the scheduled departure, and our greatest fear was that the bus had already left. Would we even know?

Just as we were approaching panic-level a man in freshly ironed blue jeans, who had been watching us thoughtfully for some time called out to us, and asked (in English) to see our tickets. He took one look at the destination and pointed to a bus at the far end, already half pulled out of its lane, and said "That's the one!" He then hurried over to Dragon Lady, with whom he seemed to be arguing, and after a heartfelt sigh the woman waved us in, and with as many thank you's as we could give while running towards the bus, we were off. This bus had no sign at all in the window, and even once we were safely inside (panting and laughing from relief) there was a lingering fear we might be heading somewhere else entirely. The escape from Playa Del Carmen was not over yet!

To Be Continuted.--

"I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself." Maya Angelou