Tulum: My Last Hoorah

Nineteen hours and one 8 a.m. football field length sprint later (to catch the bus carrying all of my belongings that almost left without me while I was using the bus station's facilities--long women's restroom lines are DEFinitely a universal phenomenon), I arrived in Tulum, Mexico. A little dazed and confused, being 11am on a Saturday and having left at 4 p.m. the day before, I swung a right out of the bus station and walked about 50 meters to The Weary Traveler, a hostel that came highly recommended to me by my French friend Antony whom I had met in San Cristobal.

I went through the usual checking-in-at-a-hostel routine ("Tienes una cama en el dormitorio?" I asked in my broken Spanish). I then handed over my passport to the guy behind the counter as I wrote down my name and info and pulled out my cash. As I was led back to my room, I didn't take much notice of the other travelers sitting at the enlarged picnic-style tables lined up in the open courtyard space at the hostel, a two-story building of rooms on one side, the reception/bar and communal kitchen on the other. I wondered if they were as curious as I always am when a new person steps into the hostel I am currently inhabiting. After staying in one hostel for longer than a few nights, having familiarized oneself with the place and established both a routine and a social network, sometimes one can't help but carry a mild sense of territoriality when new people arrive; then again, maybe its just me. The dorm room had terrible lighting, four bunks for a total of eight beds, its own bathroom and shower, and the usual mess of people's stuff scattered about their beds and shoved into any free space that could be found in the corners of the room. Yet, by this point on my journey rooms like this had become home to me, a comfort of sorts, and I didn't think twice about any of it. It was just another room for me to store my things and sleep.

Tulum the town, where my hostel was located, is about 4-5 kilometers from Tulum the beach. One of the best things about the hostel was its free twice-daily shuttle to the beach. Conveniently for me, having arrived at 11 a.m., the second shuttle to the beach is at noon. So, I wasted no time and hopped on the 12 o'clock for an afternoon in the sun--something I couldn't wait for after my four days in the freezing cold that San Cristobal had to offer. Stepping out of the shuttle, I followed the shuttle crowd down to the beach. But, being my stubborn self, when the entire group took a left on the beach, I went right. Sometimes I go through a little fit of rebellion and yearn for anti-conformity, and this was one of those moments. My curiosity got the best of me as to what was so bad about the beach down to the right. Little did I know, everyday from there on forth I, too, would be making that left on the beach...

I spent most of that afternoon strolling along the long stretch of beach, dotted with semi-fancy hotels and their attached restaurants. When I took a seat in the shade on one of many lounge chairs set up on the beach, it didn't take more than 30 seconds for a hotel worker to let me know it was 40 pesos or off. I should have known better than to sit on one of the 50 empty chairs on a public beach. Truthfully, this day was a little boring, as the sun was soon covered by clouds that eventually let loose some rain showers. I didn't exactly get my afternoon in the sun, but there is always tomorrow, right?

Not surprisingly, while killing time at the hostel before catching the shuttle to the beach earlier that day, I saw out of the corner of my eye a curly-haired guy playing pool in the t.v. room of the hostel. Standing up, I walked on over with a huge smile on my face and greeted the not-so-surprised Sean and Noam, my curly-haired Canadian and Israeli buddies. We exchanged a few of what had become our regular jokes every time we crossed paths (twice in Guatemala, twice in Belize, and now Mexico)--jokes about how inseparable the two had become and how by then it must be their one month anniversary, how I keep following them everywhere (when in fact, this was the first time that I had arrived to a place after them; normally I was there first). So, when I arrived back to the hostel that evening, they graciously invited me to tag along for dinner. These two were always good company.

I went to bed early that night, tired from my long bus ride and an afternoon of walking in the sand. I had no idea, as I laid my head down on my pillow that night, that Tulum and The Weary Traveler would be my home for the remainder of my trip...