Eventually, my money came. Better late than never. By the time it came round I was really happy already. It was a real time out there. Good company, good solitude, good swimming, late night coconut runs and quality hammock-time. Later on the day I discovered I'd been paid, I met a girl who was in the process of doing up and renovating a new hostel in Tulum. Her name was Meghan. Californian. She'd met an energetic young Mexican named Sa'eed who had come into possession on a prime old block on a backstreet right near the center of town. A dream piece of real estate, but it needed a lot of work. I agreed to stay for a few days and help out while I got everything in order towards my plan to get back to Canada.
The downtown location was ideal. I booked a flight to Vancouver from Cancun. I hung around and worked at the hostel for a few days: collecting bric-a-brac, shovelling gravel, handing out fliers, among other things. I got a fair bit of time off as well in which to get organised to go and enjoy the end of my days in Tulum. I went down to the beach one last time, and went out for a last meal with Alex and Manuela. We ate at a restaurant called "TORTA GIGANTE". We ate gigantic tortas and huge ice creams because we could and because we deserved them. The Carnaval was in town that night, too. Floats went by on the back of semi-trucks. We caught prizes from the buxom ladies on the Sol cerveza float. I never made it to Rio; but in the end it came to me. I was humbled with happiness and the significance of everything. Finally things were revealing themselves in time and clarity.
The next day, I got up, made myself a sign pointing to Cancun and, after breakfast, headed out towards the highway. I wanted to hitch there because it's the best way to travel and I wanted to finish properly. I got a ride in no time with a middle aged Canadian couple driving a souped-up dune buggy, tearing up the highway at high speed, furious winds blowing through as I held onto my hat and we all yelled a conversation amongst ourselves. They dropped me 30 or so kilometres up the road to the highway near Akumal. I scarce had time to finish an orange before I got another ride - this time with a couple of Mexican fellas in the tray of a black ute with a cover over the top.
Not long into the ride did I discover that I wasn't exactly alone back there. Turns out I was sharing the cab with a toucan in a cage and a huge orange iguana, who wasted no time in struggling free of his bag and roaming around, eyeing me warily as if to say "Don't even try anything, dickhead". One of the best rides ever. I got all the way to Playa del Carmen - a little over half way. I got dropped off near the huge Chedraui supermarket where I bought some fruit, bread and cheese. I dumped my bag in the outdoor parking lot and sat down for lunch. After I'd finished, I was approached by two cops. I thought they were going to bust me for smoking a Rollie; but in actual fact I must have looked pretty hungry because one of them gave me his lunch: half a chicken with rice, salsa, and tortillas. It was starting to look like a pretty lucky day.
I waited a while to get outta Playa, an hour at one spot and a hike to another; but eventually I got the ride I was after with an older bloke from Mexico City who hit hiked all around Mexico in his younger years. It was much, much safer back then, he told me. Ever since the war on drugs and the cartels some parts are really bad. He drove me all the way to my destination, a hostel near the bus terminal. He had offered me a room for the night but I couldn't take him up on it. I was too smelly and bearded - there was no way I could have faced his family!
My last day in Mexico was pretty sentimental. I walked and walked and walked. I walked in on a water-play synchronized swimming show, sat on a boat and drank a beer with chip tacos in "Tortuga Bay". Made it to Venezuela as well. It was a chewy Tuesday. On the way home I picked a last coconut, which was to be my last meal in Mexico the following morning.
Mexico. Besides a few hard weeks, I had the time of my life down there. It really kicked my arse and pushed me in the dirt, but I'm thankful for that. There were quite a few things that I needed to learn. In the end though, my only regrets are that I made my mum and my family and friends worry about me... And that I never bought a machete. I'll be sorry about these things for a long time coming (perhaps the former slightly more so than the latter).
Since getting back to Canada, life's been pretty excellent. I walked right into a job as a water slides attendant (Thanks Zan!), which would have to be one of the chilled-est jobs I've had. Involved a fair bit of reading. I spent some time with a lovely girl called Yuko. Drank socially with Henry and the boys. But, with spring, the time has come for me to leave my life in Banff, along with my new mates, playoff Ducks, and kitchen, for a second season in the Ontarian bush. Three more months of trees, starting tomorrow. I've been waiting and preparing a long time for this. Right now I'm on the final leg of a two-and-a-half day bus trip across this beautiful second home of mine. It's starting to look like A beautiful stinking hot buggy hard-yakka summer. Couldn't be happier.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Mexico, Round Tres, Parte Dos
... And so there I was, a ruin of my own creation, sitting there beneath the angel in the square, feeling a very long way from home or anywhere. Just then my angel of sorts arrived. A Frenchman named Stefane who I'd met at the Rainbow, and somewhere else, prior. He gave me a few pesos to check the net and try and find Soph, fed me tomales and shouted me a couple of beers and gave me a spot on his floor to roll out my sleeping bag. It was a nice night, the year was at it's end, and I was feeling O.K. again. We didn't stay out for the countdown though. When the fireworkswent off outside, I was lying in the dark, staring through the roof, reflecting on the year that was, and the serious changes I had to make in my life. New plans, new beginnings.
The next day Stefane the saint gave me a bag ful of fruit to get me going and I took my leave and headed out to the beach to try and find the cabanas Sophie was supposedly hiding out in. I wandered down to the beach, and there it was -- the Atlantic, the Caribbean. The sea was blues and greens, the sun was high, the sand so fine and white. It smelt different to the Pacific, tasted different, too. I was pleased, splashed around. A new year, a new ocean. I stashed my bag and had a wander up and down the beach looking for Soph -- no luck, so I spent the reast of the afternoon reading Vonnegut beneath a coconut tree. As the afternoon waned, I decided to walk back to town and check if she'd been on the net at all. About halfway there, and there she was, by the side of the road, trying to hitchhike back the other way. It was a sweet reuinion, lots of screaming and hugging involved. We got a ride back to the cabanas in no time, where I met the rest of the gang and shared in a huge cheese platter and pirate rum. Home at last.
Spent a few days chilling with the gang, chilling with Soph; reminiscing on high school days, old people, etc. Plenty of good food was eaten, plenty of swimming. It was lovely. They all got on the road south five days later, bound through Belize to Guatemala, where they'had managed to line up gigs with a volunteering program. The owner of the cabanas had come around and the accommodation was no longer free. They'd been there close to three weeks already, time to move on. Since I had neither the money for the road to Guatemala, or for rent at the cabanas, I elected to take my gear out into the forest behind where they were situated and roll out the mat while I continued the wait. I chose a nice little spot in a beautiful grove beneath a patch of open sky so I could see the sky and stars.
That little spot became my home sweet home for three weeks. I got myself into a routine, and it was here in the bush alone that I began my rebuilding process. By the end of last year, a great deal of what I thought I knew about myself and the world had been dashed to peices and all my faults and failings were stark and apparent. I'd lost it alleverything, my mind was a mess, my heart and faith in serious trouble. So I settled in, started asking questions. Now that I really didn't have anything to do, anywhere to go, anyone to talk to, I had no choice but to get settled in to living in the bush and answering the problems in my life. My routine went like this, usually: I started by getting up before the sun and going for runs, swimming, coming home and eating a breakfast of noodle soup over the campfire, excercising with a cinderblock for a bit; then the 2 hour walk to the shopping centre and back to check the ATM. In the afternoons I did whatever I felt like: whether it be swimming or going for a walk or sitting down and meditating, just listening, always thinking, writing a bit, etc. I usually ate dinner at about 5:30-6 and went to bed not long after. I had a lot of dreams always, often waking in the wee hours and just lying there thinking, thinking. I began to feel better mentally, patience creeping back in. My health and strength improved, too. I learned to accept my situation a bit better. I was obviously here for a reason, and I knew I needed to be there. It was where I deep down wanted to be. Out in the bush, with solitude, and surviving. Nothin' better on, anyways.
Sometime after midnight on my twentieth night under the stars, a big rain blew in. It had been coming for some time. I screamed and cursed and threw a jacket on and all my shit together in a hurry and trekked through the bush back to the bungalows for shelter. I arrived soaked to the skin. Tired and wishing I had a tent. I sat on the porch and watched the rain bucket down until it cleared sometime around morning. Mostly I was annoyed because it was going to be difficult to start a fire. It rained on and off over the next few days, basically cementing my move back into the cabins. But, at least now I had company. This company came in the form of an Englishman called Alex. A builder-gone-mystic, in Mexico on a path to follow his dreaming, and learn how to be a healer. Right from the get-go we became mates easy. To tell the truth I was thankful for the company. We shared a campfire and stories and cooked up some real spicy food. Have to hand it to Alex for the best and hottest salsa I'd ever eaten. What a beauty. A week went by before Alex's girlfriend, Manuela came and joined the party. We had a few blow ins: a couple of Argentines and a Mexican-born American and all-round-good-bloke, Tony. Transitional times for us all, formative times. And, through the means of fire and meals are converations shared across it, we all helped each other out and through each other we got to know ourselves better. It was a beautiful time, that campfire time... Keep an eye out for the final round, III, coming soon enough. Thanks for reading, kids. Sorry nothing ever happens around here. I never know wat to say about all that happened. I can't even convey it. Words seem superfluous almost, maybe I've just lost the knack for it, who knows. But anyways, I'll keep at it slowly and hone my skills better when I go back to school later on in the year... PAZ!
The next day Stefane the saint gave me a bag ful of fruit to get me going and I took my leave and headed out to the beach to try and find the cabanas Sophie was supposedly hiding out in. I wandered down to the beach, and there it was -- the Atlantic, the Caribbean. The sea was blues and greens, the sun was high, the sand so fine and white. It smelt different to the Pacific, tasted different, too. I was pleased, splashed around. A new year, a new ocean. I stashed my bag and had a wander up and down the beach looking for Soph -- no luck, so I spent the reast of the afternoon reading Vonnegut beneath a coconut tree. As the afternoon waned, I decided to walk back to town and check if she'd been on the net at all. About halfway there, and there she was, by the side of the road, trying to hitchhike back the other way. It was a sweet reuinion, lots of screaming and hugging involved. We got a ride back to the cabanas in no time, where I met the rest of the gang and shared in a huge cheese platter and pirate rum. Home at last.
Spent a few days chilling with the gang, chilling with Soph; reminiscing on high school days, old people, etc. Plenty of good food was eaten, plenty of swimming. It was lovely. They all got on the road south five days later, bound through Belize to Guatemala, where they'had managed to line up gigs with a volunteering program. The owner of the cabanas had come around and the accommodation was no longer free. They'd been there close to three weeks already, time to move on. Since I had neither the money for the road to Guatemala, or for rent at the cabanas, I elected to take my gear out into the forest behind where they were situated and roll out the mat while I continued the wait. I chose a nice little spot in a beautiful grove beneath a patch of open sky so I could see the sky and stars.
That little spot became my home sweet home for three weeks. I got myself into a routine, and it was here in the bush alone that I began my rebuilding process. By the end of last year, a great deal of what I thought I knew about myself and the world had been dashed to peices and all my faults and failings were stark and apparent. I'd lost it alleverything, my mind was a mess, my heart and faith in serious trouble. So I settled in, started asking questions. Now that I really didn't have anything to do, anywhere to go, anyone to talk to, I had no choice but to get settled in to living in the bush and answering the problems in my life. My routine went like this, usually: I started by getting up before the sun and going for runs, swimming, coming home and eating a breakfast of noodle soup over the campfire, excercising with a cinderblock for a bit; then the 2 hour walk to the shopping centre and back to check the ATM. In the afternoons I did whatever I felt like: whether it be swimming or going for a walk or sitting down and meditating, just listening, always thinking, writing a bit, etc. I usually ate dinner at about 5:30-6 and went to bed not long after. I had a lot of dreams always, often waking in the wee hours and just lying there thinking, thinking. I began to feel better mentally, patience creeping back in. My health and strength improved, too. I learned to accept my situation a bit better. I was obviously here for a reason, and I knew I needed to be there. It was where I deep down wanted to be. Out in the bush, with solitude, and surviving. Nothin' better on, anyways.
Sometime after midnight on my twentieth night under the stars, a big rain blew in. It had been coming for some time. I screamed and cursed and threw a jacket on and all my shit together in a hurry and trekked through the bush back to the bungalows for shelter. I arrived soaked to the skin. Tired and wishing I had a tent. I sat on the porch and watched the rain bucket down until it cleared sometime around morning. Mostly I was annoyed because it was going to be difficult to start a fire. It rained on and off over the next few days, basically cementing my move back into the cabins. But, at least now I had company. This company came in the form of an Englishman called Alex. A builder-gone-mystic, in Mexico on a path to follow his dreaming, and learn how to be a healer. Right from the get-go we became mates easy. To tell the truth I was thankful for the company. We shared a campfire and stories and cooked up some real spicy food. Have to hand it to Alex for the best and hottest salsa I'd ever eaten. What a beauty. A week went by before Alex's girlfriend, Manuela came and joined the party. We had a few blow ins: a couple of Argentines and a Mexican-born American and all-round-good-bloke, Tony. Transitional times for us all, formative times. And, through the means of fire and meals are converations shared across it, we all helped each other out and through each other we got to know ourselves better. It was a beautiful time, that campfire time... Keep an eye out for the final round, III, coming soon enough. Thanks for reading, kids. Sorry nothing ever happens around here. I never know wat to say about all that happened. I can't even convey it. Words seem superfluous almost, maybe I've just lost the knack for it, who knows. But anyways, I'll keep at it slowly and hone my skills better when I go back to school later on in the year... PAZ!
Monday, February 11, 2013
Mexico. Round Tres.
On the day after the Jersey Shore ended for ever (R.I.P.), the selfsame day that the Mayan longcount ticked over, Mikie and me went our separate ways. Mikie back to Canada to work, and me back down to Mexico. I just wasn't ready for Canada again. I'd been there almost a year not that long ago, wanted to catch up with old mates, wanted to at least make it out into the Caribbean. South America was shot; but so it goes. Cuba and Jamaica, Haiti and Dominica held a certain appeal. Mostly though, the Atlantic, the god-damn Caribbean Sea, man. Pirate territory. Had to do it. Funds were at an all-time low, though: I had to borrow money from my sisters just to get out of San Diego and make a run at it. Most of this money was gone within a week. Basically as soon as I walked into Tijuana, without even having to get my passport out at all, I was picked out as an easy scam and within an hour duped into giving some dirty ice-scab a thousand pesos in the belief that he could get me a ticket to Chiapas for "local price". In hindsight that dude's never had a legitimate job in his entire life. Dude had tears tattooed on his face, and an "LA" tattoo on his throat. Oh well, a fool and his money are easily parted. So it goes. The ticket I got for the next day ended up costing me 1800, in the end. After a feed, and a night in a dingy hotel, and some groceries, I had about 500 left. Spent a hundred on the three-day bus ride, and, on arrival in Tuxtla on Christmas afternoon, I discovered that the rest had been taken from my bank by a hotel in San Diego we'd done the sneaky on for a free night... or so we thought. So that left me with 11 pesos in my pocket. Then I bought water for 10, and that was that. Gone. Broke on Christmas, and still quite a ways from where I needed to be. My shot was Palenque, where I thought Soph and Pablo were at the Rainbow Gathering. No choice but to stick out the thumb and make a go of it. An hour and I got a nice ride an hour up the road to the old stomping ground of San Cristobal de las Casas. I tried to pump straight through; but the walk was long and after a lot of sweat and frustration it got dark and I had to call it. So I turned and lugged it back into the central square to have a look at Christmas. Not much happening, just standard San Cristobal scenes: Nicely dressed people getting about at slow pace. Mellow mood and live music wafting into the streets from the coffee houses. Nice, but I was broke and starving and kicking myself at my situation. Just couldnt get into it. So I stole some snacks in lack of turkey, ham, and seafood and walked out of town again. I'd read somewhere that the Pemex petrol stations let hitchhikers sleep behind them. Turned out to be bunkum - even on Chrissy. Slept the night in a wet cold and dewy ditch in a shit neighborhood. Bum Christmas. The next couple of days were also of the rough variety also. Bit of an eye-opener in terms of having to turn something out of nothing just to get food in the belly. Sold things like special coins and these shit necklaces I made from string and bottletops. Even changed all of my American ones and shrapnel. It was rag-tag, but I made enough to eat, and got myself out again on the road the day after I spent a night in a no-so-cosy-but-secure garden on Boxing Day. Stressful days and shit, but I pushed on through. Also bummed by the news that both Sophie and Pablo were by now in Tulum, which was a long way further down the line. 10 more hours so. But, my luck was in on that sunny day, and after an easy, short ride out of town to the appropriate intersection, I nabbeda brilliant ride with a lovely family. A couple of girls my age and their old man, out on a road trip from DF. Turns out that one of the girls has plans to emigrate to Oz one day, so she got a chance tpractice her Australian English, and I got a feed, a few beers, an afternoon at the waterfalls, and a ride to Palenque. Made me really happy, that day did. On arrival in Palenque, I walked out to the road to Panchan, left my bags in a paddock and walked the 9 k's out to a place where I knew I could sneak a free hot shower, did so, and slept so sweet in a baddock under a big gnarly old oak tree. The sunrise was magic. Golden light though mist and big green blades of grass. Before too long I was shooed along whilst reading, though, and I had to get a move on. Went in to Palenque and knocked about for a bit, refilled my water bottle and got given 15 pesos for the colectivo out to the Rainbow Gathering that afternoon for the night of the big fullmoon party. It turned out to be exactly the place I needed to be. I settled in, set u p the tent and sat down in the trade section, make a few sweet deals for things I needed (tobacco, cornflakes, mushies) in exchange for things I didnt need (a map, chewie, a ticket to the museum in Mexico City), and got to know a few people. Never in my life have I seen so much nudity. So many hippies getting about with the old fellas flapping in the wind. My old man would kick my arse if he seen me gettin about like that. I didnt partake in the nudity. The fullmoon party was nice, too. Huge Om circle, much love, much dancing, great veggie meal and all free. Good vibes. Met a girl called Sparrow. She made me a man of straw. The party got wierd later on - I got invited to an orgy. Too much of a prude these days, so that bird flew. I hit the bed a bit later after heckling the koombayah singers into playing a bit of reggae and partaking in some salad and chai tea, instead of some kind of hell-for-leather sexfest. Right move, or worst move ever? Whatever. Leave the orgies for the serious freaks. The next day, I decided to chill for another day. I was tired of running, by this time. Needed a recoup bad. Had a great day. Went swimming. Again no nude prude. Met a couple of German girls, non hippies, and initiated them to the wierd and wonderful family/tribe that is the Rainbow. So much potential, but at the end of the day it's a society of people, a large one, and these things inherit problems, hippies or no. When its good, which is most of the time, it's great - but there's a fair bit of degeneracy, laziness, snobbery and disunity there, too. Just like the other society. I wont say it's better or worse, but there's things they both need to learn from each other. The next day, the rain came in. It was a mud fest, and the Germans tent and my tent were shithouse, so the time came to get out. Back to Palenque. I remembered I had 40 bucks stashed in my Canadian bank, too, so after a night at Panchan, a king-sized Victoria beer and a pack of smokes, I went into Palenque the following morning, New Years Eve, to try get to Tulum. I had just enough money. Me and Some Argentinians and the most lost person, sad crazy little Marie from Germany commandered a colectivo to take us there in time for the countdown. Poor Marie jumped the gun just before we left though, on a premonition. May the Lord watch over her soul. Anyways, the road was straight and true and we got there with plenty of time to spare, 8pm. The Argentinos continued on to Playa del Carmen, and I was left to my devices. tried to find Sophie, but no sign and she hadn't been online for a few days so I was beat. I hit up Mum for a little more money to settle in and have a small time, but I'd lost another money card in Palenque, so I was on skid row again. Broke and lost in the central square sitting under an angel statue staring at the Christmas tree, ruing my constant incompetence. Things were looking grim again. Then my guardian angel arrived. Part 2 coming soon.
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