5:45 a.m. – WTF am I doing up? I am refreshed, though, I’m not dead. I feel happy. I think I’ll go for a walk.
6:30 a.m. – I’m walking. To where, at the crack of dawn in Tulum, Mexico, I haven’t a clue. I’ll know when I get there.
7:37 a.m. – Still walking. It’s been an hour. The sun has come out and, walking next to the freshly laid asphalt on Boca Paila Road, it’s beginning to get warm. I needed to, um, make a pot…so I stopped at this gorgeous resort hotel/spa. The giant steel gates didn’t look particularly friendly, but they were open.
Since I don’t share the same, um, demographic as some of the locals, many of the hotel staffers just assumed that I was a hotel guest out for a leisurely stroll.
I was. Except, I’m a guest of the Hotel Familiar Maya – of the $17 quid a night Hotel Familiar Maya family. This place looked like it was $17 for a bottle of water.
Que es el bano? Gracias.
8:01 a.m. – I walked from the Hotel Familiar Maya to Luna Maya, our accommodations for the night. The literal translation is from Hotel to Moon (Maya). It’s a long way from our hotel to the moon. The walk was only slightly shorter.
I’m now sitting on a beach chair, with the sun blaring down on me and my cup of coffee. I feel like Thoreau, except not surrounded by trees in Central Mass. I’m on the Mayan shampooing Riviera, with a breathtaking seascape. You know those wave machines that were all the rave in the late 1990’s? They were like 200 clams at Sharper Image or Brookstone. Forget that, just sleep with your windows open out here.
8:19 a.m. – The average adult male body is made up of 60% water. Yet still, we sit here in awe of the beauty, majesty, and power of something that makes up the majority of our being. That was your TLBR moment of zen, brought to you by a bunch of realtors in Tulum.
9:58 a.m. – You know what sucks about walking for an hour-plus to get somewhere? You have to walk an hour-plus back. Plus, at this time of day, it’s just short of London Broil on the Boca Paila. I stopped at the midway bodega and got a bottle of agua. I’m not even sure my body held onto it.
11:05 a.m. – The restaurant attached to the Hotel Familiar Maya was playing Robbie Williams’ “The Ego Has Landed,” perhaps because they thought the gringos would enjoy it. This gringo did.
Matt continued to converse in Spanish with the waiter and I continued to try to follow along. I’m getting better. However, call it a miracle of convenience, I tend to order very similar dishes.
I like enchiladas verde. A lot. And I like beer. And I can order them, no problem. So welcome back to the enchilada breakfast. We do it everyday.
By the way, I walked about 6 shampooing miles today. When we get to Luna Maya, my tukkis is going to be parked in one of the seaside hammocks, with a copy of The Economist and Sports Illustrated to digest.
During my “Stop…hammock time,” it was also, coincidentally, Happy Hour. So while I’d gently be rocking to and fro, reading about everything from Mario Chalmers to the effect that bio-fuels are having on the price of wheat, I was sampling several different Mexican cervezas: Modelo, Leon, Victoria, Sol. All tasty, all 2-for-1, at about two bucks apiece.
I skipped lunch, on account of the enchilada breakfast, so enjoyed a granola bar and a nap in a hammock, and Jay-Z on the iPod. In fact, I felt like Jay-Z.
7:55 p.m. – Ok, the internal daily pedometer is up to about 10 miles. Matty and I walked down the other end of the Tulum Riviera, in search of some ruins. We didn’t get to the ruins, they were closed (it was kind of like Florida being closed, to be honest).
We did, however, find a beachfront palapa that served beer. It was open. And not a total surprise to you, I’m sure. An interesting crowd, there were us two U.S. folk, the two local bartenders, two female patrons from Montreal, and an English bloke trying waaaaaaay too hard.
The bartenders spoke Spanish, the girls followed along but chatted among themselves in French. The limey spoke the Queen’s English. We speak our kind of talk.
The girls were manning the iPod, playing their favorite tunes, and had some great choices: Manu Chou, Janis Joplin (even thought I find her terribly overrated), Bob Dylan, Aretha Franklin, and the Beatles.
Tonight, there’s a Full Moon party, on account of the Full Moon (go figure).
10:32 p.m. – Just saw the first official SFA of the trip. And in case you’re wondering, SFA= Stupid *expletive deleted* American.
He didn’t even try to speak Spanish when ordering four Corona and then gave the Spanish-speaking bartender and his female friend who tried to interpret shit for not speaking English.
Hey d-bag, remember that little thing you had to do at the airport? You know, with your passport and the guy in the uniform asking you how long you’d be in Mexico and what the purpose of your trip was? Remember that?
Well that process is called “immigration.” And when you go through said process, it means you’re in a different shampooing country. In some countries, you can go there, walk up to the bar, and order four beers – Molsons, Guinnesses (or is it Guinnii?), Boag’s, etc. Some countries, you might have to learn three or four words to get a Peroni, Sapporo, or Kronenbourg.
The Full Moon party is at a place called Ohm. Ohm is in Mexico. So guess what, idiot, they don’t speak shampooing English or even shampooing idiot English. Make the effort. (This is also the first happenstance of what has been referred to as “an international bitterness situation.”)
10:41 p.m. – Trying to do some quick, Full Moon match. Which number is higher: the number of miles I’ve walked or beers I’ve consumed? It’s probably 6-2-and-even.