It was a long trip, to say the least. I finally got to bed at 4:30 this morning, after having been awake since 11am on Sunday. But this is the first thing I saw when I walked out of my room upon waking:
All of those hours spent wandering airports, back and forth, trying to find the right gate, the right concourse; the squalling infants and contradictory directions at customs...all of that melted away as soon as I saw that view.
This winter has been especially difficult for me, with its never-ending rain that seems to seep into my very bones. When my Gay BoyFriend invited me to his villa in Mexico I knew it was exactly what I needed.
This is no romantic getaway incidentally...nor is my Gay BoyFriend actually gay. He has proven utterly immune to my charms so, naturally, I just assumed and the nickname stuck. He loves it, I'm sure.
Our trip was originally to include several of his band mates but they all dropped out, one by one. So, the two of us set out for PDX at 3:30am after my Sinferno shift in CoatCheck. (Thanks for the ride, Butterfly Boy!)
We were met in Cancun by GBF's ex, Mariana and her friend Paola, who kindly drove us to the ADO (bus depot). It's a good thing, too. Even well-rested I would have been overwhelmed. The moment we cleared customs the taxi drivers pounced. To say they are persistent is an understatement. One of them latched onto us, particularly when he realized I spoke Spanish. He chatted with us, even following us back into the terminal when we went to call Mariana...just in case our ride didn't work out.
But Mariana arrived with Paola in tow.
It was so wonderful to finally chat with somebody in Spanish, somebody who wasn't asking me for money, or a passport. I realized somewhere along the trip, I began to think in Spanish. I found myself having to search for the English words for things when speaking to GBF, who doesn't speak a word of Spanish.
I did, however, have a chance to practice flirting in Spanish before that, at Benito Juarez airport in Mexico City. Apparently it takes 6 cute boys to do a security check for one small Colombian girl, and they have to ask many important questions such as: what do you think of Mexican guys, do you find them handsome, and how would you rate them on a scale of 1 to 10? I even made one of them twirl for me. I gave him an 8.5. He pouted and said he would have rated me an 11.
Paola drove us through the streets of Cancun. I was disgusted: McDonalds, Dominoes, Burger King and some ghastly casinos litter the main strip. I am so glad that was not our destination!
We made it to the ADO with 15 minutes to spare. I was so glad to have Mariana with us. My brain was a jumble of English and Spanish at that point, and I was more than happy to let her handle the travel arrangements.
I hoped to sleep once we were on the bus, but instead ended up watching Transformers in Spanish, which was playing so loudly it was impossible to ignore. And no,the movie is no more entertaining in Spanish than it is in English.
GBF's parents met us in Merida, and drove us the rest of the way into Progreso and to Villa Tio Francisco, our home for the next few days.
And what a home it is! It's a bit rustic by American standards, perhaps, but I love it. It was once a boarding house for students, so it has 10 rooms with either private or connecting bathrooms. It reminds me so much of home, of places we stayed in a small beach town called Covenas.
Despite my exhaustion I only slept a few hours---I was too excited. Even as we came up the driveway in the dark I could recognize the outlines of trees I remember from Colombia: lime and tamarind. This morning's inspection revealed some other familiar flora: coralillo and besitos, nispero and zapote, and the ubiquitous coconut palms.
Though GBF's parents, sister, nephew and some friends of the family are also staying here, there's enough room (and there are enough hammocks) for everyone. Today started with lounging on the veranda watching the waves, a leisurely breakfast, followed by more lounging (and even a little telecommuting).
It's a rough life, this.