Koh Phangon
You wake up... No.Wait. Wake is a strong word since you were never fully asleep. A better word is rouse. You rouse, your mind snaps back fully from a dream that was dreamt with your eyes open. Wait, was it a dream or a memory. You become conscious of your surroundings. Your in, what amounts to, a shack in Koh Phangon. Your lovely girlfriend is sleeping blissfully next to you. A distant bassline still thumps, it seems to be syncronized with the pounding in your head. Ahhhh yes, you remember now... the full moon party. You try to recall exactly what happened last night, but your memory seems to only give you glimpses. You remember the thump of trance, mekong whiskey and coke served in buckets, milkshakes(you wince...oooh the milkshakes), people fire dancing- their faces bathed in the eerie glow of the flame attached to the chains that are being whipped about, a beach three quarters of a mile long with 8,000 dancing, drinking, exstatic people.
You look at your watch, shit its only 8:30, you've only been in bed for an hour and a half. You try to wake the sweet and innocent next to you, but she's not having it, even though she got a couple of more hours of sleep then you, she still went to bed way past her bed time.
So you lie in bed another hour, strands of your recollection slowly coming together. Finally, your girlfriend wakes up, and in a daze, you tramp off to find breakfast and a bathroom(since your room doesn't have one). As you get closer to the beach, the pounding music gets louder, and when you turn the corner and step on to the sand you think to yourself that you might have gone to bed a bit too early, over half of the people from last night are still dancing at 9:30 in the morning. And then you get closer and when you see the hollowed eyes, and green complexion, you realize how they did it. You've seen the same look in the mirror many a morning, and you know, as bad as you feel, it could have been much worse. You and your love sit and eat breakfast, watching the zombies stagger by, some stopping in and buying water or asking for breakfast("I don't care what you bring me, just make it greasy"). Later, you stop and say goodbye to the two swedish girls, and the german couple that you've been hanging out with and make your way to the taxi stand for the bumpy ride back to the wharf. The taxis are small pick up trucks that have benches in the back to sit on, and are covered by a hard canopy with a rack to store your luggage. You both jump in the back and sit next to a bunch of very hung-over brits. As soon as your under way, one climbs out the window of the canopy and sits on top of the truck still clutching a large Chang beer. After twenty minutes of steep hills and pot-holed roads you make it to the ferry dock. You step out of the cab, and look up and there's the brit passed out lying, on top of the luggage rack, his beer still clasped in his grubby fingers.
Finally after waiting an hour on a hot and very crowded pier, you climb on to a hot and very crowded boat for the two hour ferry ride back to quiet, comfortable Koh Tao. Another party, Another hang over, Another really long email. talk to y'all later... moe
Saturday, December 15, 2001
Friday, November 30, 2001
Trains, Planes and Boats in the Rain
Ko Tao, Thailand
Good morning everyone, or I guess Good evening to y'all since your nine hours ahead (or more accurately 15 hours behind).
Well, its been an interesting couple of weeks so far. Daysha and I headed out on Halloween morning, on a 25 hour flight from Seattle to Bankok, via San Fransisco, and Seuol, Korea. All things considered, it wasn't to bad of a flight, not too many crying babies, or flight delays. Still we were two very tired travelers when we got in to the Bankok airport at around Midnight or so. We spent two days in Bankok, ricocheting around the city on tuk-tuks, taking in some of the sights. The Grand Palace, and the Temple of the Emerald Buddha among them. But the hustle and the bustle of the city didn't prove too satisfying, so we hopped on a train south to a beach town named Hua Hin. There we rested on the beach, and ate good seafood(you haven't lived until you've tried fresh fish-ska-bobs, or squid on a stick). Hua Hin, however is extremely touristy, and we soon tired of walking through town, pushing our way through merchants hawking wooden elephant statues and hand held hookas. Also most of the tourists who come here seem to be very stressed out, because there are two or three thai massage parlors on every block (the girls who run these places are really friendly though). So, after four or five days, we caught a bus running further along the south east coast to a town called Champwon. From there we were going to go back up about ten miles north to a secluded beach for a couple of days, but a couple that we met on the bus told us about a midnight boat out to the island of Ko Tao. Ko Tao was going to be our next stop anyway, and it was proving difficult to get to the beach where we wanted to go, so we decided go ahead and wait for the boat. We were very proud of ourselves for this decision, because we would save money on a hotel, as the boat ride was to be six hours long, so we would get there the next money. There was an express boat during the day that would only take two hours, but it was a little more expensive, and besides we were going to sleep on the boat anyway, right?
Well, it started off all right, when we boarded the boat, the downstairs was full, but the upstairs was almost empty. The floor was covered in mats, and we were protected from above by some tarps. So we set up our bags and layed back against them and got ready for a restful night, when a couple of english guys climbed up as well. Oh cool, I thought to myself we'll have someone to talk to if we get bored. But then a couple germans came up as well, then some aussies, then more germans, soon we were so packed together that we couldn't even stretch out our legs. Finally the boat started to move, and just as I closed my eyes to go to sleep, the heavens started to spit. I opened one eye, and thought hmmm good thing we have those tarps. Of course this was not the end, oh no. Ten minutes into the trip, it started downpouring. It was then that I realized that we didn't have a tarps, but a funnel for the water to drain on to me and my backpack. So to make a long story, uh... not quite as long, it was a wet, sleepless night on the boat. We finally rached Ko Tao at about six in the morning, just as it stopped raining, and found a beuatiful island, with amazing beaches, and cheap little bungalows. We like it so much that we're going to hang out at least a month. For a 150 bucks we got a nice little bungalow about 50 feet from the beach. So that about brings y'all up to date, I hope I haven't bored anybody, remember that you don't have to read these and if I get filtered into your junk mail, I won't be offended. Alrighty then, Peace, Pizza, and Peaches, moe
Good morning everyone, or I guess Good evening to y'all since your nine hours ahead (or more accurately 15 hours behind).
Well, its been an interesting couple of weeks so far. Daysha and I headed out on Halloween morning, on a 25 hour flight from Seattle to Bankok, via San Fransisco, and Seuol, Korea. All things considered, it wasn't to bad of a flight, not too many crying babies, or flight delays. Still we were two very tired travelers when we got in to the Bankok airport at around Midnight or so. We spent two days in Bankok, ricocheting around the city on tuk-tuks, taking in some of the sights. The Grand Palace, and the Temple of the Emerald Buddha among them. But the hustle and the bustle of the city didn't prove too satisfying, so we hopped on a train south to a beach town named Hua Hin. There we rested on the beach, and ate good seafood(you haven't lived until you've tried fresh fish-ska-bobs, or squid on a stick). Hua Hin, however is extremely touristy, and we soon tired of walking through town, pushing our way through merchants hawking wooden elephant statues and hand held hookas. Also most of the tourists who come here seem to be very stressed out, because there are two or three thai massage parlors on every block (the girls who run these places are really friendly though). So, after four or five days, we caught a bus running further along the south east coast to a town called Champwon. From there we were going to go back up about ten miles north to a secluded beach for a couple of days, but a couple that we met on the bus told us about a midnight boat out to the island of Ko Tao. Ko Tao was going to be our next stop anyway, and it was proving difficult to get to the beach where we wanted to go, so we decided go ahead and wait for the boat. We were very proud of ourselves for this decision, because we would save money on a hotel, as the boat ride was to be six hours long, so we would get there the next money. There was an express boat during the day that would only take two hours, but it was a little more expensive, and besides we were going to sleep on the boat anyway, right?
Well, it started off all right, when we boarded the boat, the downstairs was full, but the upstairs was almost empty. The floor was covered in mats, and we were protected from above by some tarps. So we set up our bags and layed back against them and got ready for a restful night, when a couple of english guys climbed up as well. Oh cool, I thought to myself we'll have someone to talk to if we get bored. But then a couple germans came up as well, then some aussies, then more germans, soon we were so packed together that we couldn't even stretch out our legs. Finally the boat started to move, and just as I closed my eyes to go to sleep, the heavens started to spit. I opened one eye, and thought hmmm good thing we have those tarps. Of course this was not the end, oh no. Ten minutes into the trip, it started downpouring. It was then that I realized that we didn't have a tarps, but a funnel for the water to drain on to me and my backpack. So to make a long story, uh... not quite as long, it was a wet, sleepless night on the boat. We finally rached Ko Tao at about six in the morning, just as it stopped raining, and found a beuatiful island, with amazing beaches, and cheap little bungalows. We like it so much that we're going to hang out at least a month. For a 150 bucks we got a nice little bungalow about 50 feet from the beach. So that about brings y'all up to date, I hope I haven't bored anybody, remember that you don't have to read these and if I get filtered into your junk mail, I won't be offended. Alrighty then, Peace, Pizza, and Peaches, moe
Thursday, February 1, 2001
Costa Rica to Columbia Ramble
Cartagena, Colombia
I believe the last time I wrote one of these long cursed emails it was all the way back in Leon Nicaragua. So from there we went out to a town called Polynoya a beautful beach on the Pacific side of Nicaragua, and for the first time all trip we actually had some sun at the beach. So we spent a couple of quiet relaxing days on the beach, and headed on down to Grenada Nicaragua, a bustling colonial town on the coast of Lake Nicaragua(the tenth largest fresh water lake in the world, bet you didn't know that). We found a little hostel called the bearded monkey that was so steeped in comforts from home(couch, TV, pool table) at cheap prices that we stayed a few days more than we probably should have, but we had a good time none the less. From there we went to another beach town, named San Juan del Sur, which was also nice. It had a good mixture of a relaxed atmosphere during the day, but also lots to do at night. There we met a couple people, a girl named Peggy from Holland, and I guy named Pier from Sweden, and they travel with us a few days into Costa Rica, first to another beach town called Playa de Coco, where on the last night Kevin met his long lost, star-crossed latina lover. Unfortunately, we were staying in a tent at the time, and I had long since gone to bed, and was snoring contentedly. Poor, poor Kevin after working all night to break the language barrier with the girl he loses her on the account of cheap accommodations and my nasal symphony. So the next day we moved on to the Monteverde Cloud forest. Beautiful, Beautiful, way up in the mountains where it doesn't really rain much, the clouds just move through the forest, the moisture leaving the flora and fauna every different shade of green, with scores of interesting animals that we never actually saw, but looked cool on the little laminated guides they hand us before our hike.
In Monteverde, we met a couple of girls named Michelle and H’rina who want to travel with us through Venezuela and Brazil, but first Kevin and I had somethings to do in San Jose (the capital of Costa Rica). I had to get my yellow fever shot, and we both had a couple of other errands to run. So the girls went to Venezuela instead, and we'll probably meet them there later. Anyway, so now we're in Cartagena, which is an incredible town filled with beautiful cathedrals, old forts (and guys who want me to smuggle Cocaine to America, but we won't talk about that, Columbian jails don't sound to appealing to me). Supposedly its pretty safe here, although you still need to use common sense. We're only going to be here for a couple of days. We haven't had a chance yet to explore the City, but I do know it’s hot as hell.
Cartagena is one of my favorite towns that we've been in. It reminds me of cities in Spain. We walked around today through the old part of town looking at cathedrals and whatnot, then later we went to the huge fort Castilla San Felipe, which was very impressive, although it didn´t look like the fort in romancing the stone. Maybe we went to the wrong one.
Friday, December 8, 2000
San Pedro Trip
Flores, Guatamala
Hola Hola everyone.
How is everybody doing? Kevin and I are doing fine, at the moment we re in a small town named Flores in Northern Guatamala, but wait I jump ahead of myself, lets see where did we leave off, I believe we were still in Antigua(I really need to start saving these messages for my own reference). So from Antigua we took another harrowing bus ride to a place called Lago de Atitlan(Lake Atitlan). The bus dropped us off in a town called Panahachel, which was very touristy so we to a boat to San Pedro on the other side of the lake. By the way this isn t just any lake, its probably the most beautiful lake I ve ever seen. The lake itself is squarish and about 15 miles across. Ringed around the lake are very large mountains 3 of which are active volacanos, this is somewhere I definetly want to return to. Anyway, so we get across the lake and walk into a restaraunt next to the dock and sit down. Along with the food menu the waiter says"All right man, I ve got pot, coke, acid and exctasy" Kevin and I looked at each other thinking to ourselves Hmmmmmm. (by the way those of you who don t approve of my occasional drug use, uh sorry) Anyway so we buy an oz of pot(for 12 bucks) and a couple hits of acid, thinking we ll probably have to hang out for a half hour or so, or even come back later for it, especially with the acid(this was the first time we had seen anything but pot or coke, and we don t like coke), but no the waiter pulls the oz out of his pocket and tosses it nonchalantly on the table. Then he walks over the little cardboard box containing straws on the bar. Grabs the straws, walks over to our table, turns the box upside down, and out comes a little package of acid. Meanwhile, Kevin and I are looking around just waiting for the handcuffs to fall, but no one seems even to notice. So we look at each other, look back "uh, thanks." So later after we dropped our stuff off in the hotel we walk into this small bar, and we re talking to the canadien guy who owns this place and he says "Yeah there s a table out back if y all want to smoke anything or do whatever" Ok this is my happy place.
So Kevin and I decide this would be a perfect time to take a week of spanish school. Where we caught this train of thought I have no idea. Lets see party town, lots of drugs, lets wake up every morning and take spanish class for 4 hours. So we did, and it was alright, I had this cute little guatamalan girl for my teacher named Flora(I like the way she said it better). She was (unfortunately) very traditional, which means very catholic and she wore the traditional dress which leaves WAY to much for the imagination. But she was fun and I think that I even learned a little, she didn t speak any english so I had to use what little spanish that I had the entire time. One night a local bar threw a full moon party, on a beach away from town. They had a dj and a bar set up(I don t know why since everyone was tripping) also a bunch of bon fires. It was pretty cool. Out of the 150 people there we probably met 12 or 15 that we had met before in other towns, including 4 as far back as San Cristobal. A good time was had by all, except for us because we didn t leave the party until 5am and we had class the next day. Try describing the imperfect preterite tense to somebody with a head full of acid in a language they don t fully understand anyway. I felt bad for Flora. Finally after our school was over, we felt that we had to get out of there(although not without buying a little more acid for the road, its the easiest drug to conceal) before our heads exploded. So we went back to Antigua for a couple of days, Kevin has been a little sick lately so we let him get over that, and then yesterday we took a bus up here to Flores, a little town on a island in the middle of a large lake. The big attraction here is Tikal, which is a large mayan ruin, supposedly the most impressive in central america. We re thinking about renting a tent and camping up there tonight, but I guess I ll save that for the next letter rather than speculate. Anyway, if your still reading thank you for bearing with me. I will talk to y all later Buenos Noches. Moe
Tuesday, December 5, 2000
HueHue-what?
Well good morning everyone, I am writing you from Antigua, Guatemala. Kevin and I finally left Playa Del Carmen and took a overnight bus to Planck, Mexico where we planned to go over the border, but found that we couldn't and so we moved on to San Cristobal, Mexico, but only after seeing the absolutely incredible ruins in Palenque first. We got there in there at 8 in the morning and saw the morning fog rolling up off the huge temples and into the dense jungle. Afterwards, we took off to San Crisobal, and stayed there for a couple of days, we really liked the town, but there was anything that stood out. From there it was on to Guatemala. After taking a short bus ride to the border, and passing through customs we boarded a bus headed for Huehuetanago (pronounced waywaytanago), and this turned out to be quite the adventure, the bus (as are most busses down here it turns out) was a converted school bus, that by looking at the leg room was probably meant for kindergartners. However, they somehow managed to fit three people to every seat, my seat included, although my legs jutted out into the isle which was also crowded with people standing. If you have a problem with claustrophobia, the busses in Guatemala are not for you. My personal bubble was definitely popped. Also they put your bags on the roof which always has me a bit nervous. The scenery was incredible, at least what I could see of it with everyone's heads in the way. We were in very mountainous area that was covered in jungle it was all very beautiful. The one bad aspect of this area is that they don't seem to invest in guardrails, and as close as the driver liked to drive on the edge this can be very disconcerting. Maybe it just me but I like to be able to see the edge of the road, instead all I saw was trees and houses, 300ft down.
Anyway after a night in Huehuetanago, it was off to Chimaltanago (by the way I feel much smarter writing these name than when I try to say them) Now this bus ride was the most scariest of my life (with one obvious exception). The bus was very full, but the driver drove like he was suicidal. The bus driver look like a reincarnated Indian chief very stoic never showing any emotion except to swear at the drivers in front of him who callously driving in front of him at a safe, reasonable speed. Luckily, there were bumperstickers all over the inside of the bus saying, that god blesses this bus, god blesses this driver etc. I often looked at these stickers while we were passing somebody around a blind corner, with only a 3 or 4 hundred-foot cliff, to escape an oncoming car. I was just hoping and praying that the piousness of these stickers would outweigh my agnostic beliefs. The funny thing is nobody else on the bus seemed worried besides Kevin and I. It certainly didn't stop the couple who were making out in the seat in front of me. After the blood was completely drained out of my knuckles we finally made it to Chimaltanango, and on we went to Antigua.
Antigua is a town that has more foreigners living here than Guatemalans. Everyone comes here to learn Spanish. But we are having fun, and yesterday we climbed an active volcano, which was all right, the hike for the most part was easy, except for the last 600 yards or so which was pretty much straight up climbing in shin deep little magma rocks, which made you slide a step for every two you take, with wind whipping at us at about 70 miles an hour. We also seemed to be in a cloud, which made it hard to see anything, once we finally did get to the top. But it was an experience, and coming down the top incline was a lot like skiing because as you slide the whole mountain seems to move with you. Alrighty that about brings you up to date, please forgive my being so long, but I had a lot to talk about and a morning with nothing to do. Moe
Sunday, November 12, 2000
Mexico to Brazil - The Beginning
11/12/00 – Seattle, WA The Beginning
Hello, hello, once again,
I know that a lot of you have not heard from me for a very long time. I am very sorry about that. I've been in hibernation for the last eight months, on a very isolated steamboat. To those of you who I've lost contact with, I'm very sorry, and although I may have not been communicating with you, I have not forgotten you.(not yet) Anyway, I am a few short days away from once again starting on a journey. This time, to south america. There is a difference between this trips, and trips in the past, as that during this trip I will be doing as little work as possible. Now I, know most of you are saying to yourselves, "I don't see any difference". But this time I will not actually be holding a job as I travel.
Allrightythen. For those of you who haven't been paying attention in the last few months let me give you a bit of a background on the story that is about to take place. (Remember, if any of this, or any following messages, bore you, DON'T READ THEM. Just hit the delete box without even opening the message, like I've been doing with most of you lame-o group emails. However if you do find them at least slight bit interesting, and happen to respond I will try to respond back, in a if not prompt, but leisurely manner.) Anyway, where was I. (scroll up) Right background. For the last eight months I have been working on the American Queen,(THE STEAMBOAT, get your head out of the gutter) trying to make enough money to take a trip to south america, for at least 4 or 5 months. In this task, I'm pretty sure that I have been successful. Along the way, on the boat, I met a lot of cool people, however, none more important to my future than Kevin Pile, and Jessica Morris. Kevin Pile, is a kid from Brewster, WA,(where??) who I've somehow convinced to come along with me to south america. He is super cool, and I know will be a perfect traveling companion. Whether he is naive, or cunning, for listening to me is yet to be seen. Jessica Morris, is a girl from Pratville, Alabama.(where are you finding these people?) who has fallen in love with me, and I vice versa. Those of you who know me already know me know that the verdict came in on her long ago, on the cunning or naive question. But it's OK, we can't all be wolves. Anyway, here's the deal. Jessica, and I leave for Mexico City on Wednsday the 15th of November, and we'll take either a train or a bus for playa de carmen for the 19th. Those of you who know the story of what happened last year at this time in playa del carmen, might ask why I would risk going back there. It just so happens that I was on the internet one day, and oops I bid on a five day all inclusive vacation to playa del carmen in a e-auction or whatever. I wasn't expecting to get it, but these things happen. Anyway, so the lovely miss jessica and I will be spending five days there and then she will be flying home, and Mr Kevin, will arrive and our adventure will start.
OK for those of you who are still with me, I appreciate your patience, as I know this is a longer than normal email, but I figure while I still have free email at my mom’s house, and I have a few beers in me what the hell. Y'all will be hearing much more from me in the future. Hasta la pasta Moe
Saturday, December 25, 1999
How it all started: What Really Happened in Mexico…
After high school, my biggest desire was to see the world. So for a few years I worked on cruise ships and for club med, but neither were satisfying. Working on cruise ships allowed me to go to many amazing places, but unfortunately because I was working, I never had enough time to really see anywhere. What’s the use of going to Barcelona eight times if you only had an hour off the boat each time? At Club Med it was the opposite problem. I was stuck in one place for six months until I was so sick of it anywhere would be better. Finally one incident made me realize I had been going about everything all wrong and that incident was:
What really happened in Mexico...
In November of 1999, I finished my contract with Club Med down in Huatulco, Mexico on the pacific coast of Oaxaca. Though I had finished working for Club Med and had a plane ticket to Seattle that I could use at any time, I wasn’t yet ready to go home. So my friend Kim, a French -Canadian dude with a scalpel-sharp sense of humor, and I hatched a plot to move to Cancun and get jobs amongst the white sand beaches and beautiful women. A couple of months before we left, we ran into three girls, two sisters and a friend, who were also from Quebec and happened to know Kim growing up. They were working in another resort across the bay from us. I started dating Rosie, one of the sisters, and the three of them decided to join our quest to find gainful employment in Cancun. After all, how hard could it be to find a job in one of the biggest tourist destinations in the world?
Harder than we thought, is the answer to that question. The problem with working at a resort in Mexico is that you barely make enough money to cover your bar bill, so none of us had what you might call a nest egg. Kim and I had maybe a hundred and fifty bucks each in our pockets, the girls even less and I don’t think any of us were prepared for the Las Vegas-ness of Cancun. Towering hotels and 7 dollar margaritas were as far as the eye could see and not one hostel. The beautiful tourist part of Cancun is located on a long narrow peninsula of white sand that curls out into the turquoise blue sea. Except the only hotel we could afford was off the peninsula near the bus station in the ‘downtown’ part of Cancun where all the locals lived. It was nasty. I seem to remember slimy concrete floors and lumpy, squeaky beds. Luckily, we were young, impervious and we just knew fortune would shine down on us eventually.
Soon it seemed like it was happening. On our second night there, we went out in Cancun and my girlfriend and her sister (who were never exactly bashful) entered a wet t-shirt contest and won four hundred dollars, which to us felt like winning the lottery. The money gave us a night out and kept us afloat for at least another week. Then the next day, while eating breakfast, the owner of the restaurant came over and started chatting with us. By the end of the conversation, he (I think his name was Arturo) had offered to let us stay for free in a house he owned that was between renters and to help us find jobs. It’s amazing what people offer you when you’re travelling with three pretty girls.
We took Arturo up on his generous offer and moved into his empty three-story house. The only problem was that it had no furniture. So we took some of the wet t-shirt winnings and bought three mattresses. Next, Arturo hooked me up with a job selling time shares in one of the huge hotels. So everything was working out great, right? Well… no. First, selling time shares is a lot like selling your soul. My job was to pitch our amazing product to unsuspecting tourists over a free breakfast.
Except I was so poor I knew that breakfast was likely to be my only real meal of the day. So in between heaping mouthfuls of pancake and stuffing danishes in my pockets, I was trying to convince these people that the contract we were going to ask them to sign would lead to a better, more exotic life and wouldn’t be that much harder to get rid of than say… clamidia. Anyway, I wasn’t very good at it and I only ever sold one contract to an older couple from Montana (who still probably curse my name to this day). Meanwhile, the girls were having even worse luck. Every job they had been offered required wearing little or no clothing and involved doing things like giving body shots to overweight sun burnt tourists. They weren’t interested. Apparently winning money in a wet t-shirt contest was one thing, but shot girl…
Every night, all we ever had enough money for was a dirt burger each (a dubious hamburger sold from a street vendor), a gallon of rum, two gallons of coke and a couple packs of cigarettes. I had never smoked before, but trust me… when you live in a house with five French Canadians and have no entertainment but three mattresses and a pack of cards, eventually you get sick of rum.
After a couple of weeks, the girls got bored with Cancun and decided to go home. Coincidentally (or not), within hours of their announcement, Arturo told Kim and I that he had found a renter for his house. Shocking. So after a tearful goodbye to the girls, Kim and I decided to leave Cancun and try our luck down in Playa del Carmen.
Believe it or not, in 1999 Playa del Carmen wasn’t the grand tourist destination it is now. The main strip of town was only about four blocks long before it turned into dirt road. The town was definitely much closer to what Kim and I were looking for. We found a campground on the beach, right below the bus station, near the center of town. You could either rent a small cabana or hang up a hammock under a big pavilion. We each bought hammock and rented a space and a locker for I think about three bucks a night. Most of the other people occupying the other hammocks were backpackers who were either travelling north towards Mexico City or south towards Guatemala. It took about five minutes of listening to their stories to convince me. I wanted to do what they were doing. I wanted to travel from place to place, live without a care and truly be free. However, I don’t care what Janis Joplin says, it turns out freedom costs money and I didn’t have any. I needed a job.
My first step was to go to find a computer (this was just before internet cafés began taking over the world) and make a fake resume. On the resume, I documented a bunch of bartending jobs in the States that I never really had. Then I printed it out and went from bar to bar looking for an interview. Amazingly, at the third place I walked into, a nice restaurant-bar named Pancho’s, the manager agreed to talk with me. He sat and listened to all of my bullshit bartending experience and said, “Wow… you know what we really need is a bar manager… with all of your experience do you think you could do that?” All I could do was nod my head up and down and say, “Yeah, sure, of course, you betcha.”
This was more like it. I was now the proud manager of four local bartenders who were all incredibly gracious especially after it became painfully obvious I had never poured a drink and was woefully under qualified to be their boss. And though I was living in a hammock, it was still on the beach, I was still young and impervious and now that I was making a little money in tips, I had at least enough money to buy real food and even a beer now and again. Not only that, but the next day was pay day, so I’d finally really be above water. Also, Kim and I had been making friends among a couple of the other hammockers and had decided to move in with them into an apartment. I really couldn’t have asked for a better situation… ah, but then here’s where things fall apart and youthful stupidity rears its pimply head.
Every night for about a week, a thirtyish American guy had been coming into my bar and chatting with me over a beer. I don’t remember his name, so let’s call him Jason. Jason was an affable guy and he always left me a tip. The first night he had come in, he had asked me where he could score some weed. Well, marijuana is cheaper and easier to find than aspirin in Mexico, so I just hooked him up with one of my bartenders who had some. But on the last night he was there, he asked me if I could get him some cocaine. At that point, I had only ever done cocaine once in my life and I wasn’t a big fan of it (I’m still not), but he had been tipping me every night and after all l was young and impervious (which I now know means dumb) so I told him that when I got off, I would see what I could do. When I got off work that night, I was dead tired, but Jason was there waiting for me. He only wanted to buy a gram, so I took his money and it didn’t take more than five minutes to find a dealer on the street.
When I came back with the tiny baggie of white powder, he said, “Thanks Mike. Now where can we do this?” We... “My hotel is like a mile away. Is there anywhere closer?”
“I guess we can go down to the campground,” I foolishly replied.
We walked down and went into the bathroom of the campground. When we had finished, Jason tossed the now empty baggie into the toilet and I opened the door. Adrenaline shot through my body when I almost ran into to two men standing right behind the door and my knees buckled when I realized they were both cops. One was tall, one was short and they both had the requisite policeman mustaches.
“Where is it?” the short one asked, holding out his hand.
“Where’s what?” I replied, desperately trying to be nonchalant.
He smile said that we both knew I was just wasting his time. “La cocaina.”
“Cocaina? We don’t have any cocaina.”
“No? Then what you do in baño?”
I racked my brain trying to think of a legal reason why two men would be coming out of a bathroom together. I could only think of one. “Umm… sexo?”
“We were not having sex!” shouted Jason. “Officers we were not having sex. I am not gay!”
“Dude,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as Shorty smiled.
“Mira,” I turned to see the tall cop coming out of the bathroom, holding something in his hand. He passed it the short one.
“Ahh, look at this,” he said, dramatically waiving the tiny baggy in front of my face. He made a big show of sniffing it and then he even touched his tongue to the baggy.
“Man, you know that’s was in the toilet, right?” Jason said helpfully.
“Jason, stop talking please,” I said, grinding my teeth.
“Yes,” Shorty replied. “I know it was in toilet. Right where you put it, no?” He shook his head and made a tsking noise. “Amigos… you are in veeerrrry big trouble. Jail is bad for gringos. Malo.”
“Muy malo,” added the tall one.
Jason was already starting to freak out, but he started shaking visibly when the cops pulled out their handcuffs. As they turned us around and put the cuffs on, they started to detail the difference between American jails and Mexican jails.
“Here, you no get a free phone call,” the short one said, pushing me up against the bathroom wall and kicking my feet apart.
“Telefono?” I heard the taller one say with a slow laugh. “Es muy caro, amigo.”
“Yes, veeerrry expensive,” Shorty said, tightening the cuffs around my wrists. “And there is only one baño and it too is very expensive. “
Now I don’t want you to think that I was cool, calm and collected, because I wasn’t. I was also freaking out, but also I knew they would never take us out of the campground and at some point they’d ask for a bribe, but I didn’t want to be the one to broach the subject. Like in any negotiation, you don’t ever want to make the opening bid and its suicide to come from a position of desperation. Even though I wasn’t very experienced with bribes at that point, I knew that much and I needed to try and make sure the bribe was low enough that I could pay it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t alone.
“Wait! Just hang on second fellas,” Jason said, practically in tears. “Surely we can figure something out. Can’t we just pay you guys now?”
“Pay now?” said Shorty, as though the thought of being paid off had never occurred to him. “You mean you want to pay the fine now?”
“Yes! That’s exactly it. We want to pay the fine now.”
“Jason shut up for…”
I was cut off by Shorty. “Okay amigos. You pay now. It’s two hundred dollars.”
“All right, great! Two hundred dollars,” Jason said, as I watched on in horror. “No problem.”
“Each,” Shorty added.
“Whew… okay. Boy that’s a lot of money. But we got it. No problem,” Jason said again.
“Jason…” I started again.
“No, don’t worry Mike, I got this,” he said confidently. “I was the one who got you into this mess. I’ll go up to the ATM and get enough for the both of us.”
It was agreed. The tall one would accompany Jason up to the ATM while I waited with the short one. As we waited I thought over a few things. Number one: I only had sixty dollars in my locker until the next afternoon when I would be paid. Number two: In 1999 there was only one ATM in town and it only gave out no more than two hundred dollars a day per person. Number three: I was screwed.
When Jason came back with the tall cop, he was forlorn. “Mike, I’m really sorry man. It would only let me take out two hundred bucks.”
“Really? Huh, that’s too bad,” I replied. “Look Jason, go ahead and pay them your two hundred bucks and go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine."
“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you here,” he said half-heartedly.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” I said. “Just go.”
I wasn’t trying to be a hero. I just thought it would be a little easier to talk with the cops without Jason around trying to negotiate for me.
“Okay listen guys,” I said when Jason left. “I don’t have two hundred dollars today. I only have forty. But I can get you the rest tomorrow.” I told them about where I worked and the fact that it was payday the next day and after about twenty minutes of cajoling, they finally wrote down my passport number and took the forty bucks with the promise they’d see me the next day.
When the cops finally left, I collapsed in my hammock, shaking. However with what seemed like gallons of adrenaline and cocaine flying through my veins, I couldn’t exactly go to sleep, so I strode off down the beach to find my friends. I found Kim and everybody else in one of the beach bars and told them the whole story. Of course, they found it hilarious and after a couple of beers, it didn’t seem like that big of deal. I would pay them off the next day and everything would be just fine...except it wouldn’t.
I woke up the next day and at first I thought the whole thing must have been a vivid dream. It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t seem real in the light of day. However, as I pulled myself out of my hammock, I realized that it seemed a little too vivid to be a dream and that yes, it was real. Still as I walked to breakfast with Kim, I was still optimistic. All I needed to do was get paid from Panchos, give the bastards their money and I would be all set. I really didn’t want to leave Playa. I was having too much fun.
When Kim and I got back to the campground, a one of our friends had a worried look when he came up to talk to me. “Mike, there were two cops who just came down through here looking for you.”
“Shit, really?” I replied. “They’re early.”
“Yeah, they came through here asking for somebody who looks like you and then went across the street and talked to the people in the office. You’d better get that money.”
Still I wasn’t too worried. All I had to do was go to my work and see if I could get paid a little early, then I could pay them off and continue my life on the beach. Unfortunately, when I walked up to Pancho’s and asked my manager for my pay, he told me that it wasn’t time yet. He couldn’t pay me until that afternoon. Now I was a little worried, but not as worried as I was when I ran into Kim back at the campsite.
“Fuck man,” he said wide-eyed, “four cops just came through here looking for you.”
“Four cops!” I said, putting my face in my hands. “I can’t pay off four cops.”
“I know, but you better get some money fast.”
I turned to go back up to Pancho’s, but then he stopped me. “Hey give me the key to your locker,” he said. “I’ll check you out of the hotel in case you have to leave and I’ll put your stuff in my locker.”
“Yeah sure,” I said, tossing him the key and suddenly feeling pervious. It was just occurring to me that I might actually have to leave. I ran up to Pancho’s for one last ditch attempt to get my money.
“I told you, I can’t give it to you until this afternoon,” my manager said, killing whatever hope I had to stay in town. “I won’t have the money until four o’clock.”
Walking back to the campsite, I started trying to blend in, which isn’t easy as a 6’3’’ gringo in Mexico. I now knew I needed to flee and the last thing I wanted was to run into any sort of police presence. As I skulked back in to the campsite, I happened to look across the street… and there was short cop along with four or five of his buddies, screaming at the manager.
“Mike!” Kim whisper-shouted. “You need to go man. They’re yelling at the desk manager for letting you get checked out.”
I stood there frozen in fear, peering through the palm trees at the confrontation across the street.
“Mike! You need to leave,” Kim said, grabbing my arm. I’ll get your stuff and meet you up by the bus station.”
Finally, I spurred into action. If I was caught me now, I was going to jail or worse. I ran down to the beach where a few of our friends were laying out and took a right, away from the larger part of town and then sprinted up into a tourist shop. My knees shaking, I stood behind a postcard rack, trying to look nonchalant, half-expecting the police to burst in at any second. I later found out that I had left not a moment too soon and that Shorty and company had ran down through the campsite after me, but luckily had ran up the beach to the left. Just past our friends who watched on in disbelief.
I slowly worked my way to the bus station, from shop to shop, hiding behind dangling hammocks and rainbow sarongs. When I got to the bus station I saw Kim, bless his heart, with my duffel bag in his hand. While I cowered behind another rack of postcards, he bought me a ticket for a bus to Cancun which luckily was leaving right that second. He even stood in line for me and loaded my bag on to the bottom of the bus and then right before he got to the front of the line, I burst from hiding, snatched the ticket and with a quick hug of thank and farewell, I jumped onto the bus and sunk down into my seat. By then I was probably being a little over-dramatic, but as the bus rolled out of town at a maddeningly slow pace, I fully expected it to be stopped and boarded by the police who had set a perimeter around town and were looking for a gringo fugitive. Amazingly it didn’t happen. I made it out of town safe and eventually after a very hungry 24 hours on a bus from Cancun to Mexico City and an overnight at the airport, I flew home just in time for Christmas.
As I flew home, I probably should’ve been thinking about how lucky I am to live in the US and about sitting down the next day with my family and eating roast duck and mashed potatoes. But I wasn’t. I was thinking about those backpackers. The seemed so happy, reveling in their youth and freedom. I wanted that and knew then that I’d be back as soon as possible.
What really happened in Mexico...
In November of 1999, I finished my contract with Club Med down in Huatulco, Mexico on the pacific coast of Oaxaca. Though I had finished working for Club Med and had a plane ticket to Seattle that I could use at any time, I wasn’t yet ready to go home. So my friend Kim, a French -Canadian dude with a scalpel-sharp sense of humor, and I hatched a plot to move to Cancun and get jobs amongst the white sand beaches and beautiful women. A couple of months before we left, we ran into three girls, two sisters and a friend, who were also from Quebec and happened to know Kim growing up. They were working in another resort across the bay from us. I started dating Rosie, one of the sisters, and the three of them decided to join our quest to find gainful employment in Cancun. After all, how hard could it be to find a job in one of the biggest tourist destinations in the world?
Harder than we thought, is the answer to that question. The problem with working at a resort in Mexico is that you barely make enough money to cover your bar bill, so none of us had what you might call a nest egg. Kim and I had maybe a hundred and fifty bucks each in our pockets, the girls even less and I don’t think any of us were prepared for the Las Vegas-ness of Cancun. Towering hotels and 7 dollar margaritas were as far as the eye could see and not one hostel. The beautiful tourist part of Cancun is located on a long narrow peninsula of white sand that curls out into the turquoise blue sea. Except the only hotel we could afford was off the peninsula near the bus station in the ‘downtown’ part of Cancun where all the locals lived. It was nasty. I seem to remember slimy concrete floors and lumpy, squeaky beds. Luckily, we were young, impervious and we just knew fortune would shine down on us eventually.
Soon it seemed like it was happening. On our second night there, we went out in Cancun and my girlfriend and her sister (who were never exactly bashful) entered a wet t-shirt contest and won four hundred dollars, which to us felt like winning the lottery. The money gave us a night out and kept us afloat for at least another week. Then the next day, while eating breakfast, the owner of the restaurant came over and started chatting with us. By the end of the conversation, he (I think his name was Arturo) had offered to let us stay for free in a house he owned that was between renters and to help us find jobs. It’s amazing what people offer you when you’re travelling with three pretty girls.
We took Arturo up on his generous offer and moved into his empty three-story house. The only problem was that it had no furniture. So we took some of the wet t-shirt winnings and bought three mattresses. Next, Arturo hooked me up with a job selling time shares in one of the huge hotels. So everything was working out great, right? Well… no. First, selling time shares is a lot like selling your soul. My job was to pitch our amazing product to unsuspecting tourists over a free breakfast.
Except I was so poor I knew that breakfast was likely to be my only real meal of the day. So in between heaping mouthfuls of pancake and stuffing danishes in my pockets, I was trying to convince these people that the contract we were going to ask them to sign would lead to a better, more exotic life and wouldn’t be that much harder to get rid of than say… clamidia. Anyway, I wasn’t very good at it and I only ever sold one contract to an older couple from Montana (who still probably curse my name to this day). Meanwhile, the girls were having even worse luck. Every job they had been offered required wearing little or no clothing and involved doing things like giving body shots to overweight sun burnt tourists. They weren’t interested. Apparently winning money in a wet t-shirt contest was one thing, but shot girl…
Every night, all we ever had enough money for was a dirt burger each (a dubious hamburger sold from a street vendor), a gallon of rum, two gallons of coke and a couple packs of cigarettes. I had never smoked before, but trust me… when you live in a house with five French Canadians and have no entertainment but three mattresses and a pack of cards, eventually you get sick of rum.
After a couple of weeks, the girls got bored with Cancun and decided to go home. Coincidentally (or not), within hours of their announcement, Arturo told Kim and I that he had found a renter for his house. Shocking. So after a tearful goodbye to the girls, Kim and I decided to leave Cancun and try our luck down in Playa del Carmen.
Believe it or not, in 1999 Playa del Carmen wasn’t the grand tourist destination it is now. The main strip of town was only about four blocks long before it turned into dirt road. The town was definitely much closer to what Kim and I were looking for. We found a campground on the beach, right below the bus station, near the center of town. You could either rent a small cabana or hang up a hammock under a big pavilion. We each bought hammock and rented a space and a locker for I think about three bucks a night. Most of the other people occupying the other hammocks were backpackers who were either travelling north towards Mexico City or south towards Guatemala. It took about five minutes of listening to their stories to convince me. I wanted to do what they were doing. I wanted to travel from place to place, live without a care and truly be free. However, I don’t care what Janis Joplin says, it turns out freedom costs money and I didn’t have any. I needed a job.
My first step was to go to find a computer (this was just before internet cafés began taking over the world) and make a fake resume. On the resume, I documented a bunch of bartending jobs in the States that I never really had. Then I printed it out and went from bar to bar looking for an interview. Amazingly, at the third place I walked into, a nice restaurant-bar named Pancho’s, the manager agreed to talk with me. He sat and listened to all of my bullshit bartending experience and said, “Wow… you know what we really need is a bar manager… with all of your experience do you think you could do that?” All I could do was nod my head up and down and say, “Yeah, sure, of course, you betcha.”
This was more like it. I was now the proud manager of four local bartenders who were all incredibly gracious especially after it became painfully obvious I had never poured a drink and was woefully under qualified to be their boss. And though I was living in a hammock, it was still on the beach, I was still young and impervious and now that I was making a little money in tips, I had at least enough money to buy real food and even a beer now and again. Not only that, but the next day was pay day, so I’d finally really be above water. Also, Kim and I had been making friends among a couple of the other hammockers and had decided to move in with them into an apartment. I really couldn’t have asked for a better situation… ah, but then here’s where things fall apart and youthful stupidity rears its pimply head.
Every night for about a week, a thirtyish American guy had been coming into my bar and chatting with me over a beer. I don’t remember his name, so let’s call him Jason. Jason was an affable guy and he always left me a tip. The first night he had come in, he had asked me where he could score some weed. Well, marijuana is cheaper and easier to find than aspirin in Mexico, so I just hooked him up with one of my bartenders who had some. But on the last night he was there, he asked me if I could get him some cocaine. At that point, I had only ever done cocaine once in my life and I wasn’t a big fan of it (I’m still not), but he had been tipping me every night and after all l was young and impervious (which I now know means dumb) so I told him that when I got off, I would see what I could do. When I got off work that night, I was dead tired, but Jason was there waiting for me. He only wanted to buy a gram, so I took his money and it didn’t take more than five minutes to find a dealer on the street.
When I came back with the tiny baggie of white powder, he said, “Thanks Mike. Now where can we do this?” We... “My hotel is like a mile away. Is there anywhere closer?”
“I guess we can go down to the campground,” I foolishly replied.
We walked down and went into the bathroom of the campground. When we had finished, Jason tossed the now empty baggie into the toilet and I opened the door. Adrenaline shot through my body when I almost ran into to two men standing right behind the door and my knees buckled when I realized they were both cops. One was tall, one was short and they both had the requisite policeman mustaches.
“Where is it?” the short one asked, holding out his hand.
“Where’s what?” I replied, desperately trying to be nonchalant.
He smile said that we both knew I was just wasting his time. “La cocaina.”
“Cocaina? We don’t have any cocaina.”
“No? Then what you do in baño?”
I racked my brain trying to think of a legal reason why two men would be coming out of a bathroom together. I could only think of one. “Umm… sexo?”
“We were not having sex!” shouted Jason. “Officers we were not having sex. I am not gay!”
“Dude,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as Shorty smiled.
“Mira,” I turned to see the tall cop coming out of the bathroom, holding something in his hand. He passed it the short one.
“Ahh, look at this,” he said, dramatically waiving the tiny baggy in front of my face. He made a big show of sniffing it and then he even touched his tongue to the baggy.
“Man, you know that’s was in the toilet, right?” Jason said helpfully.
“Jason, stop talking please,” I said, grinding my teeth.
“Yes,” Shorty replied. “I know it was in toilet. Right where you put it, no?” He shook his head and made a tsking noise. “Amigos… you are in veeerrrry big trouble. Jail is bad for gringos. Malo.”
“Muy malo,” added the tall one.
Jason was already starting to freak out, but he started shaking visibly when the cops pulled out their handcuffs. As they turned us around and put the cuffs on, they started to detail the difference between American jails and Mexican jails.
“Here, you no get a free phone call,” the short one said, pushing me up against the bathroom wall and kicking my feet apart.
“Telefono?” I heard the taller one say with a slow laugh. “Es muy caro, amigo.”
“Yes, veeerrry expensive,” Shorty said, tightening the cuffs around my wrists. “And there is only one baño and it too is very expensive. “
Now I don’t want you to think that I was cool, calm and collected, because I wasn’t. I was also freaking out, but also I knew they would never take us out of the campground and at some point they’d ask for a bribe, but I didn’t want to be the one to broach the subject. Like in any negotiation, you don’t ever want to make the opening bid and its suicide to come from a position of desperation. Even though I wasn’t very experienced with bribes at that point, I knew that much and I needed to try and make sure the bribe was low enough that I could pay it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t alone.
“Wait! Just hang on second fellas,” Jason said, practically in tears. “Surely we can figure something out. Can’t we just pay you guys now?”
“Pay now?” said Shorty, as though the thought of being paid off had never occurred to him. “You mean you want to pay the fine now?”
“Yes! That’s exactly it. We want to pay the fine now.”
“Jason shut up for…”
I was cut off by Shorty. “Okay amigos. You pay now. It’s two hundred dollars.”
“All right, great! Two hundred dollars,” Jason said, as I watched on in horror. “No problem.”
“Each,” Shorty added.
“Whew… okay. Boy that’s a lot of money. But we got it. No problem,” Jason said again.
“Jason…” I started again.
“No, don’t worry Mike, I got this,” he said confidently. “I was the one who got you into this mess. I’ll go up to the ATM and get enough for the both of us.”
It was agreed. The tall one would accompany Jason up to the ATM while I waited with the short one. As we waited I thought over a few things. Number one: I only had sixty dollars in my locker until the next afternoon when I would be paid. Number two: In 1999 there was only one ATM in town and it only gave out no more than two hundred dollars a day per person. Number three: I was screwed.
When Jason came back with the tall cop, he was forlorn. “Mike, I’m really sorry man. It would only let me take out two hundred bucks.”
“Really? Huh, that’s too bad,” I replied. “Look Jason, go ahead and pay them your two hundred bucks and go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine."
“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you here,” he said half-heartedly.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” I said. “Just go.”
I wasn’t trying to be a hero. I just thought it would be a little easier to talk with the cops without Jason around trying to negotiate for me.
“Okay listen guys,” I said when Jason left. “I don’t have two hundred dollars today. I only have forty. But I can get you the rest tomorrow.” I told them about where I worked and the fact that it was payday the next day and after about twenty minutes of cajoling, they finally wrote down my passport number and took the forty bucks with the promise they’d see me the next day.
When the cops finally left, I collapsed in my hammock, shaking. However with what seemed like gallons of adrenaline and cocaine flying through my veins, I couldn’t exactly go to sleep, so I strode off down the beach to find my friends. I found Kim and everybody else in one of the beach bars and told them the whole story. Of course, they found it hilarious and after a couple of beers, it didn’t seem like that big of deal. I would pay them off the next day and everything would be just fine...except it wouldn’t.
I woke up the next day and at first I thought the whole thing must have been a vivid dream. It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t seem real in the light of day. However, as I pulled myself out of my hammock, I realized that it seemed a little too vivid to be a dream and that yes, it was real. Still as I walked to breakfast with Kim, I was still optimistic. All I needed to do was get paid from Panchos, give the bastards their money and I would be all set. I really didn’t want to leave Playa. I was having too much fun.
When Kim and I got back to the campground, a one of our friends had a worried look when he came up to talk to me. “Mike, there were two cops who just came down through here looking for you.”
“Shit, really?” I replied. “They’re early.”
“Yeah, they came through here asking for somebody who looks like you and then went across the street and talked to the people in the office. You’d better get that money.”
Still I wasn’t too worried. All I had to do was go to my work and see if I could get paid a little early, then I could pay them off and continue my life on the beach. Unfortunately, when I walked up to Pancho’s and asked my manager for my pay, he told me that it wasn’t time yet. He couldn’t pay me until that afternoon. Now I was a little worried, but not as worried as I was when I ran into Kim back at the campsite.
“Fuck man,” he said wide-eyed, “four cops just came through here looking for you.”
“Four cops!” I said, putting my face in my hands. “I can’t pay off four cops.”
“I know, but you better get some money fast.”
I turned to go back up to Pancho’s, but then he stopped me. “Hey give me the key to your locker,” he said. “I’ll check you out of the hotel in case you have to leave and I’ll put your stuff in my locker.”
“Yeah sure,” I said, tossing him the key and suddenly feeling pervious. It was just occurring to me that I might actually have to leave. I ran up to Pancho’s for one last ditch attempt to get my money.
“I told you, I can’t give it to you until this afternoon,” my manager said, killing whatever hope I had to stay in town. “I won’t have the money until four o’clock.”
Walking back to the campsite, I started trying to blend in, which isn’t easy as a 6’3’’ gringo in Mexico. I now knew I needed to flee and the last thing I wanted was to run into any sort of police presence. As I skulked back in to the campsite, I happened to look across the street… and there was short cop along with four or five of his buddies, screaming at the manager.
“Mike!” Kim whisper-shouted. “You need to go man. They’re yelling at the desk manager for letting you get checked out.”
I stood there frozen in fear, peering through the palm trees at the confrontation across the street.
“Mike! You need to leave,” Kim said, grabbing my arm. I’ll get your stuff and meet you up by the bus station.”
Finally, I spurred into action. If I was caught me now, I was going to jail or worse. I ran down to the beach where a few of our friends were laying out and took a right, away from the larger part of town and then sprinted up into a tourist shop. My knees shaking, I stood behind a postcard rack, trying to look nonchalant, half-expecting the police to burst in at any second. I later found out that I had left not a moment too soon and that Shorty and company had ran down through the campsite after me, but luckily had ran up the beach to the left. Just past our friends who watched on in disbelief.
I slowly worked my way to the bus station, from shop to shop, hiding behind dangling hammocks and rainbow sarongs. When I got to the bus station I saw Kim, bless his heart, with my duffel bag in his hand. While I cowered behind another rack of postcards, he bought me a ticket for a bus to Cancun which luckily was leaving right that second. He even stood in line for me and loaded my bag on to the bottom of the bus and then right before he got to the front of the line, I burst from hiding, snatched the ticket and with a quick hug of thank and farewell, I jumped onto the bus and sunk down into my seat. By then I was probably being a little over-dramatic, but as the bus rolled out of town at a maddeningly slow pace, I fully expected it to be stopped and boarded by the police who had set a perimeter around town and were looking for a gringo fugitive. Amazingly it didn’t happen. I made it out of town safe and eventually after a very hungry 24 hours on a bus from Cancun to Mexico City and an overnight at the airport, I flew home just in time for Christmas.
As I flew home, I probably should’ve been thinking about how lucky I am to live in the US and about sitting down the next day with my family and eating roast duck and mashed potatoes. But I wasn’t. I was thinking about those backpackers. The seemed so happy, reveling in their youth and freedom. I wanted that and knew then that I’d be back as soon as possible.
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