So…. ::cough:: I apologize to all of you guys out there for not writing sooner. I really wanted to, but i have been having a really good time, and when this happens i choose forget about well, everything: bed making, clean socks, proper hydration, blog writing, you know the usual.
Well from the blog title you may guess that if this is the last time you hear from me that I have just decided to set up a hammock, buy a cooler full of pineapples and mangoes, and swing my life away in Mexico. So don’t worry, I’m not dead I am just enjoying the sound of the ocean waves, and the taste of fresh pineapple exploding in my mouth. What have I been doing, you might ask, that would make me want to leave my worldly goods in the US for worldly goods in Mexico? Well too much to write. And I would just feel terrible writing all of these things because I know I would be destroying at least a forest and a half of trees or a really cool rain forest with my superfluity. Yes, all of you out there, I know that I am not so actually using real paper only “virtual space”. The Mexican water has not been getting to “my little brain.”
But the truth of the matter is if I wrote all of my happenings and if half the people that are obligated to read them actually read them, it would be disastrous. These stories would be so long that the people who read them would need many, many bathroom breaks which in turn means much toilet paper. And on top of that many paper cups would be needed so that these gracious but misguided people would not become dehydrated. Once they rehydrate themselves that means they would have to use the water closet again, and the cycle would continue. Before you know it Mr. Pico the parrot and Mr. I’dLikeToChokeYou the boa constrictor won’t have a place to live because Inge couldn’t control her vicious blogging habit.
So, as a compromise with my superfluous self, I’ll make an outline of my life as I know it. Take note that I typed “as I know it” because who really knows it? (wrong people! the tooth fairy does not really know it – it’s a lie, don’t believe it.)
Anyway, I’ll put away my childhood issues and continue. My life “as I know it” could be a complete lie and a half. So take it or leave it. I know it this way, but maybe I’m a misguided whitie in Mexico. Very possible.
Ok, so I know I’ve been working up for a really amazing spill of my life as I know it. But in all seriousness do you really want to read about the white beaches, crazy blue water, 85 degree weather, all-day excursions to swim in natural wells and eating traditional food in the Yucatan Peninsula? I think not. Because frankly, perfect stories are perfectly boring to read and more importantly write. So because I am having a nice kick, and because I like myself quite a good bit, I’ll try to steer clear of the mush.
Where do I begin? should it be the crystal clear beach sun or watching the moon rise over the beach? Sorry I promised…. No mush.
So after I spent a week in the Yucatan peninsula doing amazing things like going to Chiczen Itza, swimming in wells and being a beach bum in picturesque Tulum – this week came to an end, and it came time for me to return to my other perfect life in Xalapa. The only thing that stood in my way was the perfectly unperfect 21:32:45 hour bus ride. Yes you heard me. 21 hours 32 minutes and 45 seconds on a bus. I swear it was exactly that long. So at about 8 o’clock on Saturday night Emily, Braque and I said our farewells to our beloved beach and our quaint beach cabana, and took a taxi to back to the city of Tulum.
Our bus was set to leave at midnight, and we figured we would grab a bite to eat and then just sit at a restaurant for a good few hours contemplating the meaning of life before our lives would cease to exist on the 21:32:45 bus ride. So we arrived at the Tulum bus station and each one of us had a backpack and then there was one suitcase that had held our food, but now was just a case full of wet sandy clothes. This suitcase is one of the many antagonists in this story.
So here we were at the bus station and like smart people were planing to see if there was a way to drop of the suitcase in a locker at the bus station so we coule go eat somewhere. Yet for some unknown reason none of us really felt like asking if this was a possibility. Even though there were signs saying that they could guard this unsightly large piece of baggage in the bus station. So feeling uncourageous, we all mumble that we wouldn’t mind carrying it, and leave the bus station with our backpacks and the heavy suitcase trailing behind us. We, of course, don’t look odd at all.
Off to a place for grub. First stop (yes there are multiple stops in this tale): A tamale stand to try a cuisine that would hopefully be something a little less touristy, in this unfortunately touristy part of town. The tamales were good and cheap, but nothing to write home about. The only thing I could say about it is that we looked odd parking our suitcase and backpacks around the little stand and being asking for tamales. I have nothing more to say: just odd. That probably ate up about 30 minutes of our time. I think it took this long because it took forever to situate our heavy baggage.
Then we were off to the next place. Here’s our dialogue
Braque – “so what do you want to eat?”
Inge – “I don’t know what about you?” Braque
“well, maybe guacamole or a plate of fried shrimp that would definitely be a really good waste of money.”
Emily and I – “ok, that fine.” “where should we go?”
Inge – ” I don’t know some where not too touristy”
I’m not sure who says the next part but it was said – “well that place that has English plastered everywhere, and that place has lots of white people and that place has lots of mexicans but it doesn’t have a table open, so????” “gosh! we look retarded with our suitcases”
–Excuse me? a local interrupts our deep conversation, “Do you guys need a place to stay. I have cabanas or there’s a hotel that I can show you.”—
Us: “no gracious, we were not homeless. we like carrying our suitcase because it good for exercise. It keeps the blood pumping.”
So if we had any doubts that we look odd we didn’t now. So we walk and walk and walk and then we found a restaurant that didn’t look too touristy, we order some guacamole and some shrimp ceviche (very far from the requested fried shrimp). So we get the food eat, and begin the life contemplation. The guac was ok, but we all knew the hard truth, the guac that we had made last night with our bare hands and plastic spoons in our little cabaña was three light years better Oh Sigh. The shrimp was nothing spectacular, but not bad. We ate everything. So at 9:42 when we were so not done contemplating life (we had 2 hours more to contemplate) the waiter interrupted us and asked if we would like anything else. No thank-you sir, we’re just enjoying the night air we said politely.
“We that’s great” he said, but we are about to close.”
Are you serious buddy? at 9:30 at night you close? Where are we, the united states? You should be ashamed of yourself! how can you call this a Mexican restaurant? Real Mexican joints began to hop at 9:30 at night; this is when people in Mexico start to think about eating. (No worries mom, these thoughts were all in my head).
We ask ourselves “So where to next?” Inge says “I don’t know”
Braque says – “well, I still could go from some fried shrimp”
All- “Ok, that’s fine with me.” “Where should we go to?” “Italian.” “Ok.”
We walk down the other side of the street while making sure to knock over tables in outside restaurants and almost fatally injuring pedestrians with our ridiculous baggage. After we successfully, harmed the people of Tulum, we found an Italian restaurant, but not before five more people ask us if we needed a hotel.
So then the waiters at this Italian restaurant were wearing togas, perfect! I’m felt like I’m in a cheap Rome ::inserts eyeroll:: We sat down, get menus, and then see that the fried shrimp is 13 dollars. And we are absolutely outraged. Our faces our were blood red really, and we didn’t feel as though we should pay this price. For the past 2 months the average cost of a full course meal had been 3-5 dollars. 13 dollars? Those togas aren’t worth 13 dollars. Where were we, the Olive Garden? because I did’t see any unlimited bread sticks and salad. So we picked up our luggage and kept moving. yes, we actually did that. dear audience, please close your gaping mouths
So our dialogue continued as before. “So where do you want to go next?”
Braque – “I don’t know” “Fried Shrimp would still be really good” “Hey look there’s a restaurant that looks sorta not touristy”
“ok, that works” and now my dear audience I’m sure your asking how in the world we are even considering another place to eat? were we just trying to return to the U.S. 50 pounds heavier? Maybe, it could be fun buying a new wardrobe. So we sat down in this restaurant and continued our quest of weight gain.
we look at the menu and half of it was in English and the other half was in Spanish. ::not touristy, huh? ha!:: We order: Emily ordered quesadillas, i got a coffee(because I thought the extra caffeine will help me fall asleep faster on the bus..you know what? I think the water is getting to me) and then we got free chips, salsa, and some sort of weird Mexican relish that my Mexican “dad” makes. and It is amazing when he makes it, but at this restaurant it just didn’t taste quite right. So we eat and drink some more. Contemplate life, but really i think we were contemplating how bad the food was in this town. -Stupid Tourists who make the food all touristy and such.oh shucks , I guess we were considered tourists.phewy. Well, I’m a good tourist. So take that!–
Side Note: How ironic was it that in one night we tried 4 different restaurants and didn’t like any of them and the nights before we ate in our tiny cabana every night and loved the food that we made with our plastic spoons and plastic cups. I mean loved it. Like so much that we talked late into each night about how awesome we and our hand-smushed guacamole were. We also talked about our equally mad avocado hand-peeling skills, but rightly so, our guacamole was and is something to be jealous of. It was soooo good. but back to the 4th terrible restaurant – here we were ready to leave, when Braque said “wait where is my wallet?”
Then Emily said – I hate when things like this happen.
Inge said – Man, this blows. I hope he didn’t really lose it because-man, this blows.”
he searched some more. 5 or 6 minutes more
Inge said – what about that front pocket?.
Braque – after 2 more minutes of searching – looks up sheepishly with the wallet in hand. We all say – Dios Mio!
and then with 4 restaurants under our ever increasing buckles we decided that since it was 11:36 we should waddle over to the bus station and pray that we would fit through the door. And that other restaurant down yonder that might have fried shrimp would just have to wait until the next time that we visited Tulum. oh sadness. ::I hope you hear the sarcasm dripping from my voice::
I wish I could say that this concluded our night of bad culinary experiences and that the three amigos and their annoying piece of luggage walked off into the night full or fat whichever adjective you prefer, happy, and ready for a restful bus ride. Yet alas, this fortunate fate was not ours. Our lives were about to be traversed with yet another pain. Oh! the gods were not smiling upon us on this night. We got on the bus and seven hours later. Oh! my stomach and then Oh! his need to vomit, Oh, her need go the bath, but wait! me first, I get to go to the bathroom first! It’s MY TURN! I said as the world turned into Slow Motion and the only thoughts in our head were of survival — and then from was people told me later, there was a lot of cat scratching, blood-curdling war cries, people dropping left and right. Babies crying for their mothers. And Emily and I were rolling on the ground fighting for bathroom rights. And guess what? I won. She’ll tell you that she won, but she’s lying. It was me. Yes, I lost an eye in that battle, but I think that the inch-deep scratch is going to heal quite nicely. No worries.
Why did we do it? Why did we eat at 3 restaurants? Oh why? What were we thinking? I don’t know, but we had a good 21 hours 32 minutes 45 seconds to contemplate the Whys of our stupidity.
So truly horrible, no? but here are pictures the 97.98% of my time there that was filled with amazingness:
The spectacular carriage ride with nancy, michelle, and shauna through Merida, where we picked out which houses we are going to live when we grow up into big girls:
Shauna, at Chitzen Itza.
I like to believe this is a hard core photojournalist that didn’t want to miss the sunrise so he just went outside in his undies because the picture was more important than the proper clothes or it could be that he was being too lazy to put clothes on. but I choose to believe the photojournalist bit. It seems more noble. Who knows? Ok, Fine. your right he was just too lazy. Well, I can dream right?
Pics of our Sweet Cabana.
goof balls
My Ocean
and finally in front of my ocean.
I was going to send a “wish you were here” postcard. But I felt as though the above a “you wish you were here, don’t you?” picture would be more true to my generally hateful personality. Love you guys, and I hope you miss me a lot. 
