Tulum

We arrived in the hamlet of Tulum just as evening had descended. It was Liz's birthday so we sauntered out for a nice bite to eat at a German chef's restaurant (of all places in a small Mexican beach town). Afterwards, we went for drinks and I insisted that, for the occasion, we had to drink one of every tequila they had on the drink menu. The only thing that tempered our good time were the campaign trucks for the candidates in the local elections a month hence. The trucks dragged trailers behind them which had video screens of the candidates' messages and the most grating, annoying music known to man blaring at ear-splitting decibels. Despite their endless circuit down the main drag, Liz made it to about four or five (they were large shots) before her consciousness failed her, in spite of the racket, and we stumbled back to the hotel.

Unfortunately, there just isn't a whole lot to say about spending time at a beach. We mostly lazed around, reading under umbrellas, drinking margaritas or pina coladas, and standing in the remarkably clear, yet mind-bogglingly blue water of the Caribbean. Oh, well, it was a topless beach. So there's that. One thing that they don't tell you before you go to your first trip to one is that there aren't bouncers at the entrances making sure only amply-endowed, gravity defying, young, nubile women are admitted. Thus, while there were some spectaculars, they were more than offset by the 48yo, overweight, pallid, Ginger, British women and fat men in speedos. Well, there were muscular men in speedos too. The fact that speedos are worn by anyone possessed of a y-chromosome is just damned disturbing, regardless of their fitness. Were there bouncers, I am honest enough to admit I wouldn't have been admitted entrance, but there weren't, so I ogled behind my sunglasses til I'd been desensitized to breasts, which took a surprisingly short amount of time.

The main adventure we had, of sorts, was our visit to the Dos Ojos cenotes. Many do not know, but the Yucatan peninsula doesn't have rivers or lakes. It's on top of a gigantic slab of porous limestone, so all the water sinks in. Cenotes are natural sinkholes in the limestone and, because water is so scarce, they were seen as mystical, holy places by the Mayans. Of course, today, the sinkholes are spectacles and so they charge admission to let slimy tourists swim in their pristine waters. Liz and I got there quite early and jumped on in, frolicking about for an hour or so before the hordes arrived.

And that, dear friends, was Tulum. I sent Liz on her way to Cancun to fly home to Dallas and I got on a bus for Mexico City. Half of the 24 hours I spent on the bus was in the company of at least 12 young children. If anyone ever needs to dampen their biological clock, I can think of no better way. Jabbering, hyperactive miscreants have done it for me. If I don't see another child for 5 years, it will be too soon. I spent a couple of days in Mexico City, where I finally wore long pants and entered the Cathedral, but other than that, I did very little. I got on my plane and headed, joyously, back to the world of proper plumbing. Adios, Mexico.