Flying into Cancun, leaving Cancun, arriving in Tulum

I assume that Cancun is horrible, the reasons for which I won’t go into.  When I fly into the Cancun airport my plan is to leave Cancun as quickly as possible without spending a ton of money.  The amount that I consider to be a “ton” will be decided as the situation unfolds.  I am aware of three options that will exist for my trip to Tulum: bus, shuttle, and taxi, in ascending order of expense.  I expect all three to be available directly from the airport, but the particulars of where and how to catch them has been left to be discovered upon arrival.

Following signs that point toward transportation, I walk outside with a horde of other tourists, mostly American, most of whom I find extremely annoying but most of whom also have a better idea of what they are doing than I do.  This seems to me a particularly stark instantiation of what I suspect will become a theme of the trip.  That is, I wish to differentiate myself from the average American tourist but I have come to a place I know little about, expecting my surroundings to accommodate my vague intentions of recreation.  I believe I possess a certain savvy as regards life in general and I suppose this will be tested against my lack of savvy as regards traveling in Mexico.  As our horde of gringos is greeted by a horde of aggressive transportation agents of all sorts, this thought is crossing my mind.

I eschew the taxi drivers, the most aggressive of the transportation solicitors, looking instead for a bus.  No signs (that I understand) help me find one.  I am quickly recognized as a confused American tourist and confronted by an agent of a shuttle company, who informs me that I can only take a bus to Playa de Carmen, where I can catch another bus to Tulum.  (But will it stop at my exact destination?  Who knows?)  For forty-five American dollars, however, I can take a shuttle straight to my cabana resort in Tulum.  My acute life-savvy alerts me that a shuttle service agent has every reason to mislead me about the nature of bus travel.  But forty-five dollars is within my transportation budget, and it is clear that regardless of this man’s honesty the shuttle service is legitimate.  (editor’s note: I decide later that he was probably correct about the bus situation.)  I agree to the shuttle and am told to stand by and await instructions.  My shuttle agent converses with some associates.  Other tourists group together and board shuttles to different locations.  My acute life-savvy kicks in again and notes that probably I am waiting for a certain number of travelers to the same location to be gathered.  An hour later, I leave Cancun in a taxi, alone.

Mexico Route 307 from Cancun to Tulum should be rather scenic but is not.  The whole trip is very near the coast but I can never see it.  It is mostly through a sort of jungle, but either the jungle-view from this vantage point is not very interesting or this is not a very interesting sort of jungle.  My driver is very pleasant.  He is mildly surprised that I speak no Spanish.  He makes some small-talk in English for about five minutes and then doesn’t speak for the remainder of the 90 minute trip.  I begin to feel sheepish about coming here without speaking any Spanish, but I also appreciate the quiet.

I am staying at Cabanas Copal, an “eco-resort” in Tulum.  This is how it is referred to by its owners and operators, and this seems appropriate.  There is electricity on the premises, but none in the cabanas.  My cabana is made of large sticks and branches, an inch or so apart, and some solid plaster around the small bathroom that is attached.  The thatched roof is impressive and presumably well-constructed, but it remains to be seen what the consequences of a serious rainstorm might be.  My estimation is that the floor would easily be soaked; my hope is that the bed would remain dry.  In any case I am pleased that someone thought to call this an “eco-resort” as I dread telling anyone that I am staying at a “resort.”  This distinction is both legitimate and questionable at the same time.  After 7:30pm I navigate my cabana by candlelight, but at any hour I am free to charge my electronics in the reception area, which also features wireless internet access

Before it gets dark I walk down the road toward what I know to be a minor tourist concentration.  Within a half-mile I find this cluster of small hotels and restaurants.  I am glad that the hotels are all very modest and pleasant and the restaurants are mostly outside, with some areas under thatched roofs.  The tourist traffic also seems pleasant, a small and desirable fraction of the gringos who presumably gush obnoxiously from the Cancun airport each day.  Still I am happy not to be staying right in the midst of this concentration.  I return to my cabana where it is very quiet, have dinner in our on-site restaurant where only one other couple is dining, and retire early.

I hope and expect that life becomes quiet and pleasant for the next eight days, and thus my comments will be more pithy as my vacation continues.

(editor’s note: obviously the editor is myself, adding insights that come to me only as I write this account hours or days after the events.  I think editor’s notes are funny.)

My Cabana

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