Mexico Lost on Us

Walking the long and wide, dusty road to Huatulco town in the Mexican heat was the first time it occurred to me that my preconceptions of Mexico were based on the conspicuous lack of pre trip research on my side. What did I expect? Sombreros and men on horses or flash tequila bars with chill out music smoothing in the background? I honestly don’t know.

Huatulco is a quiet provincial town with low-rise buildings in a pretty picturesque bay. There was a buzz in the air when Azamara anchored. I suppose it was a big deal to the small stalls selling cheap Chinese souvenirs in the port. Nothing worth spending money on. The old town has one of those typical Mexican street grids you see in the old Western films. No high-rise builds here. A feast for the eye. However somehow the whole town lacks the touch of a happy place. Lost in time between ancient Mayans taken over by the Spanish and finished off up by American tourists…Just like the love between the southern costs of Spain and the Brits. However my vague impressions of the few hours I spent there are probably just scratching the surface of the rich culture of a beautiful nation. I’m sure it is a loveable pretty place when you know where you are going.

The heat was unbearable and with the sight of the boarded-up shops in the deserted and rundown plaza and not one nice bar on sight I was desperate to escape back on board as soon as. I flagged a taxi to get me back to the port. During our short journey the driver asked me a few times whether I was there on my own. Quite a common question for a solo lady traveller in Mexico as I found out later. Would he marry me straight away if I were single on my own?? Or maybe he would suggest somebody in town he knew with the idea of catching a wealthy woman and leaving this little paradise of the turquoise ocean and the land of breath-taking vistas behind. I’ve never found out the real intention of this question.

On our arrival at the port I found out that I have no dollar change on me. Having failed to change my money I was left with big notes. The taxi driver shrugged and smiled. He was happy to take the only one dollar note I had, instead of the initially suggested five. He was just shaking his head, said some. words in Spanish, gave me a big friendly smile and he drove off with a big grin on his face waving me. I was mesmerised. In other countries you might have found yourself in trouble dealing with an angry driver and you would definitely not be let off paying less than agreed before. I was deeply touched by his true kindness and honesty towards a woman.

I was looking forward to our next stop the following day.

Manzanillo was melting hot hot hot.

I felt like one of those spoilt brats looking down on the town from the top deck in the port, sighing ahhh, too hot to move. Pathetic. But I could not be bothered to move off the ship. We anchored at the barren concrete commercial port in the scorching heat around lunch time. The stop was short here, only a couple of hours and the port was miles away from the town. Still I felt guilty not venturing out. I accused myself of cheating on my true nature of adventure seeking curiosity.

Cabo next. Every Californian I have met, had been there, got drunk, caught the sun, fallen in love. As we were getting closer to the bay the growing excitement on the boat was pulpable. More and more people were gathering on the top decks dressed up for the night out, chattering, equipped with cameras and lipsticks. I suppose the prospect of getting off the boat and meeting their friends in their spectacular Mexican second homes felt so good. The tender from the ship at night was very romantic. Fresh breeze from the sea, the twinkling lights of the coast, the excitement of reaching the port… And then you turn a corner and you are faced with shouting men selling, pushing, promoting bars in the dramatic style of the southern temper. It all becomes a bit overwhelming after a while.

When I look back now after a month of travelling I know exactly why I was confused and had mixed feelings about Mexico. There is no country or land that makes sense without meeting its people. How could you possibly connect to a land when your journey is not about meeting its people but touching down for a short time, taking pictures of its sights and sail off? Without connection you may call it travelling but it will never become a journey.