A little discomfort, a lot in return

What was great about our trip to Mexico? That outside of the hotels, hardly anyone we came across spoke to us in English. (And our two nights at a cabana in Pedro Antonio Santos were full of my short sentences in Spanish and hand signals to our hosts, who spoke pura español.) That week was challenging at times, but I loved it.

Ordering food, asking for directions, talking to the colectivo drivers, it was all some combination of attempts at communicating. At one point, when we were stranded on the highway, certain that we were just couple of miles from our hosts but clueless of which direction, I ran to a boy selling pineapples on the side of the road and asked to use his phone. We might've been aliens to him and his family, as tourists either drive past this nowhere part of Quintana Roo or never come at all. In the end, the hosts found us, and I gave the boy 50 pesos for a pineapple. We didn't end up eating it, or being able to even cut it; we left it for our hosts upon checking out.

For me, I enjoyed the initial and then sporadically resurfacing discomfort of the communication handicap. Everywhere we’ve gone, the people there spoke English and could cater to us. I forget that it’s a luxury. In Mexico, that sense of control was out. We would adapt to them. We were visitors, and for all our trying, they gave incredible hospitality and generosity.