The distant sound of surreal laughter was invading my subconscious. Entering the reality of the aircraft cabin, I became aware that the bursts of laughter were annoyingly inharmonious and off key. Regaining more consciousness, I realized that a movie was playing and that people were listening to it on headsets, therefore the sound of their laughter was much akin to the sounds people make when singing along while listening to music on headsets.
I looked over at Ritsuko, who was sitting next to the window, reading her Spanish phrase book. She flashed a big smile at me, and opened her backpack, producing a ham sandwich that she had cut into halves and carefully wrapped before we had left home. I humbly and gratefully accepted the sandwich, bringing an even bigger smile to her face, triumphant in the knowledge that despite my criticism earlier that morning for over packing, she had made a wise move by bringing food from home. Having been together for 28 years, Ritsuko’s “see ... I told you so” smile is one to which I have become accustomed. We both giggled in our silent, mutual understanding of what had just happened as we ate the sandwiches, hard boiled eggs, and fresh fruit that Ritsuko had brought in her back pack.
Before long we began our descent. The flight over the Gulf of Mexico had been through a covering of clouds; finally the cloud cover seemed thinner as we descended. Finally the plane broke through the haze of white, penetrating the ceiling of the clouds, gliding over the Gulf. I strained to look out the port side of the plane as we neared land, but could not see anything. Ritsuko, sitting next to a starboard window, spotted Holbox. Then we flew, slowly descending over miles of thick vegetation, and touched down at Cancun.
We had been sitting near the front of the coach section of the plane, so I was hopeful to have a short wait in immigration. After walking through many corridors, I could see the immigration section, and to my joy, there was no line. Suddenly, just as we were approaching the door to immigration, a planeload of passengers from another flight herded into the gate from a nearer door. We were stuck in the middle of a huge line that grew to extend outside the immigration area.
Just a few seconds late, I thought to myself. We seemed to be just a couple of degrees out of phase. It could have been worse. I looked at the end of the line and saw some of our fellow passengers who had been sitting at the rear of the plane. We wound through the maze, back and forth, for half an hour, then cleared through immigration.
The Cancun airport has the most unpleasant baggage claim area of any airport I know. It is unpleasant in that there are people haggling for your business before you even clear customs. Whenever we go through this, I am just astounded at what a security breach this must be, and for the arriving passengers, it is just annoying.
Being ever so closer to paradise, these things should not have upset me, but I seemed to be slightly out of sync with the harmonious, joyful feeling that I was seeking. It was as if I could see it, but I wasn't in the bubble ... just floundering on the surface.
As soon as we walked out of customs, I stopped to put our documents in my backpack, and a man grabbed the handle of my suitcase. Instinctively, I lunged for him, grabbing his arm with one hand, stopping suddenly as my other hand was almost on his throat. He and I were both a bit shaken. I reached down, took hold of my suitcase, and relaxed my grip on his arm.
“Which hotel sir?” He asked in a tentative voice.
I cleared the lump from my throat, happy to have stopped short of a more serious incident, “no gracias, senor.”
“Funjet? Apple vacations,? Palace Hotels?” the obnoxiously persistent little bastard stayed on our heels.
Wondering to myself that by using these tactics, how many times a day this guy gets jacked up against the wall by an angry tourist; I thought to myself that I really need to learn the Spanish for “Shut up and get the hell away from me ‘fore I beat the dogcrap outaya.” I forced a laugh as I was even more upset with myself for getting worked up over this, and then just ignored him. In a few more steps, he dropped out of sight and went on to the next prospect.
We went to the transportation counter, and purchased a ticket for a cab direct to Puerto Juarez. Our driver seemed very upset that he had to take us instead of getting in the queue for a shuttle load. Reluctantly, he loaded our bags in the van, and off we went. Our driver was competent, but surly, rejecting any of my attempts to communicate. The only time I saw him smile was at PJ when I gave him a 50 peso tip. Given that he had acted like a jerk for the entire ride, I can't say that he deserved a tip by conventional standards, but maybe I was just trying to force my own karma back into balance. Anyway, seeing his smile, I felt better.
As I tipped the driver, a man had loaded our bags onto a hand cart. I walked over to him, smiled and unloaded our bags, which Ritsuko and I began to roll toward the ferry. Anxiously, the man followed us telling that he had a boat that was much faster than the ferry, and that the ferry wouldn't be leaving for another 20 minutes. We ignored him as we walked onward. He wanted to know if we had reservations. Oblivious to our indifference, he kept up his barrage of pitches until we got to the pier, which must have been the edge of his territory. Retreating as we walked toward the awaiting ferry, he shouted “I am just trying to help you!” I turned to him, smiled, and waved, as we moved quicker toward the ferry.
The ferry was the big boat, so we stowed our bags, and went to the upper deck to enjoy the fresh air. Within a few minutes, we were underway, laughing at how ludicrous the boatman’s pitch had been.
The vision of harmony was once again in my grasp. I breathed deeply and slowly as the vibrant turquoise water passed beneath us. In the distance, I could see Isla, the details of which becoming clearer with each passing minute. The sea spray showered us as we laughed and covered our faces. Still floating in limbo, I could almost grasp the vision and become one with it. Others around us on the upper deck had been away from the hard world long enough to reach a state of peace and harmony, but for me the hard world still had a hold on my heart, or perhaps my heart was already in Isla, and I had to get there to join it.
As the ferry prepared to dock, we went below to get our bags. Ritsuko was out first, and by the time that I got out of the ferry, she had found Angel, the trike man whom we had met on our first trip. Angel loaded our bags, and took off for Maria del Mar. Ritsuko and I followed, the familiar streets looking like long lost friends. We joined hands and walked briskly to keep up with Angel.
Angel was waiting at the hotel, having put our bags in the lobby, he greeted us with a big smile as we walked up to the hotel. I paid Angel, wished him a good day, and went into the lobby. Margarita told us that we were lucky enough to get the room that I had requested, second floor tower on the end nearest the beach. This was just a guess, based on what I had read on the board, and based upon what we had seen on our previous visit, but it turned out to be exactly what we wanted. The room was small, but charming. It had the basic amenities that we wanted, easy access to the drinking water, a fridge, AC, bed, safe box, a place for our coffee maker, and extra window with a view of PLAYA NORTE. I opened the window and looked out at the beach. Now the vision of harmony was ever so close. I could feel myself beginning to merge with it.
We got out of our traveling clothes and into beach attire, our main attire for the next 9 days. After securing our valuables in the safe, we went out to the beach. Both of us were still restless, hungry, and in need of cerveza. As we stepped onto the beach, we decided to walk down to NaBalam's beach bar for some seafood fajitas and cerveza.
Walking onto the beach, I was beginning to slow down and relax, but Ritsuko was still moving fast. As I fell behind, I called out to her, beckoning her to come back. Whispering in her ear, I asked her to slow down. She slowed down for a while, but her pace quickened. I was becoming absorbed into the island. Being a Sunday afternoon, the beach was full of people, a mix of local folks and tourists, playing in the gentle turquoise water. We walked at a brisk pace along the water’s edge. Peace, tranquillity, harmony, all within reach, lapping at my consciousness as the gentle surf lapped at our feet.
We arrived at Na Balam, found a table in the shade with a nice breeze, sat down and dug our toes into the soft Isla sand. Our waiter brought menus and two cold cerveza Superior. As Ritsuko read her menu, I extended my hand, offering her a beer.
“Here, drink this, dammit!” I said, grinning.
Ritsuko looked at me with her half angry, half playful smile. “You drink it, dammit!” she snapped, picking the other beer up from the table and slugging half of it down in one gulp.
I forget the name of the movie, but one of my favorite movie lines is when Jack Nicholson told Shirley Maclain, “You need drinks, you need a lot of drinks.” I chugged the beer and ordered two more and two orders of seafood fajitas.
We ate chips and salsa, and drank more cerveza, relaxing more with each drink, as the vision of harmony and tranquillity became more tangible. The food arrived. The waiter, who seemed terribly harried and rushed had misunderstood and brought only one order of fajitas for us.
The waiter was horrified at his mistake, but I told him that it was all right. This moment was an epiphany. Two orders would have been too much food; one was perfect. In the imperfection of life, we had somehow reached total harmony.
A glow of tranquillity embraced us as Ritsuko and I sat back, had a long laugh, drank another cerveza, and luxuriated in the richness of the sea air, the sunshine, the soft sand, and the delicious food before us.