To the End of the World

This song describes a little bit of what I felt on our first trip to Isla Mujeres. The culture and pace were so different from anything I'd experienced that it did feel like going to the end of the world.

I was late to the party since our first arrival was May 2002, but Isla was still a lot less populated by cars, scooters, and people then. The ferry was the older enclosed boat from Puerto Juarez with people packed shoulder to shoulder across the hard metal bench seats and the dusty faded navy curtains drawn. That combined with whiffs of diesel and the motion of the ocean made me fight nausea the entire way.

Once we emerged from the boat into the bright sun on the dock, a malatero found us and loaded the bags for the walk to the Hotel Secreto. It was newly-opened at the time and the rate was $75 a night including tax and continental breakfast. I remember reading the old message board and the usual suspects were up in arms over Secreto charging prices like that, which truly puzzled me since $75 a night wouldn't buy a traveler a room at the SeaTac Travelodge back in Seattle! $75 for an oceanfront room at a small boutique hotel in the Caribbean is a smokin' deal!

Back then, I didn't know what a blog was, nor had I ever written a trip report. I wasn't particularly a photo buff and probably didn't take 100 pictures the entire trip. What impressed us most about Isla? I remember watching a line of people down by NaBalam slowly wade out into the blue Caribe for what seemed forever with the water never reaching their knees. It seemed almost ritualistic. The long wide stretch of sand on Playa Norte at the time was a sight in itself!

There was also a short stumpy lifeguard with tall bushy hair who ran up and down Playa Media Luna chasing tourists away from the water with the warning tiburon! I had no clue what tiburon was at the time, but now I realize yelling SHARK was much more effective at keeping people out of the water than just telling them the sharp coral rock formations and currents were dangerous.

One day when I was sunbathing around the corner on Playa Norte while Craig was snorkeling, the bushy haired lifeguard evidently recognized me and entrusted me with his walkie talkie, wallet, and what appeared to be diarrhea pills when he had to take the plunge to retrieve two silly American girls who'd swam out too far. The radio kept squawking at me while I watched him swim farther and farther gesturing to the girls to come back. They kept swimming away from him because they were topless (probably for the first time in their lives) and feared he was a deranged local wanting to touch their chi chi's. The chase went on for quite awhile and he appeared exhausted by the time he returned to this old gringa for his belongings.

We rented a golf cart for the day, touring the island and stopping at Playa Lancheros for the fish and Hotel Garrafon for snorkeling. We stuck to the outer road and avoided driving through the colonias because we weren't sure which areas were safe. I'm laughing now. I remember viewing the section of Juarez across from the Navy base as an area to get through quickly. At the time, that area still showed a lot of devastation from Hurricane Gilberto. Actually, there are still areas of rubble that can be seen when you walk the malecon. We thought we were driving through the hood!

What else do I remember? I acted like a complete germaphobe armed with a bottle of Purel, as if the island and people were somehow dirtier than the environment back home. On our trip to Chichen Itza, I completely avoided eating at the hotel buffet for fear of getting turista. I also dehydrated myself on the return trip because I didn't want to drink water and have to stop for a bathroom. Our driver (Gaby who later worked at Playa del Sol) paid a local in one of the villages to let Craig use the bano on the way there. Craig emerged with a smile on his face and told me it was a good thing I didn't need to go because it was a hole in the floor.

The villages on the way to Chichen Itza contained houses made of wooden tree sticks and others built of cement blocks. In some bizarre way, it reminded me of The Three Pigs, only I didn't see any homes built of bricks. Gaby was speeding along the two-lane humpbacked road at over 70 mph. I remember deciding just to quit worrying and throw caution to the wind. I didn't know Gaby at the time. He was just a strange man who picked us up at the ferry dock in Puerto Juarez. I remembering questioning myself about what we were doing getting into a strange car in a strange country with an unknown driver. He spoke very little English at the time, so communication was with Spanglish and hand gestures. It was Sunday morning, so at one point, we passed a man on a horse and an old woman headed to town in the basket of a malatero's trike. I wish I'd snapped some photos along the way.

Remember the Convention Center dogs? They were quite the controversy at the time, lying around on the mounds of dirt in the vacant bus lot barking and scaring passersby. We were instructed to pretty much remain cool and ignore them, so we'd tiptoe past them at night when we were headed down the lane. The only dog we ever had problems with was the yippy little terrier mix we called Kujo who lived in the outpost right behind Secreto. Just when you were almost home after running the gauntlet, he'd fly out of the darkness snarling and snapping to scare the hell out of you.

Okay,I'm rambling, so I'll cut it short! Shuffling down the cobblestone and sand streets in flip flops from the hotel to the beach, seeing locals celebrating quincineras and Sunday's at tables in the streets, loading into a panga directly off the beach for a $15 snorkeling trip, seeing Saturday night celebrators stumbling out of the cantina with music still blaring at 7:00 a.m. Sunday morning, watching the sunset and eating conch and key lime pie at a bayside table at Casa O's, glimpsing the shellhouse for the first time -- these are just a few of those memories from 2002. And, as the song says, it did feel like taking a boat to the end of the world.

Wanna pack your bags, Something small
Take what you need and we disappear
Without a trace we'll be gone, gone
The moon and the stars can follow the car
and then when we get to the ocean
We gonna take a boat to the end of the world
All the way to the end of the world


Here are some images from that old digital camera flavored up by Picnik.

We've continued to move around in our stays on Isla, experiencing something different each trip. In July, we stayed out in La Gloria. Surrounded by locals going about their daily lives, walking through the local mercado and down neighborhood streets, watching elementary students doing the Mexican hat dance in traditional dress -- I experienced the newness of Isla once again!

I'm looking forward to Yelapa in December because I'm hoping to once again rekindle those end of the world feelings!