day one » tulum
in tulum, i forget time. i have only the present as i curl my feet up to my chin on the rope swing facing the sea. sand under my toes, i squint into the sun reflecting off the turquoise water and white sand. swinging slightly now, back pressed against the yellow rope, sucking the foam from a piña colada. the bar, in a tiny straw hut, is my only escape from the afternoon heat. the beach has emptied of oily cocoa-skinned people who have migrated to hammocks and cabañas for a siesta. i swing faster to the tropical music, the rich sound of spanish male throats. my hair is salty and stiff, fragile.
morning » before the shops in cancún open, i roll out of town in a shiny green apple bus called venus. inside, new faces: rachel has adorable gap teeth, sarah is boyish and has spiky blonde hair, eli has a jewish nose and his lady friend melinda has the widest smile. angus and marylin [in their seventies!] have rich, deep alabama accents. christina is a cuban maths genius and once shaved her head. karolina is polish, with olive skin and she is reading the edible woman. the rest of the group has been lazing about in tulum sun for three days, and we meet them at the beach later. we drive into the dusty town and i shop for trinkets and photograph abandoned buildings.
we drive to a secret local beach and make a snack of crackers with white cheese, tomatoes, hummus, and blissful papaya jam. i cut the tomatoes and cheese into big, thick slices. then i meet andrew, from london. he's thirty, with sun-warmed curly hair and bare feet. we talk for at least an hour at the bar, drinking margaritas and swinging rhythmically. we part ways for a siesta before dinner. i stretch cat-like in my shaded tent, sand clinging to my skin and my hair fluttering as my breaths deepen toward sleep.
dinner is fettuccini alfredo, and we sit in a circle in the darkness. everyone returns to the bar on the beach and i meet nadia, a russian politican and journalist. she asks if i want to see something beautiful, and i do not hesitate. mexico is intoxicating. i take it in bug gulps, breathe it in, become it as deeply as possible. we walk down the beach, dark waves lapping at our feet, a half slice of moon above the horizon. the walk is long and eerie. something is terrifying me, but i continue pressing my feet into the sand. forward. nadia must feel it, too. 'are you afraid," she asks. i shake my head no.
forty-five minutes later, our destination flickers on a hill. the light grows and reveals a quiet tiki resort on the ocean's edge, lit by glowing maya statues. the night is quiet and we are ghosts. the sound of spanish guitars is so far away. nadia leads me through the dark to an empty room, except for two pillows on the stone floor, and a candle flickering inside a paper bag. the wall is inscribed with something that resonates deeply in me, though only the vibrations remain in my memory; i cannot recall the words. nadia asks me if i believe in god. i say no, but visions of interconnectness are pulsing in my head. i am alone for a while in the stuffy room, transfixed by the trembling flame. i am serene for a few minutes, haunted by the energy of the room, but at peace. nadia and i gaze at the sea from two thick, woven hammocks hung between palm trees on a hill. the macabre heat lingers.
we barely speak during our return walk. instead, we hug the shore and watch dark boat shapes bobbing in the distance. nadia returns to her tent, but i sit at the fire on the sand. jacob, a dark-haired swiss man, cuts open a coconut from the tree above us and fills it with juice and rum. we pass around the fleshy fruit and drink until we are flushed and dizzy. then we run to the beach and throw ourselves into the water, naked. our bodies floating on churning midnight waves. we never stop moving with the rhythm of the sea.
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