Mexico: How To Marie-Style

Welcome to another installation in "How does she do this if she is not filthy rich."

Though if you've been here a while, you probably already know from your own experience that the whole "Travel is expensive" thing is a sham perpetrated by people selling advertising in their publications. Travel is only expensive if you buy into the notion that hotels should be $100-300 a night or more, and that you should fork over endless huge amounts of money for things you'd buy at home for normal prices.

We all know I don't have a job at the moment. I'm not unemployed. I'm overemployed. But I'm freelance. So you might be wondering how I could do this, but the truth is, by going to Mexico, I spent LESS than staying home for that time.

-I used American Airlines frequent flyer miles (mostly collected on my Aadvantage Mastercard) to fly from Dulles (near where I was visiting my mother) to Queretaro, the nearest airport to San Miguel de Allende. Normally, I'd have had to fly to much-cheaper Mexico City, but on miles, you fly by zones, so smaller, pricier airports use the same number of points as larger destinations. So I got within an hour of my destination instead of having to take a 3.5 hour bus journey as soon as I landed. There's a shuttle, like SuperShuttle, from the airport to the town. That was $29.

An Unexpected Turn of Events

Back on the Hampton Inn shuttle at the crack of dawn. Back to the airport for another mediocre breakfast of eggs with a side of eggs. Board for Newark. Disembark at Newark, collect luggage, jump on Airtrain, wait ages for train to Newark, switch to PATH train, zip to Grove Street.

Stop at the greengrocer for some delightful berries and lactose-free milk. I've decided I can have berries on my no-sugar plan. I've also decided I'll have lactose-free milk, since lactose has sugar and I am not trying to drive myself nuts, just trying to have as little sugar as possible.

I walk home. The day is stunning. Sunrise was stunning. The brownstone I live in on Hamilton Park is stunning. My apartment looks fantastic—Yancey and his family took great care of my (their) apartment.

Home is so beautiful this time of year. I realize I missed summer here.

But that's okay. I spent a summer in Mexico. I feel incredibly lucky, suddenly, to have had work where I could go abroad so often and even work abroad. To have traveled around the world twice, to have lived in Berlin, Australia, Barcelona, Uganda, Namibia, Kuwait, Cairo, and now San Miguel. To be a working writer/editor with plenty of freelance for the moment.

I stand in front of my building for a moment, grateful for all the opportunities I've had in life. My life has been far from normal and I've spent too much time complaining about being single when the truth is it is wonderful. I'm sure all you married people enjoy your lives too. But there is surely nothing wrong with mine.

I head in, as it clicks.

Being off sugar is making me weird.

Leaving Mexico

Today it was raining in Cancun.

That was all right. I was working in my room until check-out time. And it wasn't just raining—it was alternately pouring and raining. 

Lucky for me, the rain slowed to a drizzle after 11 AM, then stopped completely by around 11:30. 

Time for a break to the bus station, I knew. 

I checked out and pulled my bag across a slightly flooded lot, in between two buildings, and over to Tulum. I didn't want to risk jaywalking with luggage, so I went down to the crosswalk. Or what appears to be a crosswalk. It's really a semi-speedbump where pedestrians take advantage of the slow speeds of vehicles to cross in front of them. 

At the bus station, I approached a counter with the word AEROPUERTO signed above it. I bought a ticket—just a few bucks for what was a small fortune by taxi—and boarded the bus to the airport. 

Where I proceeded to get off at the wrong terminal. It came back to me now. There was the big international terminal, then there was the domestic and Cuba terminal, where you rock up to the desk and buy a visa. 

I got on the shuttle bus to the international terminal. No harm done. I had the most disgusting, expensive lunch I'd had in Mexico, made all the more insulting by the wide variety of food on offer in the food court behind Security. But I'm off sugar, so it was chicken or chicken. 

The flight to Miami was startlingly short, and on arrival, I went out to the curb and used my cell phone to call the Hampton Inn Blue Lagoon for a pick-up. I was able to communicate again! That was nice. And at the hotel, I ordered dinner in from the Cuban restaurant across the street. The hotel was pleasant, but it didn't matter. I was asleep early. Tomorrow I'd get up at the crack of dawn for the flight to Newark.

Lost in Cancun City

What? Really? I swear I clicked the little walking icon.

I've been told "I clicked walking" were Ernest Shackleton's words too.

All I wanted was a salad. I ended up in a Mexican food court eating fried meat in a tortilla.

That's Senor Thor to You

I worked on my Thor book instead of going on the whale shark trip. Not because I didn't want to see the whale sharks, but the annoyingly (and ineptly) flirty boat pilot had put me off the idea of hanging out with him again, and I had work to do. Plus, I'll happily have a reason to come back to Isla Mujeres in the future.

My hotel, Bahia Chac Chi, had an included continental breakfast, but since I'm not eating sugar at the moment, toast, cereal, pastries, and flavored yogurt didn't interest me. I headed back to the walk street for an amazing dish of poached eggs and a kind of spicy sauce. 

The no-sugar thing had me eating stuff I would normally approach cautiously. But I was quickly realizing we'd been led astray about what to eat and what not to eat. I seemed to be eating gobs of eggs and meat—food I thought wasn't good for me—and I was losing weight. I hadn't gone into this no-sugar thing to lose weight, but that was what was going on. I'm sure not arguing with it. 

I wasn't in a hurry to get back to the spastic Internet of the Radisson, so I checked out just before noon and headed back to Cancun by ferry. I followed the other passengers out to the bus stop, waited ten minutes, then caught the bus back downtown, where I checked into the Radisson to find my new room had as bad a connection as the old room had. I went out for a salad, ended up with fried meat in corn tortillas, and headed back to my room. Thor, Thor, and more Thor. 

Bad Hair Dive

I felt a little queasy from my underwater sculpture dive, so I relaxed in my room in the afternoon. I had looked ridiculous when I checked in—one thing they don't tell you about diving is you ooze lots of snot. Another is the mask and the salt do terrible things to your hair. Any vanity you might have disappears when you notice someone looking at you. Is my nose running? It my hair a giant tangled mess? 

In this case, it was no to the former and a resounding yes to the latter. But this is an island with lots of divers. I knew I wasn't the first tangled mess the hotel clerk had checked in.

After a delicious salt-free shower, I worked on my Thor book for the afternoon, and went out to see the town at sunset.

You wouldn't see a travel agency
like this in the States

Isla Mujeres is lovely. Two parts touristy and one part over the top, but all heart. I wandered around the walk street, reading menus to see about finding some sugar and bread free food for dinner.

One guy asked me if I wanted to come into his restaurant and sit down. "Well, the thing is...this is really expensive," I said a little apologetically. "Actually, it's all expensive." I waved an arm down the whole block. He nodded sagely, to my surprise. Yes, it's expensive here. I'd been in Mexico long enough I knew these prices were unusual.

I settled on a Cuban restaurant. Wasn't I close to Cuba? I ordered ropa vieja, ignoring for the moment that there would be vinegar in the sauce and I wasn't supposed to eat vinegar.

It was delicious. I walked around a while longer after dinner, and as the town shut down, headed back to my room. 

Afternoon (Non) Dive

Our dive master, Rodolfo, signalled us to ascend. Up we went, slowly, equalizing a few times. We weren't far down to begin with, but I went slowly and equalized anyway. 

At the boat ladder, I removed and handed one fin, then another to the boat's pilot. I took off my gear and handed it to him, until just me and my wetsuit were left. I climbed the ladder and collapsed onto the boat, watching as the other divers joined me. 

"That was great!" Everyone agreed. We were all fans of diving the underwater sculpture garden, or MUSA. 

"Now we'll go to the other dive site," said Rodolfo. 

"I'm done" I declared. "My diving career is over." 

Everyone looked at me with surprise. 

"I don't really like to dive," I explained. "I just wanted to see the sculptures." Then, seeing their disappointment, I added: "I'm retired until there's something else I want to see."

Morning Dive

My hotel is the white square directly
over the bright blue boat cover.

"How will I know where the hotel is?" I wondered as the ferry jetted from Cancun over to Isla Mujeres. I knew it was near the ferry pier, but that could mean anything.

I poked at my iPhone map and swore at Apple. My hotel wasn't marked, and I wondered too late how I could go about putting Google Maps onto my phone instead of the Apple map.

But then as we approached Isla Mujeres, I learned quickly I had nothing to worry about. The hotel I'd booked with bank points rose up over the harbor, just to the right of where we were docking.

I strolled off the boat, following everyone else around some construction. I turned right and when I got to my hotel, I learned I was too early to check in. I'd gotten the 11 AM ferry, so it wasn't quite 11:30 yet.

I went into the mujeres room by the hotel pool and tried on my old bathing suit. It was neither too tight nor too loose.

"I've seen worse," I thought. I could do this.

Across the Caribbean Sea

The wardrobe I packed for a month of sitting at a desk and wandering the cobblestone streets of San Miguel turned out to be lacking in the sporty-diver-on-Isla-Mujeres department, I realized as I sorted my gear into 'stuff I was checking with the bellhop at the Cancun Radisson' and 'stuff going with me for a night on Isla Mujeres.'

Maybe I can get away with wearing my pajamas on the boat, I thought. But I'd probably be given a wet suit for the scuba diving later today. I was less sure about tomorrow, when I planned to go to the whale sharks.

I was running late, and panicked a bit when I looked at the time. I had half an hour to get to the ferry! I ran downstairs, checked out and left my bag with the bellhop, and confirmed the location of the bus stop with the receptionist. Only a block away.

At the bus stop, I was a little confused. Too many buses stopped at one time, and I couldn't see past them to see what other buses were approaching. Then a van pulled up with a sign reading JUAREZ.

I jumped in. "Gran Puerto?" The driver nodded. The door shut—automatically, which was a nice touch—and we were off.

The journey to the ferry took only ten minutes, and the stop was obvious so I didn't have to sweat it about knowing where I was. I scampered in, carrying my 40 peso tote bag 'Cancun' luggage I'd picked up on Tulum Avenue the night before, and bought a 70 peso ticket.

The ferry was waiting, but loading hadn't started yet. A second after I joined the line, we were off, filing into the shaded, air conditioned cabin for the twenty-ish minute ride over to Isla Mujeres.

Cancun Tuesday

I slept in, enjoying the comfort of the Radisson on the edge of downtown Cancun. None of that hotel zone stuff for me. I'm a city girl.

Plus I could use my Radisson points here, making my stay free. And at least it wasn't raining this time, as it had been when I'd been through one night in January, 2010. I'd been en route from a city I'm not supposed to mention back to New York, and was glad to have a night in Cancun to sleep off the overstimulation of a certain small country between Miami and Cancun.

The only problem was the hotel's wifi drove me batshit for the first 18 hours I was there, until I complained in a ferocious uncaffeinated whir—the room service guys hadn't collected my breakfast door slip. Between being pissed off about food and coffee and being timed out off the internet every five minutes, I was pretty grumpy.

Eventually, after the world's most boring breakfast (remember, I'm still off sugar including all fruits and breads, and I am seriously craving a banana), a man with a laptop and router privileges showed up and worked some Internet juju on the router.

Which was great. It was speeding along reasonably well as I sat there working on my Thor project, until the housekeeper called. She was sick of waiting. I had to make a Skype call at 12:30, but is was not quite noon yet, so I figured I'd take my laptop to the business center and make my call there.

But the signal didn't read, almost at all. I think it was the position or composition of the wall. In a panic, I rushed back to my room at 12:20. The housekeeper would live.

She had the TV on loudly in the room, which I hate, and she did everything loudly. Fluffed pillows with fury. Followed towels with anger. I think she was pissed at me for coming back. She finally left just a few minutes before I made my call.

And the wifi was back to cutting off every few minutes.