The gulf of Mexico`s coast is nothing like the Pacific coast. This probably doesn`t come as a surprise, but the differences are huge. It`s the water itself that makes the impression. The Pacific coast is characterized by savage currents, rough seas, darker waters in general. You get a feeling that the ocean is truly a powerful force to be reckoned with, and it beats the shit out of you if you get caught in the wrong spot by the wrong wave. I`ve been carrying around quite a rugburn on my shoulder from being slammed into the sandy bottom of Zipolite`s beach about a week and a half ago.
In Campeche I had my first encounter with the Mexican side of the gulf, and I found it to be pretty much the same as the Texan side - still, seemingly shallow, murky waters that just sit there. Warm as a hot bath, and about as exciting. In general the area around Campeche doesn`t really make a lot of its coastal real estate. There is no beach to speak of - instead you can drive along the waterfront on a long stretch of freeway separated from downtown by a series of ugly shopping centers. I think it would be nice to ride a bike along there, but I didn`t see anyone doing that either.
I rode the bus about 15 miles west to check out the port town of Lerma and watched the shrimping boats come in. The folks at the harbor entrance were more than a little amused when I asked if there was a chance I might be able to find a random pleasure boater to hitch a ride to Cancun with. "No lady", they said, "these boats go out for two months and come back here loaded up with shrimp - no pleasure detours to Cancun." Yeah yeah, I had assumed as much - just making conversation with a bunch of surly harbor masters for the fun if it really. Anyway, they pointed me to Progreso near Merida to continue my search for sailing cruisers, but I am likely to skip it in favor of a direct hit in Cancun itself. I got off the bus from Lerma a little early and ended up totally lost in the bustling market district of Campeche - good times.
Campeche has an interesting look - faded pastels everywhere. The leftovers of a large defensive wall that was built to keep marauding pirates at bay, some colonial buildings in the center, surrounded by generic Mexican urban sprawl. Not beautiful by any stretch of my imagination, but not a total turnoff either. When I finally figured out where I was I ran into Celeste, a Korean girl I had shared a cab to the hostel with that morning. We walked back to the hostel after checking our respective e-mails and were fed a delicious dinner of spicy rice by Thomas the Swiss and Florian the German. (I feel I should warn Mexicans that it appears the Swiss are launching a secret campaign to take over this country by sending vast numbers of seemingly innocent travellers to cover the landscape. It's just not normal how many Swiss I'm meeting... Something is amiss with these Swiss.) Anyway. We ended up playing cards and chatting until late. Jorge the oil tanker employee from Columbia told crazy stories about his various ports of call in Asia and South America, and all of us, except Jorge who must submit to regular pee tests, got cheerily drunk and noisily disturbed the general peace of the neighborhood.
In the morning my buddies left to visit some ruins, and I got on a bus to Merida. I took a second class bus which wound around the numerous little burgs on the road between Campeche and Merida and, for once, I truly enjoyed the whole ride. It took about 4 1/2 hours total, and the little burgs were all pretty and interesting with minute differences here and there. There was a stretch of a few towns in the middle where it seems everyone must be travelling by bicycle taxi, judging by the sheer numbers of bicycle rikshas riding around, parked on the street, against walls, in doorways, in the middle of fields. No cars to speak of really.
In Merida I stayed at the Nomad hostel, where I struck a deal with one of the charming hosts to pay him instead of the bus company to cart me to Cancun the next afternoon, since he and his girlfriend were planning on driving there anyway. It was a little cheaper for me, and more fun as well. I spent the rest of my day trekking around town shopping for groceries in the large covered market, which reminded me a lot of Oaxaca. The smells are so powerful, in both good and bad ways, depending on what goods are being sold, and I walked around the spice stands sniffing and sneezing for a while.
Merida is by far the most colonial city I have visited so far. There are parts of the historical center that look more Spanish than Spain. There is a happy array of plazas surrounded by cafes and arcades being constantly circumnavigated by dozens of horsedrawn carriages, and music is everywhere. Mexico's oldest cathedral is on one end of the Zocalo, and inside it is the blistered Jesus - a statue that has survived two destructive fires with little damage, while everything around it burned to the ground. hmm. I saw a nice urban sunset on the way back from the market.
The next morning was spent at the Museo Macay of contemporary art looking to rediscover my excitement for museums after having been a little bored by what has been on offer in the smaller towns - mostly archeological finds, and random colonial artifacts. I liked what I found. There is a nice little group of temporary collections by local artists, and a permanent collection containing a few choice pieces by the big names and a smattering of pieces by less well known, but no less interesting folks. My favorites here are Fernando Castro Pacheco's paintings. He was born and educated in Merida, and I like to think I recognize some of this place's spirit in his work. He has a collection of lithographs on display, which I liked as well, but it is the light in his paintings that impresses. It is as if the moon is shining from behind the canvas in some of them. Very nice - check him out. In the arcade outside the museum were some sculptures by Francisco Zuniga - also very nice.
After hanging around the museum and relaxing for a few hours, I headed back to meet with Jorge and his girlfriend Rita to drive to Cancun. It was a pleasant ride with good music. Jorge pointed out the sights along the way and we talked politics - my favorite. Once in Cancun, we circled around for quite a while trying to find a good hostel.
What a Zoo. 30 years ago, Cancun was nothing but an intersection on the road to Isla Mujeres. Then the international developers pegged the long stretch of pretty beach as a money maker and built like hell. What resulted was a 25km long stretch of hotels along a small semi-peninsula, and a bustling town created by those who built the hotels which seems to have absolutely no rhyme or reason to its layout. Most of the streets appear to run in U-shapes along the larger avenues - but not all, and some resemble knotted pieces of string. There are more American fast food outlets and chain stores than I have seen anywhere else, and everything is focused on the American package tourist. I stayed in town at a small hostel by a hippy-dippy park and kept my head low so as not to be accosted by one of the many drunkenly screaming, horribly embarrassing folks from Minnesota or Brighton or Sidney.
The next morning I got serious about my search for the ocean life and headed to the next best marina I could find. I went through a long chain of very helpful folks who referred me to other helpful folks, and by the afternoon I had landed on Isla Mujeres at a marina chatting with a couple of old sailing salts about the wind. Through them, I ended up in the living room of Dorian Oberholzer, the woman who knows all. She is the marina's welcome wagon/coordinator and has made it her mission to hook up various maritime hitchhikers with a ride headed their direction. She set me straight about trying to go East, since this is the season of Northeasterly winds, and people just don't sail into the wind for fun. However it is possible that I will be able to catch a ride North or South. I pick South, of course - because why would I want to go to Florida, really? I'm not the only one waiting, but I may be the one with the most time, so there is hope. I went back to the bar to chill with the salts and watched the sunset from their boat, drinking and cussing. I'll make a good sailor.
This morning I packed up my stuff and moved to Isla Mujeres. It is a small island, for tourists almost exclusively - but it doesn't have the party until you puke compulsion that I hate about Cancun. People turn in a little earlier here, and the intoxicants are consumed in measure, and nobody yells at you or falls in your lap on the bus. So...All I have to do now is sit on the beach and check my e-mail regularly for news from Dori. I expect to turn into a bit of a marina squatter, since I have allready been invited to a baby shower for one of the boaters from yesterday's dock. Not a bad start...let's hope luck keeps me company.