Yucatan, Mexico 26.1. – 9.2.05

Tucson - Cancun, 26.1.05

The day started by getting up at 4:15 in the morning – the airline had insisted that we'd be at the airport 2 hours before our flight, preferably 2,5 hours. As it turned out, the drive to the airport, the return of the rental car, and check-in went at super speed, so we were left to wait at the airport for ages... Sitting at airport gates, tying not to fall asleep – the traveller's bane.

The connection to Phoenix, of course, was only 25 minutes flight time. We could have walked there quicker, all in.

In Phoenix, the recent rainfalls up north had brought so much water down the river that the water treatment plants overflowed, which meant no potable water from the tap, which also meant no coffee at the bars... Amazing. They can fly to the moon, but they can't guarantee clean water.

Luckily, the plane, an Airbus 320, is only half full, it being an out-of-season Wednesday. We grab a row each, and curl up after take-off to sleep a little, only to be woken up by a pair of Mexican-American louts who insist on talking loud enough to entertain half the plane. The sort who leave no thought unsaid. Some people, really.

This is our first experience with the America West airline, and I cannot report it to be better than any other US airlines I know. Halfway friendly staff, slightly worn seats, announcements made far too quickly to be understood by anybody, sandwiches to be bought. Hence we had brought our own picnic bag, and proceeded to lunch like an Italian family at the Verona opera. That is, after the pilots had to be reminded by some impatient passengers (guess who) that the plane was quite steady now, has been for the past 20 minutes ever since we left the turbulence behind, and could he now switch off the Fasten Seat Belt sign, please?

I am amazed once again at the extremely low percentage of Americans who own a passport. According to yesterday's paper , it's 5%. In the airport, and on the plane, I got to chat with a few locals, all ardent travellers, and all equally astonished at the ordinary citizen's reluctance to travel. Well, the US is vast, and abroad is full of these ghastly foreigners, you know.

After 4.5 hours' flight from Phoenix we landed in Cancun. A balmy 27°, easy immigration procedures (just a landing card filled in aboard the plane, and an official at the airport who had been to Berlin). Even the bags arrived pronto (it did turn out later that US security had opened the suitcase and had removed a few cigarette lighters; they left a printed note with "Thank you for your cooperation". Great.). Cancun airport is quite attractive, for an airport. Clean, light, airy, quite modern, it was a perfect example of how these days you get something that calls itself an airport but is a shopping centre with an air transport business attached.

The rental car was available (unlike my time in Mexico City, where we had to wait for an hour until they rustled up a car); of course they tried to sell additional insurance even though I'm already fully covered. A chap shuttled us to the parking lot and diligently noted down all the scratches and dents already in the car. It's a tiny Chevalier, I think, a bit like a 1.0 Corsa. You really have to push it to make it go, the engine howls in protest – but it works. Even has AirCon.

And then we threw ourselves into the Mexican traffic. It was with a certain amount of glee that I chucked the car around like us Europeans do back home – none of that genteel cruising like they do in the US. It's a free-for-all, a city-rally against lorries, buses, and taxis. Quite fun to think that most American drivers would get a heart attack here.

Cancun is really nothing to get excited about. The city was only connected to the rest of Mexico by road in 1970. I also find it interesting to note that Cancun has something in common with Canberra, Milton Keynes, and Brasilia: it was the central government that had decided that this would be a good place to build up a tourist industry – and it worked! Now, it's a bustling, standard third-world city – but WalMart, Home Depot, and C&A have made appearances. Then there is the Zona Hotelera, the long island outside town, where all the Western style hotels are located. A single wide boulevard, which could just as well be in Mallorca. Hotels, western restaurants (from McD to the ultra-chic), discos – the lot. Alright for spring -breakers, I suppose. Not to forget, there are a number of modern shopping malls, which would be an important item on one's to-do list if one didn't drive around the country every day to explore the sights.

Our hotel, chosen on the internet, with the aim of spending a single night before we head out into the jungle) also actually had our reservation. Only – when we were shown our room, it was already occupied. So was the second room. Third time lucky, though. A basic, if large room, which will do nicely for the night. Of course, nothing on the web site had mentioned anything about the high-rise-in-the-raw next door...

We immediately went to the beach and settled down with a couple of Margaritas. They pack a bit of a punch, especially after having eaten so little during the day. Surprises: it gets dark at 5 p.m., and it's not nearly as hot and humid as I remembered it. Slightly tipsy, we then staggered down the road to a supermarket and stocked up on supplies to the days to come: a bottle of wine, some beer, some crackers and cheese, that sort of thing. Basics.

Cobá, 27.1.05

Up bright and early, at 8 (which is 7 a.m. Tucson time), and we hit the road south, direction Tulum. As we passed Playa del Carmen I wondered if I'd find the hotel again where I stayed with Eve a few years ago; so I ventured forth into town – which had greatly changed in those few years, much 'improved' in a touristy sort of sense – got to the general area, asked a local cop, who answered in fluent Spanish (my mistake, I had said in equally fluent Spanish, "Por favor, Hotel Las Palapas?" ). I still got the gist of it, since the chap had a habit of talking with his hands, and found myself only a klick off my original estimate.

At the hotel, we were so charmed by it that we reserved for the night prior to our departure. I was quite chuffed to have found it at all, in the Mexican wilderness, many years hence... Well, it ain't the wilderness, exactly, but so much building had taken place since then, the place was unrecognisable.

We carried on, on a rather well built carriageway, first double, then single lane, until Tulum. When I was here last, the 'good' road extended from Cancun to Playa only; now they have extended it down to Tulum. After that, it is still a standard country lane right down to Chetumal.

We didn't stop for the local ruins of Tulum (they are quite unremarkable, by local standards; besides, we're coming back this way) but headed inland instead for Cobá. First, a fuel stop: most stations are by Pemex, state owned, full service with a chap standing there, actually refuelling your car and taking payment in person. Remember that sort of thing? We used to have it, in the 50s, I think. – Petrol is dearer than in the US but cheaper than in Europe, at ca. 60 Euro-cents/litre.

So far, we drove along the coast, which is naturally more busy. Now, at Tulum, about 90km south of Cancun, we turned inland. The road became a normal country road, with dense Yucatan jungle right and left. By Yucatan jungle I mean a dense but not very high growth of trees and bushes, perhaps 2-3 meters high but quite impenetrable. This is what the early explorers must have meant by a "wall of green". The road is slightly rough but good enough for rapid progress; it is quite possible to overtake a bus or lorry on a straight stretch, as long as you don't mind the vegetation brushing along the car.

One has to carefully watch for Topes, i.e. those nasty speed bumps which they are so fond of here. They are so steep that one has to come to a virtual stop and crawl over them – and then one still runs the risk of scraping the underside of the car . Nasty, but highly effective in preventing speeding in villages. Said villages are nothing more than some wooden or corrugated iron huts, usually selling Indian rugs, or offering 'fine meals'. Some jolly looking Indian kids kick a football around, mangy dogs lurk in the shadows – you get the picture.

The Mexican population comes in various shades and shapes. There's the 'blue-blooded' Spaniard, direct descendant of a conquistador. Then there are the Mixtecs, mixed Spanish-Indian-African people, and then there are the Indios. There are also the usual regional differences; it seems the people around here prefer to call themselves Yucatanecos rather than Mexican.

The Indios still speak their own languages; there are various Mayan tongues still in use, with dozens of dialects. Some of them also speak Spanish. Most of the locals are quite friendly, especially when you try to talk to them in Spanish. Some, however, may seem a bit sullen, but I understand this may be because their Spanish is weak, not to mention any other foreign language, and they may be afraid of looking stupid

Another thing I have learned is the importance of formal politeness. In the US, which has a much faster pace of living, it is normal to smile as a greeting, e.g. at a clerk, and then launch directly into the subject matter at hand. Here, if you smile at somebody without saying anything, it may be taken as amusement, smugness, or arrogance. Hence, always take the trouble of saying Buenos dias, or Buenos tardes, or whatever is appropriate. This makes the difference between a 'Bien educado' and a 'Mal educado' foreigner. It also makes people think you're fluent in Spanish...

Once in Cobá – nothing more than a few modest houses – we checked out the "Villa Arqueológica", a hotel which I had remembered as very cute and cosy. It still was; a hacienda-type courtyard with a pool and lush greenery, and smallish but most appealing rooms. Not too expensive, either (at 765 pesos, ca $76). Speaking of pesos, they use the same "$"-sign here. But interestingly, Spain is where the sign comes from, some convoluted story involving the Spanish Royal Coat of Arms. The Americans nicked it from them – the $-dollar is a kind of "Spanish Taler", really (More info here). The afternoon was spent viewing the ruins of Cobá; once again, one cannot help but be most impressed with what the Maya did at a time when us Europeans were still crawling around in the mud. The main pyramid was, as always with these things, a source of great amusement: the steps are so steep and uneven that many a tourist, once he'd climbed up to the top, would not dare to come back down, having developed a sudden sense of vertigo. Well, they usually *do* come down again, if necessary on their backside, sliding down one step at a time. But the view is grand from up top: once you have climbed higher than the tree cover of the jungle, you can see for miles on end.

Back at the hotel, a quick swim in the pool – which was refreshing once you made it inside the surprisingly cold water, and then a couple of Margaritas on the rocks. Lovely stuff, that! It gets dark shortly after five, so we soon repaired to the restaurant. The Villa being part of the ClubMed chain (without being a club) it boasts a good cuisine. I've earnestly tried Mexican food during my first trip, and have given up on it. Heavy and/or too hot and/or simply unpalatable. Quite different to the Mexican food you get in Europe (it is not uncommon for 'ethnic' food to adapt to the country it's served in, plus you get local traditions. For instance, Tex-Mex food is a category all by itself which distinguishes itself by masses of melted cheese and sour cream, something not usually found down here). So I went for onion soup, a steak with pepper sauce, and a mousse au chocolat, which was all ok, but still not all that brilliant. Nevertheless, given the margaritas, and the rather hot tomato salsa with hot bread which they gave us up front, the evening was a success. The waiter said the tomato was "picante", by which he meant it was suitable to burn off several layers of the inside of your mouth, and then some. A tiny dollop with a large piece of bread, that was the only way one could eat it. A local beer, a Montejo, went down with it quite well.

Chichen Itza, 28.1.05

We took to the road again, heading West towards Chichen Itza, probably the most famous, and most overrun of all the Maya ruins. I'm not quite sure what came first – fame or the masses. The fact remains that Chichen Itza is easily accessible from Cancun by highway, and many of these people who populate these all-inclusive resorts only venture out once, to partake in an organised excursion to Chichen Itza, then proudly proclaiming that they had "done" Mexico. For us, this meant that while the main Pyramid is no doubt splendid to look at, but one also has to dodge these tourists pouring out by the busload. (Amazing that they would all hesitate to drive themselves, the roads being perfectly good, and city traffic just needing a minimum of imagination and death-defying determination.) Sitting atop the pyramid, one watches the tourists ascending it much like hordes of barbarians storming the battlements of your fortress.

The site itself is quite large, some 6 sq/km, so one can walk about at leisure, and try to appreciate Mayan carvings. They are strange, quite inaccessible to us, I think. I like to compare these to a Martian looking at a Catholic church – the church is choc full with images and references which are immediately understood by a Christian but which would baffle the Martian.

What remains of the Mayan sites are, obviously, the large, solid, official and religious buildings, like pyramids and temples, whereas the ordinary dwellings have long disappeared. This was a proper town, with some 50.000 people, until they vanished. Still a point of debate as to why, but the current consensus seems to say that they grew too large for the environment – agriculture could not support them any more. Thus the abandoned the cities and went back to the villages... Indian legend has it that a god ordered them to return to their previous way of life.

"Chichen Itza" is actually the name of a 'cenote', a large well, pond, or billabong, which had been sacred since way back. Offerings were made here, and they found a treasure in jade, gold, silver – and human bones. A recent forensic analysis suggest that these were the bones of old, crippled or feeble -minded people. A kind of religious euthanasia?

The weather so far was much less icky than I had remembered. Must be because it's winter; it's much less humid than the tropics or Florida. However, in the sun at midday it easily reaches 35° – if you're out then (as only mad dogs and Englishmen are wont to do) the sun actually hurts. At night it cools down quite pleasantly, and later at night you'd welcome a jacket or a cardigan. Unless you've pumped up the internal heating with an adequate supply of Margaritas...

Back in the hotel, we again enjoyed a quick swim, a Margarita, and a relaxed dinner – I had a brochette of beef, which was nicely spiced, if a bit undercooked.

Uxmal, 29.1.05

Up and away, towards Uxmal (pronounced Ooh-shmahl). We hit the motorway (the only one in Yucatan, connecting Merida with Cancun), paid our $6, and had an easy ride most of the way to Merida, some 114km. Getting closer to Merida, roadworks started up again, and town generica came into view. We looked out for a supermarket, and spotted a very large hypermarket thingy, with signs in fluent Spanish. Curious, we stopped, and found that it actually was a Wal-Mart Supercenter inside. We got our supplies, including some very appealing fresh bakeries – they had a live bakery in full view of the customers, kneading the dough and all, very clean and proper, very industrious, and all wearing mouth masks.

The town baffles me. It looked completely and entirely different to a few years ago. Now, it was a narrow warren of busy, nay chaotic streets, choked with traffic, pedestrians everywhere, weaving in and out in front of the cars. I have no idea where the nice quarter was, with the luxury villas of the sisal barons of yesteryear. Whichever, it was so chaotic and tiresome that we fled the city. Which, of course, isn't that easy, since it is a phenomenon in Mexican cities in that you can always get in, there being plenty of signs "centro" or "zocalo", but no signs whatsoever leading *out*. So it took a combination of boy scout orientation skills, innate iron filings, and random questioning of petrol station attendants or coppers. All of which – this also seems to be a habit here – willingly gave long and detailed explanations in fluent Spanish. I understood "avenida" or "periferico" or "siñales" and that was about it. Still, a mere half an hour later did we indeed meet a periferico with siñales to Uxmal.

Onward ho! The road was first a motorway, then a major carriageway, then slowly degenerated into a country lane. About 70 kms south of Merida, the Yucatan bush to the right and left of us, we suddenly hit upon Uxmal – which is not actually a town, but only an entrance to the excavation site at the side of the road, plus four hotels clustered outside. We checked them all out, and then settled for a "communicado", i.e. 2 connected rooms, at the – again – Villa Arqueologica.

After – you wouldn't guess it – a swim and a Margarita we settled down to another dinner, and I discovered the "Aztec Soup", which was a broth with large chunks of avocado and tomato in it, and a few corn chips and cheese sprinkled in. Mild and pleasant, and a welcome surprise.

Uxmal, 30.1. – 31.1.

Uxmal, Sayil, Kabah, and Labnah – these are the famous sites clustered in this area. Uzmal is by far the largest, and you can spend quite some time here. Centrepiece is a very impressive pyramid, which I believe I climbed atop on last time round; now it was closed. They probably had too many tourists getting stuck on top... There are a few other quite imposing buildings as well, something which might have been an academy, with a courtyard decorated by those strange and extremely abstract carvings, and a 'palace', which was probably the administrative centre. Again, nobody really knows, since the Conquistadores and their missionary helpers were quite diligent in destroying all Maya records they could get their hands on as 'heathen'. All that we do now know – such as that the Maya were excellent mathematicians and astronomers – were painstakingly puzzled together over the past decades.

Sayil and the others are much smaller sites, but with the advantage that they are much less frequently visited. Thus we could spend quite some time all by ourselves, simply sitting in peace and quiet in the shade and gazing at the site. It seems to be getting hotter. We found that daytime walking becomes a chore, and my mother discovered an umbrella to be the most useful piece of kit in her inventory.

We also passed by the small town of Ticul (not to be confused with the famous Maya site of Ticul in Guatemala). A busy little place, it is supposed to be the centre of dress-embroidery and shoe-making hereabouts. According to our guidebook, there was also supposed to be a shop with museum-quality ceramics and art. To find it, we entered a little office called 'Tourist Information'. The chap in there, small, stocky and swarthy like everybody else around here, jumped up, switched off his TV, and pumped our hands excitedly. He spoke two word of English, and seemed to understand our request for directions. So he shouted 'vamonos' and dragged us to his little two-stroke-powered tricycle, and rattled us, noisily and slowly, through half the town to a makeshift little cottage, with chicken and dogs roaming freely in the ramshackle garden, where 'Ramon' was making Inka replicas from clay, by hand. Not what we had in mind, but after a lot of talking (neither party understood the other) we bought a couple of trinkets, and were rattled back to our car. A bit of an adventure, and quite different to what we expected, but in retrospect quite charming.

This is our last night at the Villa Arqueologica and her sister establishments. Tomorrow we're aiming for Palenque, which is a fair bit away. This calls for another Margarita!

Palenque, 1.2.05

We're taking the main 'highway' via Campeche, to save time; the alternative would take us cross-country, which would be too slow today. We take a peek at Campeche, described as charming colonial town. It does have cute bits, but far too few trees, and is incredibly busy. It's bumper-to-bumper, with short spurts when a gap in the traffic opens up. Since we also don't find a café with a parking space in reasonable distance, we bid good-bye and carry on.

The road winds along the coast, until suddenly we spot a sign for a motorway. We head across, and find ourselves at a cashier's office, an electronic sign saying we're to pay 19 pesos, a chain-locked barrier across the road, and – nobody in sight. So we sit there, looking stupid, then I reverse the car – and at this point I spot this boy on a bicycle racing our way. He jumps off the bike, calmly takes our money, gives us a receipt, and opens the gate. Obviously not a road taken by too many. Those 19 pesos bought us 30 kms of splendid and empty motorway; then the road degenerates again into a typical one-lane country road.

The next bit turned out to be terribly boring. There are two main north-south roads here; one, along the northern coast, passes through Villahermosa; the other goes straight through the Chiapas mountains. We're now on the Villahermosa -Campeche highway. Straight stretches, with some agriculture right and left, and nothing special to see for hours. Lorries are no worries, and can be overtaken easily, the potholes on the road are minor, and a steady 110km/h can be maintained. Still, after 4 or 5 hours of this, were happy to find the turn-off into the mountains for Palenque.

After hours of flat land, it is quite a relief to see the mountains rising up, and we actually drive into them for a little while. The jungle has a different quality here, it seems more lush than on the plains. It is also quite hazy, and a lot more humid; plus the bugs seem a bit more aggressive here. It's now the first time one needs the Deet, surprisingly we were spared so far.

Palenque town is again one of those tight and busy little places which are charming for a few moments but become tiresome quite quickly. We check out a few hotels, the more famous ones being somewhat run-down and dingy, and find a hotel with a collection of villas outside town. A discussion in fluent Spanish, English, and hands and feet ensues, and we settle in a little cabana of our own. A margarita in hand, we gaze at a couple of busloads of tourists making a fool of themselves at the pool. We find, once again, that people in groups, be they French, English, Italian or German, all behave the same, i.e. badly.

Palenque, 2.1.05

An easy morning, and then we're off to the 'ruinas'. Even though I knew what was coming, the moment when one turns a corner in the jungle path and first glimpses the ruins, standing majestically in front of a background of hills and jungle, was still amazing. The setting of the site, with it's hills and lush greenery, is so different to the other sites, that it is often regarded as the most beautiful of all Maya sites. Palenque is located more on the foothills rather than the mountains proper, but the impenetrable jungle rising to one side (still hiding many more as yet undiscovered buildings), and the view into the plains on the other side is quite incomparable.

Still, it had changed: there are now more excavations done, and the whole area is more 'developed' in the sense that there are more proper pathways, more open areas, more tourists and more hawkers. It was a bit unfortunate that one had to hustle for a place atop the best buildings, and had to listen to someone else's inane banter ("leave no thought unsaid"). However, the bus tours had all left by midday, so we could relax, find a shady spot, and have our own little picnic which we enjoy so much.

As it was in 1998...

... and as it was in 2005.

The one thing that had not changed are the abundance of leguanos, the last dragons on earth. Strange creatures, overgrown lizards really, basking themselves in the sun, and staring suspiciously at us humans. Out in the bushes of Uxmal, I seemed to come close to the nest of one, because it made all sorts of strange movements at me – warning me off? In any case, I beat a careful retreat, wouldn't want to upset its family life.

Xpujil, 3.2.05

It's half-time, so we need to head back, general direction of Cancun. Our plan is to take the southern west-east route, along the border of Guatemala. In terms of sights, this is the Rio Bec route, a little more off the beaten path.

Setting off early from Palenque, we make good time on the Villahermosa highway, with three interruptions of sorts: at first, we are being held up by the chicken-police. The state of Campeche is aiming to keep various animal diseases out of the state, and have a checkpoint along the way. The chap asks us, in fluent Spanish, to open our boot; he then rummages around, and finding no poultry, dead or alive, lets us go.

The next stop is a military checkpoint, where a young soldier, hardly out of his teens, is obviously searching for armed and dangerous bandits. He politely, in broken English, asks for our papers, studies them, then asks us for our names (not bad, if we were using false names, we might trip up at this point), and also lets us go.

The third stop was a rescue attempt – an 18-wheeler had somehow managed to get off the road and had crashed headlong into the jungle. A tow-truck was trying to pull him out again, thereby blocking the road. But whatever he was pulling him with broke with a great big "twaang" and whiplash, and this then gave us room to carry on. One amuses oneself with little happenings like that on a long road.

Finally, some 5 hours later, did we come to Xpujil (pronounced Esh-poo-jeel). The guidebook talked of a very pleasant "Ecovillage" hotel, but closer inspection revealed that the pool had no water, and the rooms weren't terribly pleasant, and certainly not worth the $110 asked for. We then passed by a little collection of 'jungalows', run by a Canadian couple. Quite charming, very simple indeed, and no water. Rick said that he was promised the water truck, but this being Mexico he couldn't quite guarantee its arrival... He did suggest to drive down the corner to ask at the store ("You can't miss it, it's the only one there") if he was going to get water. He'd phone, but he has been waiting for a phone-line these past 4 years. For the fun of it, I did ask, in my fluent Spanish, when Richard was going to get agua for his cabanas for the baños. The resolute lady at the store (Mabel, pronounced Ma Belle) shouted for her husband, who then promised most sincerely that he would deliver water later on today, hoy, not mañana, after three.
We then checked out the town of Xpujil, but that was a bit of a dump; so we gave that one a miss and found another hotel a little up the road, with running water already installed. Plus, there was aircon, the rooms were larger, and cheaper to boot. After a glass of wine on our porch, we decided to go back to Richard's place for some pasta. Once there, we found the only other person there was a travel writer, an old Mexican hand. Richard's wife and cook wasn't in; she was 'in town' at the internet cafe, and only due back later, thus dinner was only to be had later. Too late for us; pity, but if the man runs a place with inconsistent water supply and an absent cook, he can't expect to make a success of it. – The surprise was that he did have his water delivered, in spite of all the scepticism regarding Mexican reliability.

Another detail with regards to traffic hereabouts: it is most noticeable that they have roads signs encouraging good behaviour every few hundred metres, signs like "Keep your distance", "Don't litter", "Don't cross the yellow line", "Drive carefully", "Don't speed – your family hopes so", "Keep to the left", "Town near" (usually a pre-warning that some dreaded topes are coming up; a collection of topes may also be called "vibradores") and so on (free translations, the originals are in fluent Spanish, of course). The "Don't litter" signs are especially recognisable by the piles of litter surrounding them – the 3 .500 peso fine doesn't seem to be strictly enforced. Speaking of enforcement, the cops around here all look particularly fiercesome – smart paramilitary uniforms, weapons belt, dark shades. An American fellow traveller told us that he was stopped in Cancun once, for not stopping at a stop sign (which nobody else did, either, apparently). After a lot of talk and threats of going to the station he was paid off with 400 pesos, which is a rip-off, since the going rate is more like 50 pesos (it's about 10 pesos to the dollar). But the few times I asked a cop for directions they were invariably helpful and friendly – especially when you greet them properly. – Normally driving isn't a problem; there was only once, at a roundabout in Palenque, a confusing situation: the roundabout was quite large, and there were traffic lights littered about and it wasn't clear at all which direction these lights were aimed at. Since the locals went through at what seemed to be red, so did I. Ah well, 'when in Rome...'

Xpujil - Cobá, 4.2.05

We were now in unexplored territory, and didn't know what to expect from the road between Xpujil and Chetumal; our guidebooks weren't too encouraging. However, the site at Becán was most lovely. It was a bit like a smaller version of Palenque: massive, majestic building in the middle of a forest, most romantic to behold.

We met a convoy of American mobile-homes, which was another sight to behold. About a dozen of them, properly organised, with a 'wagonmaster' in charge of quartermastering, and a huge supply of US-made frozen dinners (judging by the litterbins). They came from all over, Oregon, Minnesota, Texas, and California, reliving the American pioneer spirit.

As it happened, the choice of accommodation along this route is more than modest. There's the "Explorean" at Kihunlich at $300 per person, and a couple of trucker's dives on the road. Even further north, at Bacalar, there's the Laguna Hotel, which hadn't seen any maintenance for the past 20 years, or a recommended collection of Cabanas, which are now used for Yoga training, at $180 per night. Since the Cabanas were a touch too flower-power for us, we kept going, and ended up, again, at the Villa Arqueologica at Cobá.

We were cruising along quite comfortably on our way north, when I saw a black flash streaking in front of our car, and heard a nasty, quite loud thump. It turned out to be a bird which had dive-bombed our car, and in the process had embedded itself in the front spoiler. Silly, poor thing – at the next stop I had to use a stick to dig the carcass out again.

Strangely enough, clouds made an unwelcome appearance late afternoon, and we were treated to a tropical shower. Nothing wrong with that, except that the wipers on our poor little car were crap, and made things worse, at a pinch, and the roads, uneven at best of times, became straight-out treacherous.

Cobá, 5.2.05

Now that we're nicely settled in again, we're taking it easy. Slow and late breakfast, and then we trundle down to Tulum. There, I find that once again things have changed a bit. The whole entrance area has been improved; whereas a few years ago it was more like a bustling crossroad with cars and buses milling about, a shack for a cashier's office, and the ruins visible from the street, now it has become a pedestrian zone with parking a good distance away, a spanking great big entrance office, and new walkways leading to a different entrance of the ruins themselves. Like Chichen Itza, Tulum is also 'within reach' of day buses from Cancun, so the place crawls with inappropriately dressed tourists from all nations. The ruins themselves are not nearly half as exciting as most others, but Tulum is nicely situated by the sea, so you can stand among ancient Maya buildings and gaze at the deep blue sea beyond. Of course, having been at other sites where one is all alone, the presence of these groups is a bit of spoiler.

We then ventured down the road towards Punta Allen, but the road is so bad that we soon gave up, and found a spot of beach instead, where we lounged lazily and watched some large birds (Geese? Pelicans?) cruising above in close formation.

At dinner, we made our little observations; after all, we could now compare a number of hotels. We came to the conclusion that the Villa Arqueologicas are by far the cutest of them all, but that this particular one at Cobá needs a bit of a shake-up in terms of management. Little details were amiss, and the manager never showed up to greet his guests – in stark contrast to Matthias at Uxmal.

We seem to have hit something like a small monsoon season: in the afternoon, cloud cover increases, and a small shower may come down. It's still lovely and warm, but evidently not quite as brutally hot as it had been. It doesn't faze the local birds, though – they continued to make a racket at their heart's delight.

Cobá, 6.2.05

A little exploration of the environs; we went down a number of little streets just to see where they led to. A number of tiny villages, was the answer. We saw a lot of squalor, poor dirt huts, with little in terms of mod cons in sight. We're hoping that these locals are going to get their fair share of the tourist trade, too, just like so many others.

At the supermarket, I picked up some cans of beer along with our usual supplies. Strangely, the cashier removed them again, and explained in fluent Spanish that I couldn’t buy them. Perplexed we left the shop without the beer. Then, at night, the waiter refused to give me my pre-dinner Margarita. Even more perplexed, I demanded an explanation, close to insulting the whole of the tourist industry in Latin America. It was only then that it dawned on me that this was an election weekend, and that – quite wisely – no sale of alcohol unaccompanied by dinner was allowed anywhere. Placated, I pondered on the wisdom of this law – I could think of one or two occasions when such a ban would make sense back home, like after a football match, or when I want to go to sleep.

Cobá, 7.2.05

We're saying good-bye to the ruins of Cobá by visiting them one more time. Still grandiose, still majestic – only it seems that in the morning there are more tourists here than in the afternoon, which is when we visited them first time. It's the old story , and a recurring theme: nothing wrong with appreciative individual travellers, but plenty wrong with loutish, loud and most inappropriately dressed groups. Why is it that these people think it ok to visit these sights in training shorts, stupid t-shirts, or bikini tops, and shout at each other at the top of their voices? Couldn't they show a minimum of respect for the locals, and adapt their behaviour accordingly? We're guests in THEIR country, after all.

So far, we have done very well indeed without any contact whatsoever with the outside world. No newspapers, no TV, no email, no mobile phone (coverage is extremely patchy outside the major towns, anyway). It works, too! It seems that the rest of the world can do quite well without our immediate attention. Note to travellers whose holiday is spoiled if they don't get a call from the office: every cemetary is full of indispensable people.

No rain squalls today; not that they were too bothersome, but on balance it is still wonderful to sit, watching a beautiful sunset over a tropical landscape, drink in hand...

Cobá - Playa del Carmen, 8.2.05

Off to our last stop during this trip – the Las Palapas in Playa del Carmen. Playa used to be one of those quaint, native, poorish but picturesque little fishing villages you sometimes see in historical photographs. Now, however, you have to imagine the tourist industry eating its way down the coast from Cancun like a malevolent, all-consuming fungus, bringing with it ever-present building sites, more and ever-grander resorts, shopping malls, cheap and not so cheap restaurants, and hip youngsters on racy scooters. The Las Palapas was built when all that development was still a gleam in an investors eye. This means that the hotel – a collection of bungalows – still sits within its very own large piece of Yucataneco jungle, and boasts some 100 square metres per guest; this, apparently, is quite a lot as hotels go these days. Unless you count the golf course. So we enjoyed our very own palapa, and the attached veranda, and the view into our very own jungle from that very same veranda. For variation, we would walk to the beach, and ogle the tourists, whose idea of a fun time seemed to be to lie still and encourage their skin cancer.

All that fun lasted only an afternoon and a morning. In the very early morning I was shockingly and violently reminded of my stay in Sydney, where I would occasionally be woken up at crack of dawn by a very loud baby's screaming right outside my window. Of course, it wasn't a baby but a Lyra bird. Something similar here – some extraordinarily loud birds would gather on the trees outside our hut and yell. Most strange. Must be a tropical thing.