On the Edge of Giving Up in Merida
Towards the end of my first solo trip, I had a day that almost broke me, almost had me giving up. It was my first real test as a traveler. I was confused, tired, sweaty, and damn near broken.
It was the hardest travel day I’ve ever experienced, so I have to tell you guys about it, right?
It Starts with a Goal
I woke up in Merida and knew exactly what I wanted to do with my last full day of the trip. I wanted to visit “The Yellow City” of Izamal. There was a ruin site there, and a restaurant I was told had the best cochinita pibil (a slow-cooked pork dish) around.
That’s enough to get me to go just about anywhere in the world, ruins, and cochinita.
I knew it was about an hour and a half away from Merida, and heard I could take a collective. I’d grown fond of that mode of transportation since it’s super cheap (usually between 25 and 35 pesos) and feels like an authentic travel experience.
After a mediocre hostel breakfast, as they often are but I love them anyway, I set out to find the collective to take me to Izamal.
The Problem
Similar to when I had a hard time in Campeche, I just couldn’t find the vans that went to Izamal. I walked the streets of Merida for almost three hours asking police officers, shopkeepers, and tour salespeople how I could get to Izamal.
Sure, I was asking them in maybe the worst Spanish they’d ever heard, but I could not get a clear answer out of anyone.
Rather, everyone gave me a different answer. I walked up four blocks just to get sent back six blocks. And that’s just from the people I understood. Some people gave me long complicated answers that I had ZERO hope of understanding.
But, I was lost and intimidated, so I would just say, “Ok, thanks,” and keep moving along. This experience made me so much more empathetic when I talk to foreigners at home in real life.
I Thought I Won
When I finally found a woman that pointed me towards the right terminal (she pointed me to the wrong side of the street, as one final obstacle), I thought I’d finally done it, achieved victory, and could now enjoy the rest of my day.
Boy was I wrong! I was already low on water and the will to live, and I was just getting started.
The price was right for the collective, as it always is. The van though only had one very tiny seat left. I was a foot taller than everyone else in the car and had to squeeze with my backpack into that tiny seat.
That’s the thing about collectives. A lot of times, they’re so full that it can be uncomfortable. Being one of the first ones to get on and pick a seat is key. Something inside the seat was digging into my back, hard, but there was just no room for adjustments.
Oh, and the van’s air conditioning was broken! I spent the next ninety minutes squished in a hot van with what felt increasingly like a Mayan spearhead digging into my back.
The Yellow City of Izamal
I was so thankful to get out of the van in Izamal, that the Hollywood move of kissing the ground suddenly did not seem so tacky.
I immediately stopped in a tienda to buy a liter bottle of cold water for the killer price of 7 pesos (about 35 cents) and started walking the streets of Izamal, savoring the fresh air.
The streets are cobblestone and the building fronts lining the streets are all that same yellow color. In some places, the curb is almost waist-high!
It’s a small town but doesn’t feel like it, with the giant plaza and convent in the middle of town. You’ll get your steps in while walking Izamal.
I asked some locals how to get to the ruins, found my way there, and they were closed. Closed!
This day wasn’t done messing with me yet.
My Reward
A block from the pyramid I couldn’t enter was the restaurant I heard about from a bartender in Merida, Restaurante Kinich. I was starving when I got there!
He told me the food was good but he didn’t tell me what a beautiful restaurant it is. It reminded me of the Rainforest Cafe, without all the fake stuff. There were plants and trees all over the place, and table cloths (usually a sign of fancy places).
I already knew I wanted the cochinita, and when it got there, it was the nicest presentation of such a dish that I could imagine. It looked delicious and did not disappoint! It’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever eaten to this day.
I ordered mamey (fruit that grows on trees in Mexico and Central America) ice cream for dessert that was the perfect cap.
This delicious meal in this beautiful restaurant cost me $17 American dollars. The next day, I paid $24 for a bad sandwich and no sides or drink at LAX.
The Return Trip
When I went to catch the collective back, they told me the last one had already left. Because, of course, right.
They told me there was a bus leaving in an hour that I could take instead. A bus ride was sounding pretty good after that packed van ride.
I should have asked more questions when they told me how much the bus ticket was. It was too cheap, but I figured since we were in a small town in the middle of nowhere and I’d just had the meal of my life for $17, maybe this was just paradise.
The bus I took back was not one of those buses that takes you from the terminal in Izamal to the terminal in Merida in the ninety minutes it takes to commute.
No!
This was one of those buses that stopped on every corner in every town along the way to pick up and drop off commuters.
Three hours later, I was dropped off in Merida, quite far from my hostel. I was on the edge, on tilt as we say in Vegas.
The Lesson
Leaving the bus terminal, I was almost run over by a taxi driver.
When I finally got back to my hostel, I sat down to collect myself. I was almost in tears after everything I went through on this day.
I looked at my flight for the next day and saw that if I took one a few hours earlier, I could upgrade to business class for only $60. Done.
That’s when it hit me that it was my last night on my first big trip. I’d had one hell of a day, but I did everything I could have possibly done. I didn’t give up. I got where I wanted to go. There was a lot of adversity to overcome that day, and I overcame every bit of it.
I was proud of myself; not just for the day, but for the whole trip. I saw new things, pushed my comfort zones, and never tapped out, even when it would have been easy to do so.
So I set out, for one last walk around Merida, to take it all in. I bought some last-minute souvenirs, ordered one last marquesita from a street cart, and reflected.
Sitting back in the main square with my marquesita as the city was preparing to sleep for the night, I was almost in tears again, but for another reason. I had a new appreciation for the city, for everything I’d been through the last few weeks, and for myself.
I knew I was now a traveler.