tulum got me sweating through my thrifted suede jacket and i wouldn’t trade it
i just checked and it's like someone left the oven on in a sauna that’s also a jungle - 29.27°C, feels like 34.16, humidity so thick you could spit and watch it hang midair. i’m sitting on a wobbly stool at a taco stand that sells grilled pineapple with chili salt and my socks are stuck to my sandals. this is tulum, and yes, the mosquitos are judicially appointed judges here.
*los halcones - that’s what the local food vendor calls the dark-winged birds circling the cenote ruins. not hawks. halcones. they don’t dive for fish; they dive for your uneaten churro. someone told me if you leave your ceviche out past 4 p.m., they’ll steal the lime wedge and leave you a feather. i tested it. they did. and then i got a free coconut water from the guy behind me. weirdly, that’s how tulum works.
"you think the beach is crowded? wait till the full moon. then the yoga moms bring their crystals and the anarchists bring their boomboxes. it’s like Burning Man if it was owned by a Mayan ghost and a Brazilian DJ."
i wandered into el burro blanco after 9 p.m. because i heard the ceviche here was blessed by a shaman who used to work at a grocery chain in Cancún. someone told me that guy once fought a crab in the parking lot for a parking spot. it won. the crab now has its own little shrine near the porta-potties. i ate three tacos. cried a little. the salsa tasted like regret and lime peel.
the neighbors? east is cancún - all glass towers and teens in fluorescent swim trunks. west? reyes catrines - 700 people, three dogs, one guy who sells handmade soap shaped like skulls. if you get lost, just follow the smell of burning copal. or the shrieks from the cenote where the teenagers jump in on Sundays. someone swore they saw a woman in a white dress floating upside-down last July. nobody verified it. but the Airbnb host nodded and said, "that’s just maría. she’s in love with the water. leave her be."
i tried to meditate on the sand at dawn. got stung by a random jellyfish that definitely wasn’t supposed to be there. the local pharmacy guy, who talks like he’s narrating a soap opera, handed me aloe and said, "la vida es loca, pero la vida es tuya." i printed that on a sticky note. stuck it to my laptop. it’s now fading in the humidity.
if you’re thinking of coming: bring insect repellent that smells like your aunt’s perfume. a hat that says "i survived the tuna taco incident." and don’t ask why the Uber driver named his car "Rosita" - you don’t wanna know.
tried to book a private cenote tour. was told,"you want peace? go to the south. the spies are at the main ones." TripAdvisor claims it’s "tranquil." Yelp says "who even goes here?" Local forum says "the real ones never post."
i left a note in the guestbook at la cabaña del lobo: "you don’t come to tulum to find yourself. you come to get lost so good that even your shadow forgets your name."
i think i left part of my soul under a ceiba tree.
or maybe it was the crabs. who knows anymore.
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