Last April I made a list. In six short days I’m gonna be checking a few things off said list. The actual implementation of these various goals looks a bit different than what I originally pictured, but that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? You announce your intentions, let the grand symphony of the Universe take over, and the result is a composition more beautiful than you could have imagined. I made it known that I wished to learn Spanish, backpack alone, ride my bike, and paddleboard. Well, I certainly won’t come away fluent, there will be no mountains, I’ll be renting a bike, and the paddleboard may end up looking more like a kayak, BUT, I am about to set off on an adventure of a lifetime.
Word has it I was conceived in Cancun, which may explain my affinity for all things beachy. For years I’ve dreamt about making a pilgrimage back to my roots. Now, most likely the moment of conception occurred at an all-inclusive swanky resort in Cancun proper somewhere, but even if my budget allowed for such a thing, that’s not exactly my cuppa tea. Give me a palm thatched hut, a white sandy beach, and clear turquoise water off the beaten path and I’m golden. So when Southwest had a fare sale a couple weeks ago and I saw that I could get a roundtrip ticket to Cancun for $303, I jumped. Head first.
My original plan (and I use “plan” in the loosest way possible) was to go to Isla Mujeres, an island just off the coast of Cancun. Friends have gone before me and it sounded sublime. However, further research revealed it to be a bit more of a party scene than I’m interested in so I dug deeper into the inter-webs and reached out to some seasoned travelling friends of mine. Enter Isla Holbox: a tiny island with no paved roads, hardly any cars, pristine beaches, sky blue water, right near a wildlife sanctuary. Now we’re talking.
But then there’s Tulum. And I’ve got ten whole days to play with! So I decided to break the trip up into two parts. Plan (again, I use this word loosely) is to fly into Cancun, get the hell outta Dodge ASAP, bus it down to Tulum and stay there for the first five days. Turns out I’ve got two friends of friends who live there so I’m confident I’ll be in good hands and have my fingers crossed that I’ll get to go see lots of the lesser travelled cenotes, ruins, and beaches. I also have high hopes that starting out more in the jungle will be a slightly gentler way to expose my winter white self to the equatorial sunshine, especially since sunscreen application can get a little complicated when alone. Thank goodness for those god-awful spray cans.
Oh yeah, did I mention I’m going solo? This little tidbit of info immediately polarizes the majority of my acquaintances, separating them into two categories:
- Those that get instantly wide-eyed and excited for me, encourage me, support me, and are thrilled to see me set out on an adventure. Those that have travelled alone before, who know the power of exploring new places, sometimes with no clear agenda, even getting lost. Those that get it.
- The ones who launch right into a lecture on how dangerous it is, can’t fathom travelling alone, and don’t even begin to understand why I would choose to do so. Mind you, most are still supportive and encouraging, but it is all with a solid dose of fear and a handful of warnings.
I totally understand and appreciate the sentiments of my concerned friends. Travelling alone, especially as a woman, requires an amount of caution, vigilance, and preparedness that shouldn’t be taken lightly. But I’ve had a taste of it and the rewards are positively life changing. Sure, I’d love to have my man with me, but I’m also happy as a clam to set out on my own. The solo adventure is not for everyone, but I tell you what, I’ve never met someone who regretted it.
Now, here’s the kicker. This whole excursion hinges on affordable accommodations. And there is nothing more affordable than hostels: dorm style housing, 6-10 beds per room, occasionally single sex, but usually mixed. Need I mention my age? Suffice it to say, the last time I was “in the area” was roughly 44 years and 9 months ago… Not exactly your median age for hostel-goers. I am banking on my ability to be flexible, adaptable, patient, tolerant, and pretty much tired AF (from all the kayaking, biking, and paddleboarding) so I can sack out amidst those more than half my age partying the night away. Truth be told, this has me more anxious than the travelling alone part. But surely I can put up with a little noise and discomfort for $13/night!
Shoestring budget or not, I gotta admit I’m struggling with a fair amount of guilt about taking such an amazing vacation. Who am I to jaunt off to a tropical beach for two weeks? I’m not rich. How am I deserving of such extravagance? Sure, I can list a number of excuses for going: a pilgrimage to my place of origin, a premature celebration of paying off my home next month (Woohoo!!!!!!), one last splurge before wedding season kicks in and I won’t be able to come up for air for at least four months, an escape from the insanely evil male cedar trees intent on making my life a living hell in Central Texas in January (ahhh-choo!!!!), etc., etc. But the most important reason is that this is what I live for. This is why I work. This is why I live simply. I cannot fathom an idle life. I want to see and experience as much of this wild world as I can, while I still can. So, to any nay-sayers, myself first and foremost, I say GO. What are you waiting for? Hasta la vista!
PS ~ That amazing pic at the top came from here. No idea if she took it, but I definitely stole it and someone should get credit. Enjoy!