We made it to Mexico. For all the madness and movement and endings of London, we made it.
We chose a Cancun resort in stay in for our first few nights to get ourselves free of jetlag and ready for the road in relative comfort. Surrounded by American families and young honeymooners, we spent the days on the beach or by the pool and let the reality of our travel plans sink in.
On the plane over, I had, just as when I moved over to London, a moment of profound fear of what I was about to do. But then, of course, it all came back: to break all the little vicious cycles I’ve found myself in in London from work to how I spend my time; to remind myself that there are options in the way I can and should live; to create space between myself and a hopeless love. For Anita, it was for a break and an opportunity. For us both, it was the right time and the only choice - there was nothing keeping us in London and so we went for the road.
Cancun is a strange place: the resort, for all its beautiful beaches and air conditioning and wifi and friendly staff, was a little artificial sanctuary and only a place for us to sleep and regroup and make some plans. We went into the town last night to “have some local food” and found gawdy nightclubs and neon signs and young, dazed partygoers looking for the next move. It reminded me a lot of schoolies at the Gold Coast - a soulless, heartless, corrupt little place - but it served a purpose I guess. We didn’t stay for long.
And now we’re itching to get to Tulum, and indeed, on a bus on our way there. Adventure awaits and I have a feeling it’s now beginning.